Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
March
Iknow some people hate phone calls, but I’m not one of them. You can get across so much information faster and with less room for miscommunication, plus it’s always nice to hear the voice of someone you miss.
Not that I miss Harlow.
It’s been three weeks since Valentine’s Day, and, while we still text daily, we now also talk on the phone a couple times a week, sometimes because we’re playing a couple games of Catan and sometimes to talk about our days. Again. No big deal.
I check the time as I slide into the driver’s seat of my Subaru and dial Harlow. I’m headed home from work and texted to see if she’s free because I have something important to ask her. But the second I hear her voice when she answers, my original question is long forgotten.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.” Harlow sighs and doesn’t say anything else. I wait her out, and, finally, she explains, “Work stuff.”
“Oh no. Another shitty customer?”
She had a run-in last week with this balding man in his mid-forties who was dripping with homophobic microaggressions.
Harlow sighs. “I wish. No, it’s just something with a former employee.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” she groans, exasperated. “There was this guy, George Carson, who was the manager for over a decade and was best friends with my uncle. Well, I guess he assumed Uncle Tim would leave him the business and didn’t take it well when he didn’t.”
“Ah shit,” I groan, not knowing exactly where this is going, but assuming it won’t be great.
“Uncle Tim knew I had no real service industry experience and left a note for me in his will that George would show me the ropes, and I could count on him.” She laughs derisively.
“Nope, all I could count on him for was convincing all my employees—except the most unreliable one—to quit. He blasts The Sweet Spot online every chance he gets. Between that and a bunch of rookie mistakes, I was hemorrhaging money and wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep the shop open until your mom offered to help. ”
“Damn, Harlow,” I say. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible. Like, I get being pissed because you’re an entitled asshole or whatever, but convincing all the staff to quit? That’s fucked up.”
“He’s constantly going on and on about the ‘terrible new management,’ that I’m a ‘nepo baby,’ and how ole Tim is rolling in his grave.” I can practically hear Harlow’s eye roll.
“Such an asshole,” I mumble.
“Well, he sent me a new message today. Same old shit, except he’s bragging about how he’s going to rent the empty retail space down the road from us and is going to open his own ice cream shop. He promises to single-handedly put me out of business.”
My hands tighten on my steering wheel. “What a big-ass baby. Holy shit. What did my mom say?”
Harlow’s silent.
I check that she’s still there, then say, “Harlow?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“How come?” I ask. “I’m sure she’ll—”
“I haven’t told her about George at all,” Harlow interrupts, and I still.
She groans again. “I just … It’s embarrassing and, yeah, she knows all my employees quit on me, but I didn’t want to tell her it’s because the old manager convinced them to mutiny and he’s running a smear campaign online about me. ”
I don’t bring up the fact that if this is all over social media, my mom definitely already knows about it. I imagine that’ll only make her feel worse.
“Normally, I can ignore him. But it’s just really bothering me today.
” There’s a shuffling in the background like she’s pacing around the room.
“I never asked Uncle Tim to leave me the shop—never in a million years would have guessed he would—but he did. I can’t let him down.
I can’t be the reason the business he built from the ground up fails. ”
“You didn’t know he was leaving it to you?” I ask, shocked. I always assumed she knew. While Harlow and I often talk about our days, including work, she rarely mentions her family or how she came to inherit the business.
“No,” she says softly. “I’ve spent months trying to figure out why. George was the logical choice. It wasn’t until Hannah complained about only getting Uncle Tim’s vinyl record collection that I pieced it together.”
“Wait.” I pull up to a red light and wave my hands in the air, despite her having no way of seeing me. “You got a whole business, and she got a couple records?”
“The collection is worth a couple thousand to be fair.”
“Well, shit!”
Harlow chuckles. “It’s still not really equal, but Hannah treated him like crap after my parents’ divorce. The fact she got anything spoke to his big heart.”
I nod along, then carefully, I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“What? Hannah or my uncle?”
“Yeah. Either. Both?”
Harlow’s tight-lipped about her family but will occasionally mention a memory with her uncle or a funny story that always included him but never her mom or dad. I don’t want to push, but she’s clearly in a funk tonight, and I want her to know I’m here.
“My parents … Well, things were rough at home,” Harlow says.
“The summer before eighth grade, my parents sent Hannah and me to live with my uncle Tim for six weeks. It was the best summer of my life. I loved hanging out at The Sweet Spot. I’d steal samples for Han and I whenever Uncle Tim wasn’t looking.
I’d follow him around all day and thought he was the coolest guy.
“He was always laughing and joking with customers—I never once saw him angry—a stark contrast to my own parents. So being with him was this moment of peace before going back home to find out Dad had moved out.”
“Shit,” I breathe.
“Yeah, I shouldn’t have been surprised. They fought all the time.
We couldn’t make it through one dinner without them taking jabs at one another.
But I think thirteen-year-old me was hoping they’d take the summer to work things out and finally start getting along.
I actually deluded myself into believing I’d come home to a happy family with parents who loved each other. ”
“Damn. I’m so sorry, Harlow.”
“It is what it is,” she says quietly. “Hannah took the divorce hard. She didn’t talk to Uncle Tim after we got back. I think she thought he was in on it and was pissed at him. Whenever he’d reach out to her, she was so rude to him.
“But, for me, he became the only family member I could truly count on. I always knew he believed in me and was proud of me. We’d text and talk on the phone.
I even visited him a couple times over the years and actually met George.
I think that’s what makes it hurt worse.
George was always so nice. Loud and goofy just like Uncle Tim.
I actually liked the guy, before he switched up on me. ”
“Wow.” White-knuckling my steering wheel, I shake my head in disgust. I keep thinking I can’t get more pissed off, and then he goes ahead and tops himself. I’m about to find out his home address and book a flight to Michigan.
“I think my uncle knew what a big deal that summer was. How it was our respite before everything went to shit,” she says.
“He never married. Never had any kids. So, I guess, now that I’m saying all this out loud, I shouldn’t be surprised he left his house and business to me. I was the daughter he never had.”
“Awh, I’m really glad you two had each other,” I say.
“Me too,” she whispers.
“And the petty side of me is really happy your uncle didn’t leave the shop to that asshole, George.”
She snorts. “Yeah, so am I.”
I pull my car into a parking spot and grab my stuff. “I’m really sorry you’re dealing with all this, and I wish I could do something to help.”
“There isn’t anything you can do,” she says. “But thank you for listening.”
“Anytime.” I smile softly to myself while trekking up the stairs to my second-floor apartment. “But, Harlow, I think you should tell my mom.”
“No, she’s already done so much. I don’t need to—There’s nothing she can do, there’s no point.”
“Maybe not, but if there’s one thing I know about my mom: She gets shit done. So just trust me. I don’t know how, but I think she’ll be able to help.”
Harlow doesn’t respond for a long moment. Long enough I’ve unlocked my front door and kicked off my shoes before she says, “I’ll think about it.”
I’ll take it.
“Wait a minute,” she says. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to ask me before I hijacked our conversation?”
“Stop, I’m glad you told me about this.” Under my breath, I add, “Even if I’m now pondering how to get away with murder.”
Harlow laughs. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past hour? But seriously, what did you want to ask?”
I brighten and say, “How do you feel about going to Grand Rapids?”