Chapter 3
Fact or Fiction?
Old men make good husbands.
Addison
“Marry me, Chuck,” I holler, throwing my hands out and kneeling before the forklift as the man old enough to be my father,
and who was complaining of gout earlier this morning, climbs into the driver’s seat.
He barks out a wet cough and shakes his head, his face full of so many wrinkles, you could turn it into a maze. “I’m going
to say no for a fourth time. I’m sorry, darling. You know I hate breaking your heart.”
I buzz my lips and stand to prop my hands on my hips. “Where’s Bullhead? He hasn’t said no to me this week yet.”
“But he said no last week. Why do you think his answer will change?”
I shrug. “He’s older than you, so I’m banking on him being a little senile.”
Chuck eyes me with zero humor on his face. “I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. You ain’t gonna find any man in
this lumberyard willing to say yes to you because everyone here knows your daddy. And if I walked up to your daddy and told
him I’m marrying his twenty-eight-year-old daughter, I’d be watching a two-by-four break my nose and finding myself canned
before the blood dried.”
“But I’m a lumberyard heiress, Chuck!” I stomp my foot dramatically. “I can buy you a new nose.”
“I’ll stick with the honker I got.” The forklift beeps a loud noise as he backs up away from me and with a growl, I turn on my heel and make my way back into the building center.
I pause as I stare at our signage etched across the glass door.
Monroe Lumber and Building Center: Family owned since 1903
Apparently, that means fuck all to my father because he went and had to fall in love. Gross.
I stomp inside the building and make my way to the office in the back. It used to be my father’s throne, so it’s not much
in terms of decor. Just a cheap veneer desk and filing cabinets covered in sawdust and cast-off office chairs that have seen
better days. But the view of the lumberyard with the Front Range behind it is one that I’ve gotten used to and don’t feel
like surrendering if it’s up to me.
And apparently, it is up to me. Me and my future unsuspecting husband. My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I pull it out
to see my dad’s face on the screen like he knew I was thinking about him.
“What do you want, Old Man River?” I snipe into the line as I drop down onto my desk chair.
“Well, someone’s in a mood,” my father drawls. “You too busy for your old man?”
“Chuck turned me down again,” I grumble, propping my Converse platforms up on the desk.
“What about Bullhead?”
“I think he’s hiding from me.” I squint as I look out the window to see if his truck is here. I don’t even know why they call
him Bullhead. That’s just been his name for as long as I can remember.
“He’s still got a few brain cells left, then.” My father clears his throat, and I can hear the drizzle of fresh coffee brewing in the background. “How many proposals have you done this week, then?”
“Just Chuck so far, but it’s only Monday.”
He pauses to take a loud sip, and I can picture his long gray mustache damp and stained from his regular coffees. “You know
this is for the best, Addie May.”
“Bullshit,” I reply for the hundredth time. “I’m not giving up.”
My dad and I have been having the same fight for the past six months since he dropped the massive bomb on me that he was moving
to Florida with his new girlfriend and planning to sell the lumberyard to an interested buyer who’d put in a huge offer. Our
family-run business for over a century is going to be sold off to some outsider.
Gross indeed.
“Your day-to-day life won’t change. You’ll still stay on as sales manager and have a stake in the business just like I will,
but you won’t be the primary owner. It’s too much for one person to take on and you’ll still make plenty of money.”
“I don’t care about money,” I argue.
“Someday you will.”
I lick my lips and drop my head back on my chair. “If I was a boy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I wince as an
image of my little brother flashes into my eyes.
My dad tsks. “The trust says nothing about gender, and you damn well know it.”
“So you say,” I murmur petulantly.
“Damn it anyways, Addie,” my dad growls into the phone and I wince. I don’t love poking him like this but until he concedes,
I’m afraid that’s just what our relationship is. I want this nightmare to be over. He continues with a more forceful tone,
“The trust states that no single person, not man, not woman, no PERSON can own the lumberyard. My grandfather was old-fashioned but not sexist. Whether you were a boy or a girl, you’re not qualified to inherit the business until you’re married for a minimum of one year.
I wouldn’t have been able to take it over from my dad if I hadn’t married your mom. ”
“Don’t bring her up.” A thickness forms in my throat at the mention of her and I wince at the sound of my teeth grinding in
my ears.
