46
M y tongue lodges itself against the roof of my mouth in indignation. Who does this man think he is?
Next to me, Leo sways slightly before he tosses the card back onto the table. I don’t know if I should take hold of him or try to blend in with the wallpaper. I know he asked me to stay, but I can’t imagine he would have if he thought I’d get this earful.
“This branch will be profitable by March,” he says in a clipped voice. “I’ve worked hard to make it so.”
“Behind my back.”
“You wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t possible for me to stay.”
Mr. Salinger huffs. “ Possible. Of course it’s possible. Giving up is a coward’s choice. Goddamn it, what is wrong with you, son? Everything you’ve worked so hard for. All the money I’ve invested. This is not who I raised you to be.”
“I’m not one of your horses!” Leo snaps. “And Canine King is our family business. I thought you’d be…” His hands open and close at his side. “Does Mom know? What does she think?”
His dad’s complexion darkens to a deep red. “Leave your mother out of this. Like I would burden her with your folly in her state.” He snaps his mouth shut, at the same time letting out a shuddered breath through his nose as if overcome with emotion. “She’s doing well right now. So well. We mustn’t…” He shakes his head quickly as if to shrug off a persistent fly. Then he squares his shoulders again and lifts his chin. “Even if we did absorb this branch, you would most certainly not be managing it. Salingers rise above. We hold the strings. You are more than this.” He gestures around us with a scowl. “More than gimmicky photos advertising the competition.”
And that would be me. He must have seen the photo of Leo in my Happy Paws tee.
Leo is practically vibrating with fury but so is his dad. Chests heave, nostrils flare. It’s a Wild West standoff, sans guns.
“I will not let this go, Leopold,” the older cowboy says. “Four o’clock Thursday. Wear a suit.” He sidesteps his son.
Leo follows him into the hallway. “I won’t do it.”
His dad spins around, a finger cocked and ready to fire at his chest. “You will if your family and your inheritance mean anything to you. My secretary is forwarding your plane ticket as we speak.” He rests a heavy hand on Leo’s shoulder. “I know you won’t let us down.”
He leaves without acknowledging me, and as soon as the door closes behind him, Leo returns to the kitchen and sinks into one of the chairs. “Fuck!” He slams his fist on the table, making Tilly and me jump. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve told you what he’s like.”
I don’t know where to start. My brain is still processing. “So, an interview in New York?” I ask, eventually.
At the table, Leo fiddles with the business card, turning it over and over in his hand. “Three blocks from my old job.”
“Your dad has a lot of nerve. Scheduling an interview for his adult son.” I scoff. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, well…”
When he doesn’t continue, a chill makes its way from the base of my spine upward. I sit down across from him. “Hey.” I force him to look up. “Tell me you’re not considering it.”
Leo rubs the side of his nose with one finger and looks out the window. “You heard him. If I don’t go, I’m no longer welcome home…”
“But you said you don’t want to go back. You’ve created something for yourself here.”
His shoulders slump, and his eyes are weary as they connect with mine again. “My father didn’t get to where he’s at because of his listening skills. And either way, he won’t let me keep the branch.”
This conversation feels more and more like a downhill sled ride after the brakes have given out. It’s going nowhere good, very quickly. “But you can’t go. The show is Saturday.”
He blows air out of his nostrils. “Fuck,” he says again.
That’s when I realize that he’s already made up his mind. I choke back the lump forming in my throat. “That’s it? You’re giving in just like that?”
“Don’t.”
“I thought… We’ve been working so hard. What about…” Me , I want to say. What about us? A traitorous tear swells and runs down my cheek, but I wipe it away before he sees it. “You said you were done with that life. That it wasn’t good for you.”
“He’s my dad.” Leo’s voice is louder now. “They’re my family. My mom…” He scrubs a hand across his face. “You don’t know what it’s like. Anyway, it’s only an interview.”
“And you think he’ll stop at that? If not this job, there’ll be another.”
Leo doesn’t answer.
“You know I’m right.”
“I don’t know that.” His gaze is hard when he looks at me. A carbon copy of his father’s. That’s who he’ll become if he goes down this route. I want to grab him, shake him, make him see reason, but there’s no point. His dad has thirty years of whispering in his ear on me.
“And isn’t this what you wanted all along anyway?” he asks snidely. “No more competition?”
