A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,16
Dad take it? You know, when you told them I’d be coming home?”
Paisley drops the long strand of hair she’s been playing with and places both hands on the wheel at two and ten. She stares out the window like she’s suddenly the world’s most cautious driver.
“Paisley?” I push.
She forces out a heavy sigh.
“So, maybe I didn’t tell them. Yet.”
“Paisley! What the hell?”
She slouches into the seat like she’s trying to disappear into the leather. “I know! I’m sorry, I just really wanted you to come, and when you said that you would, I got so excited I sorta forgot and—”
“You didn’t forget. You’re a coward.” I’m half-joking. This night has already dragged on for what feels like days, and I’m too worn out to fight.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, Landry. It’ll be fine. Mom misses you so much.”
The fact that she doesn’t mention our dad at all isn’t lost on me.
“And how do you think Dad will react?”
Paisley sighs again. “Dad is Dad... He’s stubborn. And hurt. But it’s just a bar. You’re still his son. It’ll be okay...I think.”
She mumbles the last two words low enough that I wonder if she knows she even spoke them out loud.
The thing is, she’s so wrong.
It wasn’t just a bar.
I know that now, even though I’ve only been putting my heart into mine for the last year. I can’t imagine what it felt like to almost lose this thing that you’d put your entire life into, that your father put his heart and soul into and passed down to you.
But I was a stupid, selfish kid who only wanted out of our shithole town, and if I spent my money to save Dad’s bar, I’d still be stuck here.
Besides, if Granddad didn’t want me to get out of New Jersey, he wouldn’t have left nearly his entire fortune to me.
I don’t know if I’m convincing myself or just rationalizing.
“We’ll see,” I say. “And if it’s not, it’s on you.” I smile at Paisley so she knows I’m not pissed. Not too pissed, at least.
“It will! It’s Christmas! The time for all joyous things and miraculous family healing!”
“That’s a load of bullshit, you know that, right?” I grin, but regret it as I watch Paisley’s mouth fall into a disappointed frown. I forget how sensitive she can be sometimes. I jump topics, hoping to erase some of the awkwardness. “Anyway, what’s all this big announcement stuff?”
Paisley rolls her eyes. “I told you, I’m telling everyone all at once. Tomorrow.”
“Ah, Squirrelly, you made me catch a train. In the middle of the night. And you’re not even going to give me a hint?”
“No. Dealing with you all at one time will be more than enough. So, stop asking. And for the love of fruitcake, stop calling me Squirrelly.”
I can’t. I’ve done it since she was born, when Mom and Pop brought her home from the hospital and she was all tiny and squirmy with that fuzzy red hair. She looked like the squirrels in our yard. So that’s what she’s been.
“Fine. As long as you’re not pregnant with that religious zealot, Cal’s kid, we’re golden. Squirrelly.”
Paisley purses her lips and sighs.
“Please don’t call Calvin that. He is a devoted Christian. There’s nothing wrong with that, Landry. Just because you never see the inside of a church these days—”
I think I know where this is going, so I cut her off.
“You’re not about to become Mrs. Bible-Beater, are you? Don’t tell me you’re marrying that creep, Paisley. Do you remember that time he got caught—”
“Landry, I’m not marrying him. Just stop. Seriously.”
She shakes her head, and looks like my mom when she does. It’s a simple gesture, but still so heavy on the disappointment. The same shake of the head Mom gave me as she signed the papers to bail me out of jail.
“This is how you want to end up? Here?” My mother was glaring at me as she signed the paperwork that would officially release me from the county lockup and let me back into the world. Her dark hair was pulled back in a crazy bun and she was wearing her old granny glasses with the croakies, so I knew my call must have interrupted her during a knitting marathon.
I decided not to answer. The old officer behind the desk looked over and his downturned mouth communicated a little disapproval, but mostly complete and utter pity.
You know your mother is pretty badass when your arresting officer feels a little guilty