He sighs. “I’m just saying. It’s not about a business partner. It’s about a life partner. Owning a company on your own is
a lot of work and having that emotional support at home is important. That’s why the trust says you have to reside with your
partner, not just be married. Making a house a home and all that.”
“You didn’t have any of that after she left.” I wince because we’re talking about her again and I hate it. “You managed just fine.”
“You were my home,” he states firmly. “You’re the one who gave me this potbelly with all that damn bread you kept making.”
“Exactly.” I slap my hand on the desk, sending sawdust particles everywhere. “I cooked and I managed to work at the yard.
You know I can run this place with my eyes closed. Please just let me do this on my own. Let’s hire a lawyer and change some
shit around in that crusty old trust.”
“Not gonna happen, Addie. I don’t want that stress for you. It’s too much for one person to bear.”
Silence grows between us, and I lower my phone, stopping myself from arguing with him more.
He thinks I’m messing around with this husband quest, but he’s dead wrong. I will find someone and fulfill the requirements
of that trust. It’s time I stop teasing the lumberyard guys and get serious since it’s clear my dad isn’t changing his mind.
My dad isn’t a bad man. Stubborn, yes, but I know he’s just trying to protect me, which is crazy because he raised me on his own like a feral animal in this lumberyard.
I remember sleeping in his office on nights he’d have to wait for a late delivery or coming in with him at the ass crack of dawn to fulfill an order and having to take the city bus to school.
I have been illegally driving the forklift since the age of fifteen.
Hell, I was fourteen when I had my first beer with my dad and his cronies.
I remember being smashed between him, Chuck, and Bullhead in a single cab pickup as we barreled down a gravel road while they made me hold a case of Budweiser on my lap and hand them fresh ones every time they tossed their empties out the window.
I was scared out of my mind the cops would catch us, but I never told them about that because they’d make fun of me and call me “soft.”
I wasn’t soft.
I just hated littering and still to this day stop my vehicle if I see trash on the side of the road. We get one freaking world,
you know? Find a damn trash can, people.
And I know some people of Boulder judged my father harshly for how they saw him raise me. But I’m grateful for my upbringing.
The shit my dad and I went through together bonded us in a way that means I will forgive him for this bullshit trust he’s
refusing to revise, because I’m tough and self-sufficient and worked my way through some dark shit at a young age. And I have
the calluses on my hands to prove it.
Which means I will not go down without a fight over this business trust stipulation. Even if that means getting my ass married,
which is something I never planned to do.
I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to actually find a guy. Apparently no one wants to sign a prenup stating they’ll
marry me, live with me for a year, and divorce me while receiving absolutely nothing in exchange. Weird, right?
Only that’s not true. I did have an offer. But it’s not one I could ever say yes to.
“How’s Edith?” I ask, pulling my phone back up to my ear and attempting to show some semblance of humanity to the man who gave me everything I have in life except this lumberyard.
“She’s good. She’s at her weekly bridge club. I’m nursing a sunburn from shuffleboard yesterday.”
I snort as I fight back a laugh. My dad sounds happy, despite our drama over the family business, and I guess that makes me
happy. I never saw him date a woman after my mom left. Never even looked at one. Until Edith.
Now the old goat is slathering himself with aloe vera and happy as a clam in that retirement village they moved to. Though
it’s more of an early retirement village as he’s just newly sixty. But the way he just up and decided to retire early is still
an adjustment. Life is weird how it can change on a dime.
“Still can’t get used to you living in Florida. I never thought I’d see the day you left Boulder.”
“Me neither, Addie. But you’d be amazed at what one might endure for the love of a good woman. Hey, maybe that’s your problem.
Maybe you should be trying to marry a woman.”
“Is that allowed?” I stand and walk over to the window with a furrow to my brow. “I mean, I don’t really know a lot of women,
but that does open up my prospects a bit.”
“Addison, it’s called a joke—” he pauses for a second before adding “—unless you’re coming out to me in which case I owe some
money to Bullhead.”
I roll my eyes and make a noise in the back of my throat. “Keep your money, Old Man. I’m strictly dickly.”
Long, heavy pause.
“I could have lived my whole life without hearing those words come out of my daughter’s mouth.”
“I’ve heard ten times worse come out of Bullhead’s mouth!”