Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LORELAI
The cinnamon rolls weren’t great, but at least they were a step up from Toaster Strudel, especially with that icing.
After Luke leaves for the day, I go into the living room and plop down on the couch. Picking up my phone, I call my parents. It rings twice before I hear my mom’s bubbly greeting. “Yellooooow!”
“Hey, Mom, it’s me.”
“Lorelai!” She sounds so excited you’d think she just won the lottery. “Hold on while I put you on speaker. William, your daughter is on the phone!” she shouts.
I hear my dad’s voice as it gets closer to the phone. “Oh, goody!” A few beats later, he says, “How’s my little girl?”
“Good, Dad. How are you? How’s golf?”
“Your mother and I are great. Golf is good, but there’s something else we wanted to talk to you about.”
I don’t know why but I suddenly feel nervous. “What’s that?”
“Your mother and I were thinking it might be time for us to leave Elk Lake permanently. We’ve recently been given the opportunity to buy a condo in a golf community that we love. If we do that, we’d make it our only home.”
“You’d leave Elk Lake for good?” Fear zaps through me like I’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. If they move, what would I do? Where would I go? I guess I’d have to get that apartment in town. The problem is I’m not sure I make enough money at the lodge to be totally on my own.
“We’ve raised our family, which was our goal,” my mom interjects. “There’s really nothing keeping us in Wisconsin anymore.”
“ I’m here,” I remind her.
She sounds like she’s placating me when she says, “Of course you are, dear. But you’re grown now. You’re making your own decisions, and you don’t need us anymore.” I may not need them in the way she thinks, but I do need their house. At least until I can figure out what I’m going to do with my life.
“When are you making your decision?”
“We’ve already made it, Lorelai.” This from my dad. “We’re placing an offer on the condo today. We talked to a realtor, and she told us the best time to sell the Elk Lake house would be over the summer when the town is full of tourists looking for a vacation house.”
Beads of sweat explode on my forehead. “That’s not even three months from now!”
“That’s plenty of time to get everything ready,” my dad says.
“At the minimum, we want to have the house repainted and re-carpeted,” my mom says. “And whatever else the realtor suggests. We’d like you to oversee that for us.”
“I can’t imagine going to work and leaving the house open for workers.” While this is a slight concern, I’m really just trying to buy myself some time.
“We’ll pay you, of course,” my dad said. “You’ll be our contractor.”
“But I have a job.”
“You make minimum wage, honey,” my mom says hurtfully. “We’ll pay you better than that. ”
“But it’s my job !” I say this like I’m the only person in Wisconsin who knows how to sell toothbrushes—like I’ve contracted to stay there until I’m old and gray. Which, honestly, I might have done had everything remained the same. “I can’t just show up after taking three months off and expect them to take me back.”
“Probably not, Lorelai.” My dad sounds like he’s talking to a mentally challenged child. “It’s high time you got on with your life and started on a career path. Working in a gift shop isn’t going to lead you anywhere.” My parents are acting unusually mean. They’ve always been very encouraging of me and my endeavors, particularly my charitable works. But now, now it’s like I’ve suddenly become some unwanted freeloader.
I start to wonder if I’ve been the topic of conversation between them and my brother. They all seem to think I’m a world-class loser. I attempt to clear the emotion out of my voice before saying, “I’m sorry I’ve been such a disappointment.”
“Lorelai,” my mother croons. “We’re not disappointed. We’re just concerned that you’re in a bit of a rut.”
My dad adds, “We want to encourage you to jump start your life. With your savings, and the money we’ll pay you to oversee renovations, you should be able to find an apartment in Madison or Milwaukee …” He highly overestimates the balance of my savings account. Even on sale, yarn is pretty spendy. Thank goodness for the donations I get from some of the ladies at the senior center. While their scraps can be pretty odd, they add up.
“You could live in Chicago!” my mom interjects. “You could get a studio there.”
“And do what?” I want to know. I graduated college with an English degree, but I only majored in that because I wanted to put my love of reading to good use. Seriously, it was that or knitting and no one gets a college degree in the yarn arts.
“You could teach elementary school,” my mom decides.
“I’d need to get certified for that. ”
“You could substitute teach during the day and go to school at night,” my dad suggests.
An icy chill runs through my veins that causes goosebumps to pop up on my arms. They’ve made their decision. “Make a list of what you want done, and when you want it done by and I’ll get started,” I tell them. Even though I don’t want them to sell, my blood starts to pump at the thought of finally getting my hands on this house and making the improvements I’ve dreamed about.
“Anna Tanaka from Elk Lake Realty is going to stop by tomorrow at three. She’ll walk through the house and give her recommendations.” My dad continues, “I’ve added your name to my Visa card and they’re sending you a copy of your own. Put all the expenses on that.”
If your dad putting your name on his Visa account isn’t a dream come true, I don’t know what is.
“Give notice at work,” my mom adds. “Start making appointments.”
Had I been paying attention, I might have guessed something like this was possible. My parents did mention they might only come home for a couple weeks this summer, but I thought they were kidding. Who wants to spend the summer in Florida? “What about all your things? When will you be coming back to pack them up?”
“We’d like you to pack for us,” my dad says. “You can have all the dishes, pots, pans, and furniture that you’d like to start your new life.” They don’t even want to come back to say goodbye?
“You can keep the framed photographs, too,” my mom adds. “Your dad and I bought one of those digital frames.” You mean like the one I already got you that you gave to charity? I feel like I’m on the phone with strangers.
“You don’t want Nana’s roll-top desk?” I gasp. My mom cherishes that.
“Why don’t you keep it, honey?” she says. “Our new condo won’t have enough space for it. ”
“How big is your new condo?” I’m suddenly worried they won’t have room for me to visit … or God forbid live there if I can’t get my crap together. Not that living in a seniors’ golf community is my ideal, but in the beggars/choosers scenario, I would most definitely be classified as the former.
“It’s one bed and one and a half baths,” my dad informs me. “But that will be plenty because we plan on spending a lot of time out and about.”
“Wait until you see the clubhouse!” my mom gushes. “There are three pools, and even a spa!”
“Sounds like there won’t be room in your new condo for visitors.” I know that sounds like sour apples, but I’m not feeling very wanted.
“Part of the condo fees includes the use of guest rooms,” my dad says. “We can have one for two weeks every year. One week for you, and one for Noah.” I guess that’s it then. My parents are done with me.
Tears flood my eyes as my nose fills with snot. “I’d better get going,” I tell them. “I have a lot to do.”
My mom’s tone takes a tender turn. “I know you love our house, honey, but it’s time for all of us to see what life has in store for the future.”
I’m tempted to say something sarcastic, like, “As long as you’re happy …” but I know that wouldn’t be fair. My parents have given me refuge from life for the past three years. That’s a huge gift that I shouldn’t have expected to last forever.
“Email me lists of stuff you want to keep,” I tell them. I hang up before they have a chance to say anything else.
My parents have a right to do whatever they want with their property, but I can’t help but worry what’s going to happen to me. Other than teaching, which I’d have to go back to school for, there’s not going to be anything I can do in Elk Lake. Not only am I faced with being homeless, but I’m also going to be town-less.
Putting down my phone, I succumb to a big, fat cry. I know I’m being pitiful, but I just can’t seem to help myself. Not even Luke Phillips staying here is enough to make a dent in my sadness.