A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,28
his dough if just he wanted me to end up stuck in this shit hole town, bailing my own dad out of a mess he created?”
My mom stepped back from me and shook her head. I knew I’d gone too far, that I was saying things I couldn’t ever take back, but I couldn’t stop.
The day my grandfather died, I felt like I lost the single most important thing in the world.
Granddad listened to me talk about opening up my own bar for years. I’d show him sketches of the layout I’d worked up. I had clippings of what types of glasses I wanted to have in the place. He always said that I made the best old fashioned he’d ever tasted, and he told me stories about the old-school gin joints he used to hang out at before opening his own.
I miss him every single day, and it still blows my mind to know I’ll never hear one of his crazy-ass stories or get to bounce ideas back and forth while he and I dry glasses behind the bar.
Some days it hurts like hell.
And even though I never expected him to leave me his money, I sure as shit wasn’t going to turn away from the opportunity he dropped in my lap.
Granddad had only been in the ground for a week when we found out that he had left me the majority of his money.
And it was only two days after that that Dad dropped the bomb that the business his dad had built was low on funds and needed a quick bailout.
And then everyone looked at me.
I was supposed to put my dreams aside and be the savior.
But Dad didn’t even ask.
He just expected my help. He demanded it. He wanted me to give up the funds to save the family bar and then run the thing, rather than starting up my own like I’d always planned. Earlier that night, I told him once and for all that it wasn’t happening.
“If your grandfather would have known how serious the situation was with the business, he never would have left you all of that money, Landry. You remember that,” Mom said. She talked tough, but the quiver in her voice gave away how torn between me and Dad she was.
“Then Dad should have spoken up, and not been such a proud, stubborn ass.”
“He did speak up, Landry. To you. Do you realize how humbling it was for your father, who’s supported an entire family his whole life, to have to go to his son for help?”
“Mom, I’m sorry. But it’s my money now.”
It’s exactly the thing I had repeated over and over again to Dad the night before. He decided he’d heard enough of it and told me that I was a selfish little shit, and a few other choice things and it worked up from there. That’s how we ended up with the cops called on us, and I wound up in jail, gritting my teeth while my mom paid my bail.
“He’s not pressing charges, you know,” Mom said.
I nodded.
“I know. And I’m going to do what he asked and never step foot in his house again. Which is why I’m leaving. Tonight.”
But I broke that promise.
Because here I stand, in the middle of my Dad’s kitchen. He tosses his newspaper down onto the table and stomps away.
“Tommy!” Mom calls after him, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. He just keeps on walking. Just like I did. “Landry, why didn’t you call first?”
“It was a last minute thing. Anyway, who has to call before they come to see their family on Christmas? That’s just fucked up.” I shrug. “ Look, I see I’m still not welcome, though, so I’ll get my coat from downstairs.”
Mom waves her hand around like it’s nonsense, like she somehow missed my Dad throwing daggers at me with his eyes just now.
“Never mind all the dramatics, Landry. You’re always welcome in this house, always. No question. It would just be nice to know when you’re on the way back so you don’t give everyone a damn heart attack. Now, sit, there’s still some breakfast.”
I hesitate, but Mom gives me a shove towards the table. “Sit,” she repeats.
I slide into the yellow plastic-covered chair as she scoops what seems like an entire orchard of fruit onto my plate, slides a ham and cheese omelet next to it, and pushes the platter of crepes in my direction. It’s so much food, I don’t know where to start.