43
I ’m still full the next morning as I ready the store for Black Friday shoppers, and my thoughts still attempt to backtrack into the Murky Swamp of Complicated Feelings. Fortunately, channeling Micki helps. With her voice in my head, I try to remind myself that it’s good that Leo is being recognized professionally because that will lessen the sting for him when I win the dog contest. I also revisit his Instagram where seeing him in Happy Paws teal brings the first smile of the day to my face. The next few are courtesy of customers, of which there’s a steady stream all day. My buy-one-get-one-free promotion for holiday-themed pet treats is doing its job.
As it turns out, Micki’s slip of the tongue must have made an impression on Leo because he’s extra considerate about giving me space and doesn’t linger after bringing me dinner the way he usually does. He just kisses me goodnight and tells me he can’t wait to see me for training tomorrow.
I text Micki before bed to apologize for being a downer the night before. Life is full of ups and downs, I tell myself, and now things are looking up again, both with Leo and the store.
But then I wake up to a scathing Etsy review where someone is complaining about something that’s not even my fault, and my resolve to be optimistic turns out to be as wobbly as the Jell-O mold from Thanksgiving dinner. What if I really can’t do this?
There’s snow in the air when Leo and I drive out to the farm after work on Saturday.
“Only two weeks left,” Leo says when I reach over to flip through the radio stations for the third time to get away from everything golden oldies. Boris is in a singing mood, and I can’t deal with his howling today. “Feel prepared?”
I glance back at the dogs. “We’re still working on Cho’s talent. How is Tilly doing?”
“I thought we agreed not to talk about that.”
I scoff and look at the passing landscape outside. “Okay.”
“Hey.” He puts his hand on my knee. “What’s going on?”
His touch relaxes me somewhat, and I relent. I tell him about the review. “They said the sewing was poor quality, and that it fell apart after the first wash. I included instructions—that outfit was handwash only.”
His tone is light when he responds. “Don’t worry about it. It’s one review.”
I glare at him. “Don’t worry? Do you know how much it pulls down the ratings when you only have a handful of reviews?”
“Can you respond?”
“That looks defensive.” I rest my elbow against the door and lean my head in my hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not your problem.”
“But I want to help.”
“And I want to quit.” He’s quiet at that, which makes me feel even worse. “Sorry. It’s not your fault. Let’s talk about something else.”
Large snowflakes have begun swirling in the air outside. It’s not supposed to stick, but I’m relieved to see Leo has both hands on the steering wheel all the same. On the dash, his phone rings. He declines it right away.
“Your dad again?” I ask.
“Yeah. He’s nothing if not persistent. He’s called Diane, too, trying to get a hold of me.”
“And you don’t think it would be easier to let him say what he has to say? Maybe then he’ll go away.”
“With all due respect, you don’t know my father. No one does guilt better than old-school Catholics. I don’t need that in my life.”
I watch his profile for a moment. To me, he’s such a self-reliant man that this side of him makes little sense. “I guess I don’t understand why you can’t shrug it off. You’re an adult so he shouldn’t have a say.”
“Like I said, he’s still my dad.” We stop at a light, and he bumps the back of his head against the headrest before looking at me. “I still respect him. He raised me. Taught me about hard work, success, the meaning of family. The way he’s loved and cared for Mom throughout everything… Still does.” He pauses. “What if…” Something’s churning behind his troubled gaze.
The realization hits in his lingering silence. “Oh my God. You believe him. You think you’re disappointing people by being here.”
His jaw works at my words. “No,” he says at first. He runs the windshield wipers once to get rid of a few heavier flakes. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want to be here. But I am uncomfortable knowing he disapproves.”
“But you said he’d come around,” I remind him. “If the store is what you want, tell him that.”
He scoffs. “You make it sound so simple. But I don’t see you going after your dreams of being a designer.”
My mouth snaps shut. “It could be a hobby and nothing more.”
“I think you lying about already being one says differently.”
I sink farther into the seat as if deflating. “Yeah, I know I’m not being fair. It’s just hard, you know. Things aren’t going super well for me, and here you are nominated for Best New Business by the Chamber of Commerce.”
His head whips my way. “I am?”
“It was in the town newsletter.”
He seems to take in this news with a mixture of confusion and pleasant surprise. “When do they announce the winner?”
“The end of the year.” I look down at my hands resting in my lap. “I’m happy for you.”
He touches the brake pedal lightly as we come to a stop at an intersection. The roads are slushy, but his SUV handles well. “Are you? If you ask me, it doesn’t quite sound like it. I’m trying to be supportive. Getting a bit of that back would be great.”
“Yes, it’s super supportive to open a competing store across the street,” I mutter.
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “I thought you’d stopped seeing us as rivals.”
“It’s kind of hard not to when we did fine every year until you got here.”
“Harvey has been out of the picture.”
My face flares. “So it’s because I’m in charge?”
“No, that’s not—”
All my self-doubt and worry that have been building over the past few days boil over. “What do you need from me? A pat on the back? Here.” I tap his shoulder. “Well done. There, is that better?”
He grinds his teeth together around a rebuttal I no doubt deserve but that he’s too much of a gentleman to say out loud. The seething silence drags out until, finally, he speaks in a measured tone. “You like that I work hard for things. You’ve said so yourself. That I set goals and reach for them. That I’m ambitious. Don’t you see? I want to be the best, not just for me, but for people I care about, too. For you. My dad may not be father of the year, but at least he’s always been that person for my mother.”
Hot tears of shame and frustration threaten behind my lids. “But I don’t need you to be the best. I’d still like you if you messed up completely. And right now, it’s hard not to feel like you’re—or whatever, the universe—is rubbing it in. I’m failing, you’re not.”
He takes a moment. Then he nods. “You know what the only difference between us is?” he asks, gently. “I want to be here and do this. You don’t. That’s it. If design is truly your passion, go for it.”
“Who’s making things sound easy now?”
“Well, it is.”
“Not to mention if Happy Paws goes away, Canine King will do even better.”
He huffs out a sharp breath at my snide remark. “Now you’re deliberately looking for a fight. You know that’s not what I’m after anymore, and I still think we can coexist.”
“Either way, I can’t leave Harvey and the dogs.”
“I’m certain he’d find a good place for them. He wants you to be happy.” He gestures with an open hand to the landscape outside our little bubble. “All I’m asking is that you also consider your life. You could do something of your own that will be a great success and that makes you happy.”
“Or it would be a great flop. I’m good at those.” I tilt my head back. “I’m sorry. I’m just in a terrible mood today.”
He puts the car in reverse and backs up to the house to park. It’s snowing heavier here. After fifteen seconds of immobility, the hood of the car is already turning white. He twists in his seat to face me and reaches out a finger to push my too large, knitted cap up above my brow. “You do look a bit like a petulant gnome in this,” he says with a smile. “Please. Let’s not fight.”
I rest my cheek against his hand. A lone tear trickles across my left temple.
“I’ll make you a deal, okay?” he says softly, as if worried about rousing the beast again. “I’ll tell my dad to shove it, and you tell Harvey you two have to make a plan that involves you pursuing your dreams.”
I inhale deeply and nod. “Okay. I’m sorry I’m being such a B.”
He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s not me, it’s you?”
That pulls a soft laugh out of me. “Totally. I didn’t mean it.”
His fingers slide into my hair and pull me closer. “What part?”
“All the mean stuff.”
“Ah, that.”
He covers my lips with his, and we’re finally done talking.