Chapter 4
Chapter Four
The Puppy in the Window
I ’m glad that my parents agreed to have lunch with me today.
Meeting them at a restaurant means I won’t be stuck in the uncomfortable position of being inside their house when I tell them the news that I lost my job and they inevitably insist I move back in with them.
It’s not that I think they would kidnap me and not let me leave, but that is how I ended up living with them again after college.
I was worried about not being able to afford rent on my own.
My mom baked a warm apple pie, and brought me a slice with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream.
Then we sat on the couch and watched movies, and it was so comfortable that I felt like a kid again.
They didn’t have to try very hard to convince me to move in.
Just being with them in their home made me want that life back.
The easy, comfortable life of my childhood.
I walk inside and spot them at a table near the back. My mom smiles and waves as I head over to them. I put on a smile, bracing myself for the conversation that’s about to happen.
“I ordered you a strawberry lemonade,” my mom says. She slides the glass closer to me as I sit down.
I smile and take a sip.
“I’m surprised Delmar let you take an hour for lunch,” my dad says. He looks me over. “And that you can get away with wearing something like that to work.”
I look down at my outfit. I guess if I wanted to keep up the charade of still having a job a little longer, I should have suggested we meet up on a weekend or not worn a loose sweater with leggings on a day I would normally be at work.
I shrug. “I can wear whatever I want when I work for myself.”
Dad’s eye twitches. Mom has a smile that doesn’t falter even as she glances between me and Dad.
“What happened to your job, Priss?” Dad asks slowly.
I bite my lip, trying to decide if I should go with the truth or if I should make it sound like this was all my decision. I’m not a good liar, though. I let out my breath. “I got fired.”
“Oh, no…” Mom reaches her hand across the table to pet my arm.
“You what? ” Dad exclaims. “How? Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I say defensively. I shrug off Mom’s hand. “It was stupid. A misunderstanding. But it’s fine. I decided to start my own company.”
Dad pinches his lips together in the way that he does when he thinks I’m making a bad decision. “That’s a little impulsive, don’t you think? How long has it been? Did you even try to look for a new job?”
I wipe my hair out of my face and take a sip of lemonade to cool myself down. “I don’t have to look for a new job. I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own.”
“You don’t know the first thing about running a business,” Dad argues.
“It’s not all ribbons and rainbows and…
and… pretty tablecloths.” He shakes his head, at a loss for words for a moment.
Then he continues: “You’ll have to think about bookkeeping, and quarterly taxes, and how you’re going to support yourself during slow seasons.
You were living paycheck to paycheck. How are you going to pay your rent if you don’t get enough clients this month? ”
“You can move back in with us,” Mom assures me with a nod.
I give her a smile, then look back at Dad. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “My first client already paid a deposit that’s more than enough to cover my expenses.”
His eyes narrow. “Who is your first client?”
I want to keep my answer vague, but I can tell that he already knows. I take another sip of lemonade to avoid having to answer right away. When I put my glass down, he raises his eyebrows, prodding me to answer.
“Tina,” I mumble.
“Of course,” he says with a sigh. “What did I tell you about never taking money from a friend?”
“Okay, but this is different. She’s not just giving me money. She’s paying me for an event I’m planning for her.” Even though my parents don’t know Ryan, I still feel compelled to keep Tina’s proposal a secret. Something tells me they won’t take me seriously if they know what I’m doing.
Dad shakes his head. “You get these ideas in your head, you obsess over them, and then you act impulsively and make bad decisions. You’ve always been this way.”
I wince.
“Remember that dog you saw at the pet store when you were twelve?” he reminds me.
I cover my face. “You don’t have to?—”
He cuts me off, telling the story anyway: “You became so obsessed with the idea of bringing that dog home. You came up with a name for him, you spent your entire allowance on a dog bed, a leash, a collar, and even a bag of dog food. You guilted your mom into going back to the store and adopting him, except when she got there, he was already gone. Someone else took him. He was never yours to begin with.”
“This isn’t the same,” I mutter through my hands.
“My point is that you become obsessive, and when you do, you can’t see things rationally. Something tells me you didn’t spend any time thinking this decision through.”
I take my hands off my face and glare at him. “Of course I did. I put a lot of thought into this decision.”
I leave out the fact that I spent only a couple of hours mulling it over before agreeing to Tina’s offer.
