Dumb Luck Read Online Free

looked at me and blinked a couple of times. “I want a dishwasher,” she said. Then she swallowed hard and added, “and a new sofa for the living room.” And then she seemed embarrassed to have said these things out loud.
    This was all so weird. My mom had always wanted a dishwasher but my father, of course, had considered it extravagant. It was one of those family issues that never went away but surfaced from time to time and created tension. I realized I could suddenly snap my fingers and solve many of my family’s biggest problems.
    â€œMom, let’s get you the dishwasher today. And whatever furniture you want.” That was easy enough.
    My dad looked a little annoyed that I had addressed her first, but he tried not to show it. I turned to him. “I thought you hated the used car business,” I said.
    â€œI don’t love it but it’s what I know. I just hate having to work for some asshole who gets to keep most of the profit.” My father was the world’s expert on assholes who get rich while poor slobs like him work their butts off.
    I decided that I would try to play this like I was wise beyond my years. “How much you reckon it would take to get this project off the ground?”
    â€œFifty should do it,” he said, looking away from me toward the door, as if he was checking to see if the pizza guy had arrived.
    Now, I’d be the first to admit I have trouble with numbers. Up until last Saturday night, I didn’t even know how many zeros there were in three million. Now I knew there were six zeros and one big three. But I didn’t know what “fifty” meant to my father. Certainly not fifty dollars.
    â€œFifty?” I asked.
    â€œYeah. Fifty thousand would allow me to lease some land, get some inventory, hire maybe one other guy.”
    Maybe my father’s dream was to become the asshole who gets rich on the hard work of the poor slob he hired. But he was my father. I was trying to do the math in my head. Three mil, take away $50,000. A dent but only a small dent. “And this would make you happy?”
    â€œAll my life, I’ve dreamed of being self-employed. Having my own business.” His voice was different now. He wasn’t talking to me like I was his kid. He was telling me the truth. And I’d heard him fantasize about having his own business before. It was his dream.
    â€œThen I think you should go for it,” I said.
    He reached out and gave me a high five, the first one he’d ever given me in my eighteen years of life. But it felt damn good.
    We made small talk after that until the pizza arrived. My dad had to pay for it because I didn’t have any cash.
    The pizza did have everything on it. Way too much of everything. The anchovies did not work well with the pineapples. In truth, it was one of the crappiest pizzas I ever ate but I didn’t say it out loud. And no one complained in our kitchen.
    In the afternoon, we drove to the bank where I got myself a couple of credit cards. Then we went to the shopping center and picked out a dishwasher, a sofa, and a couple of overstuffed chairs for the living room. My mom was in heaven. On the way home, my father drove by a couple of potential properties for his car lot. Maybe I should have been feeling good about being able to help out my dad, but I still didn’t know what I was going to do with my money and I wanted some time to think it through. Why did he always have to be so pushy? But, yet again, I kept my mouth shut.
    I guess I was pretty quiet on the way home. “You still alive back there?” my dad asked, sounding lighter and happier than I’d ever heard him.
    â€œYeah, I’m still here.” But I was somewhere else. I don’t know where I was. I kept thinking I should come up with a list. What did I want?
    A sweet car.
    A dirt bike.
    A big honking HD flat screen TV for my bedroom.
    And a girlfriend.
    Yeah, I really, really wanted