Chapter 25 Reed
Reed
By Thursday afternoon, I’m running on coffee and determination, surrounded by financial projections that need to be perfect for tomorrow night.
Eliza has been so supportive, giving me space to work but also stopping by multiple times a day to make sure I eat and pretend she’s going to dump manure in the hydroponic tanks to make me laugh.
The stolen kisses under the grow lights are becoming my very favorite greenhouse activity.
My space has been transformed into what Vick charitably calls “beautiful chaos”—spreadsheets covering every available surface, sample trees arranged and rearranged, and enough backup presentations to confuse a NASA engineer.
In between it all, my mother calls incessantly about the contract I haven’t signed with my father’s company to start work at the first of the year.
“Reed, darling, your father is getting impatient,” she says without greeting when I finally answer. “If they don’t get your signature by Monday, they’ll have to withdraw the offer.”
“Mom, I declined the offer. I’m busy.”
“Busy with what? Plants?” Her voice sharpens. “Reed, be practical. This investor meeting is a long shot at best.”
“It’s not a long shot. It’s a pitch.”
“Hope doesn’t pay the bills, sweetheart.”
She launches into a speech about sound business strategies, and I can’t take it anymore. Not another second. I hang up and immediately power off my phone. I can’t afford distractions, not when everything depends on tomorrow night going perfectly.
Voices outside interrupt my calculations. Through the window, I see Vick and Kash approaching with a cooler, ahead of what appears to be a small army of people wearing elf hats.
“Intervention time,” Vick announces, pushing through the door. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“Seriously, when’s the last time you consumed something that wasn’t coffee?”
Before I can answer, the Storm sisters file in behind Kash, all of them dressed like elves.
Eden has a thermos that smells suspiciously alcoholic.
Eila carries a six-pack in each arm. Eva’s got a very fancy camera slung around her ugly holiday sweater.
Bringing up the rear is Eliza herself, beaming, unfazed by this incredible act of mercy.
“What is this?” I ask.
“The boyfriend treatment,” Esther announces, setting down a bag that clinks with bottles. “Our sister said you’re stressed, and we’ve got some downtime.”
“Stressed is an understatement.” I gesture at the surrounding chaos, dropping a kiss on Eliza’s head. “I have one shot at this, and I’m nowhere near ready.”
“Good thing you’ve got us,” Eva says, already snapping photos. “I’ve been looking at your website, and honestly, it’s tragic. We’re going to fix that.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Reed, shut up and let us help,” Esther interrupts, pouring eggnog into mason jars. “It’s spiked. Consider it liquid courage.”
For the rest of the night, my friends and my girlfriend’s family take over my life, but not in a way that feels intrusive or infantilizing, like when my parents overstep.
No, this is somehow exactly what I didn’t know to ask for but desperately needed.
Eva creates a digital presence for my business, posting sleek graphics and incredible images that draw about a thousand interactions online before I finish my nog.
Eila, careful to reiterate that she, too, is garbage with paperwork, shows me financial software that prints the exact reports I need at the click of a button.
“Speaking as a professional horticulturist,” she says, typing rapidly, “these trees aren’t just plants; they’re sustainable lifestyle choices. Price them accordingly.”
Meanwhile, Esther, Eden, and Vick work on packaging and presentation. They help me repot my trees in elegant containers and create gift tags that somehow give my hydroponic seedlings a premium holiday look.
“These are gorgeous,” Eden says, adjusting a tiny tree in its new home. “I can totally see people wanting these for their apartments.”
“Now all you need is a hot date by your side,” Esther adds as Eliza shoves her shoulder playfully.
As the evening progresses and the spiked eggnog flows, I find myself relaxing for the first time in days. It’s all overwhelming—the community, the collaboration, the sense that we’re all working toward something meaningful together. This feeling has been absent from my life for far too long.
My phone, which I’ve reluctantly turned back on, starts ringing again. My father’s number.
“Answer it,” Eliza says firmly. She’s been quietly helping with plant photography, but now she’s watching me with that fierce expression I recognize from the barn. “Tell him what you told me about choosing your own path.”
“Reed, this is ridiculous,” Esther says. “You’re clearly passionate about this work, and you’re good at it. Why would you give that up for some corporate job you don’t want?”