“And besides,” I continue. “It’s not like this is a binding commitment. I’ll do Tina’s thing, and if I don’t like working for myself, I’ll find another job. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Dad watches me for a moment. The absence of words feels even harsher than when he was openly criticizing me. His words still ring in my ears. You’re obsessive. Obsessive. You can’t see things rationally.
I hate that I know he’s right, though I’m not about to admit it.
I like to think that I’ve grown up and gotten better, but I guess I can still be that way sometimes.
My mind wanders to when I first met Oliver.
I did the same thing with him that I did with that dog at the store.
I obsessed over him for a full week and even told Tina how much I liked him.
I had practically married him in my head already.
All of this, only to find out that he was never mine to begin with.
At least I didn’t start buying him things before I learned he was an asshole.
Not that I had any money to spend, anyway. Oh, how I miss the days of earning an allowance just for being a kid.
My parents exchange a look, and in that, a silent communication takes place. Dad bites his lip before speaking again. “As long as you’ve thought this through,” he says, sounding resigned. “I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Our waiter comes to take our order, and with that, the conversation is over.
* * *
“We should get something cute,” Tina suggests.
We’re at our favorite nail salon later in the day, staring at the wall of polish colors like we don’t already know exactly what colors we want.
The conversation with my parents earlier only temporarily dulled my happiness.
Now more than ever, I’m determined to prove my dad wrong.
This isn’t one of my silly obsessions. This is my career, and I’m taking it seriously.
“Little smiley faces or maybe ghosts,” Tina continues. She holds up two bottles of nail polish—one black and one white.
I raise a brow. “I don’t know about that.”
“Come on. It would be so cute.”
I’m about to remind her that I don’t care for anything other than solid colors or French tips, when a crazy idea occurs to me.
If Tina gets something silly painted on her nails, then Ryan might put off the proposal, at least until Oliver and I can figure out a plan.
It’s a long shot, but I know that Tina will want her hands to be picture-ready to show off the beautiful ring he got her.
Ryan knows this too. It’s this type of thoughtfulness that makes him so perfect for her.
“You’re right. It would be cute.” I cringe as I hear myself say, “Fine. I’ll do it with you.”
Her face lights up. “Really? You would get ghosts with me?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it,” I say with a shrug. “Let’s get ghosts on our nails.”
After explaining what we want to the nail techs, we sit down and discuss the plan for her proposal while the techs work on our nails.
In the week since we started planning this, I’ve come up with a basic outline for how things will go, and I even reached out to a stable that has the white horses she wants.
“You and Ryan will go for a carriage ride. I’m looking into finding a stable that has white horses. I also have a meeting with the choreographer next week if you want to come. Have you thought about what song you want during the flash mob?”
Tina takes a moment to think about her answer. “I was thinking of using ‘Marry You’ by Bruno Mars, but I’m not sure if I should be using a female artist instead, since, you know, I’m the one proposing. Maybe ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift?”
“A female artist would be a good idea but I don’t know about that song. It’s a little too ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ which doesn’t apply to your situation. You love his family.”
“True,” she says. “But what other songs are there?”
“I’m sure we can find something that fits. I’ll look into it before we meet with the choreographer and I’ll make a list you can choose from.”
Tina smiles. “You’re the best.”
I smile back.
“But enough about me,” she says. “How was lunch with your parents?”
I groan.
“That bad?” she says.
“I almost think they took the news of me starting my own business worse than the news that I got fired,” I tell her.
Her lip curves downward. “Sorry.”
“But it will be fine,” I assure her. “I’m not going to let my dad get to me. And thanks to you, I don’t even have to think about moving back in with them.”
She continues to smile, and it seems genuine enough, but there’s a flicker behind it that makes me wonder what else is on her mind. I wait.
“I hope you mean that,” she finally says.
I frown.
“Remember when you were talking about switching your major to software engineering?” she reminds me. “You were so excited about it, but you mentioned it to your parents and you let your dad talk you out of it.”
“That’s different,” I say. “I saw all of the amazing things you were creating and I wanted to be a part of it. My dad was right. It was just a phase. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, and I wouldn’t have created anything nearly as amazing as you did.”
She shrugs. “I guess you’ll never know.”
“He was right,” I insist. “I get—” I stop myself from saying “obsessive.” “I get these ideas in my head that sound really good at the time but I haven’t really thought them through.
That’s all that was. This is different. I chose the right career for myself, and nothing is going to get in the way of me creating the most magical moment for you to propose to Ryan. ”
She seems reassured by my answer. I just hope that I can follow through with it—not because I’m worried about being talked out of it, but because I’m worried that Ryan will beat me to it.