Sweet Thing Read Online Free

fame or sex; I was sure he didn’t need any help in that department. I knew there was something about him that drew me in, but I convinced myself at that moment that Will was not boyfriend material—not in my book, anyway. I thought maybe we could be friends; after all, I didn’t have many in my new city.
    The last time I was in New York had been for my father’s funeral one month before. I knew I had my work cut out for me, which gave me a rush of anxiety. I needed to sort through Pops’s things and make room for my own. Making my way through the door leading to the stairwell, I stopped at the mail slot and slipped my key in but could barely turn it from the amount of mail jammed in the tiny box. I managed to shove the massive pile under my arm and carry the rest of my things up the stairs to the landing. I set my bags down and searched for the right key. I tried five keys before finally unlocking the door. It occurred to me that the giant key ring was a handful of discoveries I would learn about my father.
    The first thing I noticed when I entered the apartment was that it was very clean. Someone had been there, probably one of the two regular women in my father’s life. Either Martha, who was like a sister to him—she also ran Kell’s—or Sheil, who was his on-and-off girlfriend. Both women had been in Pops’s life for decades and both were like family. They were going to be lifelines in the months to come as I ventured through my father’s belongings… and his story.
    After tossing out a large amount of junk mail, I sifted through a few sympathy cards, financial statements, and bills before I got to a letter from the probate lawyer. I leaned over the kitchen counter, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply before opening it. My father’s scent was still somehow wafting through the still air in the apartment, like his residual movements were reminding me that his spirit was alive. My eyes welled and my heart ached over his loss. I committed his smell to memory, a mixture of espresso, petula oil, and hand-rolled clove cigarettes that had stained every article of clothing he owned with a combination of earthy spice and sweetness. I smiled slightly at his somewhat-painful memory and then addressed the task at hand.
    In the days following my father’s heart attack, my mother and David had put their lives on hold to follow me to New York to make arrangements. That week is a foggy memory; filled with shock and pain, but the ease, grace, and familiarity that my mother displayed through it all was inspiring and intriguing to me. I wasn’t sure if it was born out of her love for me and desire to help when she knew I was hurting, or if it was a deeper love for my father that I hadn’t known she felt. As disjointed as my family seemed growing up, in Pops’s death we were all brought together. Isn’t that how it always is? It was like my mother and Martha were sisters who shared an untold story, each one falling perfectly into a rhythm in the apartment and at Kell’s.
    The day before the funeral, we worked in the café, I watched my mother navigate the espresso machine with a certain know-how. “Were you a barista in another life?” I said to her.
    “It’s not rocket science, honey.” She had a natural-born acumen in almost everything she attempted to do. It was a trait I admired, and one I wasn’t sure I had inherited.
    My mother and Martha arranged the funeral while David took care of all the legal aspects of my father’s estate. I knew decisions would have to be made but I wasn’t ready at the time, so I decided I would go back to Ann Arbor after the funeral, wrap up my life, and then move to New York for a few months until I could decide what to do. Moving to New York was never part of my plan before Pops died, but that’s where I found myself.
    Everything regarding his estate was cut and dry. I was the one and only recipient of his assets. However, I knew there would be items that Pops would want Sheil and