I look around at the transformed space—at my friends and Eliza’s sisters working together to support something they see I believe in, at the trees that represent months of careful research I’ve loved.
“You’re right,” I say, answering the phone.
“Finally. Son, we need to discuss this contract situation. Your mother says you’re still playing with plants instead of focusing on your future.”
“I am focusing on my future. Just not the one you planned for me.”
Silence on the other end for a beat. “Reed, be reasonable. This hobby isn’t a career path you can raise a family with.”
“It’s not a hobby. It’s a business, and it’s mine.”
“What’s your plan to survive when the money runs out?”
“Honestly, Dad, I don’t know. And that’s okay. I have a lot of resources.”
He snorts. “A lot less if I cut you off at the purse, kid. We had a deal, you and I.”
Around me, my friends and the Storm sisters have gone quiet, listening to a conversation years in the making.
“Your grandfather would be ashamed,” my father says.
“Maybe. And you’re right that you and Mom have given me a really strong start in this life, but it’s time I used it how I want. I hope you’ll be with me as I chase my own dreams.”
The silence stretches so long I think he’s hung up. Then, his gruff voice filters through. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“No, we won’t. I’m declining the Nicholas Industries position. Permanently.”
I hang up to cheers and applause from my impromptu support crew. Eliza immediately hands me a cup of spiked eggnog, and Vick claps me on the back hard enough to spill it.
“To Reed Nicholas,” Kash announces, raising his cup, “for finally growing a backbone.”
“To Urban Forest Solutions,” Eliza counters, “and to taking risks for the right reasons.”
We toast, and I feel lighter than I have in months. Whatever happens tomorrow night, at least I’m facing it as myself instead of as my father’s disappointing son.
My phone buzzes with an email notification. Probably my parents sending me articles about failed entrepreneurs or statistics about business failure rates.
Instead, it’s from Jennifer Martinez at North Shore Capital.
Mr. Nicholas,
I sincerely apologize for the short notice, but I’ve come down with the flu and will not be able to attend tomorrow evening’s event. Perhaps we could schedule a meeting for after the holidays?
Best regards,
Jennifer Martinez
I read the email twice, then set my phone down carefully.
“What is it?” Eliza asks, noting my expression and rubbing my arm.
“My investor. She’s sick. She’s not coming tomorrow.”
The greenhouse goes silent except for the hum of grow lights and the distant sound of traffic. Around me, perfectly packaged trees sit ready for a presentation that no longer has an audience. This reeks of my father’s intervention.
“Fuck,” Vick says simply.
I sink onto a stool, staring at months of work that suddenly feels pointless. “I was never going to succeed at this.”
“Hey,” Eliza says sharply. “Don’t you dare.”
“Eliza, face facts. I have no investors, no way forward, and parents who are going to spend the rest of my life saying, ‘I told you so.’”
“You have something better than investors right now.” She gestures around the greenhouse. “You have people who believe in you. You have a product that works. And you have proof that your ideas can bring people together.”
I look around at the faces surrounding me—friends who gave up their Thursday night to help me succeed, sisters who barely know me but showed up because I matter to Eliza.
“One investor doesn’t make or break your entire future,” Eden adds. “There are other people with money who care about sustainability.”
“And honestly,” Eva says, still typing on her phone, “your socials are going to generate interest whether or not tomorrow night works out. I’ve been posting reels like crazy, and the response is already incredible.”
I want to trust that they’re right. This isn’t the end of everything.
It’s hard to imagine a life outside my parents’ sphere of influence, though.
“Fuck it,” Eliza says, crushing her cup with a strong hand. “We’re going to a fancy-ass party tomorrow. We’re going to have a ton of fun and regroup. We’ll figure something out.”
Kash nods. “You can always work for me if you need money for rent,” he says, waving a hand around. “It’s not like you don’t have advanced degrees.”
Vick snaps his fingers. “Yeah, dude. Go to the party. Light a Yule log on fire. No regrets.”
The air feels heavy as everyone files out. Eliza tells her family she’s going to drive me home since she abstained from the nog, and I had quite a bit.
I want to trust her. If her unconventional goat business can keep the lights on, surely we can find a way forward with my mini trees.
Maybe I’ll feel more hopeful in the morning. Right now, I sort of wish her herd had finished eating my entire crop.