My heart drops like a frozen rock. We’re back at the park again—like the past few months never happened. Like I’m still nothing but a nuisance to him.
I lift my chin and push the chair back to stand, the wetness behind my eyelids magically gone. “Fuck you,” I mutter, turning toward the door.
“Cora…”
“No.” I stop and give him my best glare. “We had a deal. I’d talk to Harvey about what I want, you’d do the same with your dad. Well, I held up my end of the bargain. That’s what I was going to tell you at lunch today. And yeah, it was scary, but I did it. If you can’t do your part, you’re a coward, and if you want to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’re an asshole. But then I guess New York deserves you. Don’t bother with dinner.” I storm out, almost slipping on the stairs.
He doesn’t chase after me.
Thank God for Micki. All it takes is one sputtered voice mail, and she shows up after work, loaded with fried rice, ice cream, and a six-pack of hefeweizen. I haven’t moved from my bed all afternoon where I’ve binged poorly aged sitcoms from the early 2000s on my laptop. All three dogs are at my side, sensing, like dogs do, that their comforting presence is needed. Cholula is tucked at my elbow, Cap at my feet, and Boris is on the floor next to us.
“Let the man bashing begin,” Micki says as she sets her offerings on the table. “I’m here for it. I’m prepared.” She holds up a box of Kleenex. “See—I’m like a freaking Girl Scout.”
In spite of myself, I smile. “I’ll have a beer first, thanks.”
“Good thinking. I’m going to have some food because some of us worked today and are starving.” She hands me a bottle and then pulls out two plates for us.
After a deep swig from the bottle, I push the blanket off my legs. Micki digs into her rice, and my stomach growls.
She peers at me between bites. “Are you going to keep sighing or do you actually want to tell me what happened?”
Careful not to step on Boris, I join Micki at the table and reach for the takeout box. “Fine. Men are stupid.”
My statement catches her in the middle of a swig and makes her sputter around the bottle neck. “Tell me something I don’t know.” She scrunches up her face. “Ow. It got in my nose.”
“Sorry.” I finish another bite, and then I relay in detail what happened earlier in the day. When I get to the part where Leo is throwing away the work he’s done for the show and going back on his promise to me, new tears well and spill down my face. “It’s like it’s meant nothing to him, you know? Like, what have we been doing all this time if all it takes for him to go back is his dad snapping his fingers?”
“Maybe it is just an interview, though—like he said.”
I shake my head. “He’ll be gone by Christmas if not sooner. His dad will see to it.” I scoff and wipe my cheeks. “It’s extortion. What kind of parent does that? And I can’t believe Leo’s letting him.” There’s a sharp twang in my chest at those words because my real fear here is that, deep within, Leo doesn’t mind.
Micki lowers her fork. “Why is your face melting?”
I rest my head in my hand and sniffle. “What if I was right and he misses his old life? Maybe this whole thing with his dad is a convenient excuse for him to go back.”
To my surprise, Micki doesn’t contradict me right away. She moves a piece of broccoli around on her plate, and the fact that she takes my concern seriously for once is more alarming than anything else. “Yeah, it’s a tough nut to crack,” she says eventually. “Because on the one hand, he’s put a lot of time and money in the store here, but on the other, I assume the same could be said for his condo in New York.”
My head jerks up. “His what?”
Micki digs her teeth into her bottom lip.
“Well, that’s fucking great,” I rant. My hands fly out in a wtf-universe move. “He made it sound like he’d made a clean break.”
“Not completely it seems.” Micki’s voice is full of sympathy.
“How do you know?”
She hedges but not for long. “We got on the topic of wealth when I was cutting his hair. I asked him if he’s rich basically.” At my visible disapproval, she tuts. “I was curious, okay? He said he wasn’t, and that his ‘assets’ were mostly tied up in the store and his place in New York. But you know, I hear real estate is a good investment. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t sold yet?”
“Don’t make excuses for him.”
She holds up her hands. “Not my intention. I’m on your side. Men are stupid.”
I take another sip of my beer. “So stupid,” I mutter. The bottle clangs loudly when I set it back on the table. Anger feels better than sadness. I cling to it with everything I have because, oh my God, he’s leaving. I let him in. I thought I mattered to him.
I should have known better.
I never matter enough for people I love to stay.