“I’m fine,” I croak, reaching for water, which only spreads the fire.
J.P. smirks. “The soju helps,” he suggests, filling my shot glass again.
I gulp it down gratefully, the relief immediate, as the taste of sweet apple replaces the burning flames.
“So, Ms. Cho,” I say once I can speak again, “Sora’s dad mentioned you also work in finance?”
“Jennifer, please,” she insists. My country-boy heart struggles with this. I’ll call them what they prefer but it’s painful not to address my girlfriend’s parents as anything other than Mr. and Ms.
“Thank you, Ms. Jennifer,” I respond, finding a happy compromise.
“Such a gentleman,” she coos. “And yes, I work in wealth management for a private bank. Nothing as riveting as what you probably do. I’m assuming your clients are more invested in stocks? Personal wealth? We work more with venture capitalists.”
“Spot-on,” I say flatly, not knowing if that’s true.
“Now what’s the likelihood of you getting Sora a job?”
“Sora has a job,” I respond, a little sharper than I intend.
“Mom thinks writing romance novels is ridiculous,” Sora explains, a trace of old hurt in her voice.
“I said frivolous, not ridiculous,” Jennifer protests. “I said it’s difficult to make a living at it. There’s a difference. How many writers do you know can feed their families off their income?”
“Besides Dad?” There’s challenge in Sora’s eyes, addressing the obvious truth we’re all privy to. J.P. Cooper is a do-as-I-say, not-as-I-do kind of father.
The table falls silent. Even the sizzling grill seems to quiet.
“For clarity, I’m also an author, Forrest,” J.P. echoes.
“Oh, I know. You’re a legend, sir. And it’s nice to see that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I wrap my arm around Sora’s shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. “If we ever have children, I hope they are creative and brave enough to follow in your guys’ footsteps.”
J.P.’s jaw hardens, and his eyes go flat. “I’ve been trying to kick the apple clear off the orchard for years now. But Sora’s a stubborn one.”
“Lovely, Dad, thanks,” Sora grumbles, further deflating.
“I think it’s admirable.” I place a hand on Sora’s knee and squeeze, like I’m trying to hold her together. “Following your passion takes courage.”
“It takes something,” J.P. mutters. “Not sure it’s courage.”
“J.P.,” Jennifer warns quietly.
“What? We’re all adults here.” He fixes Sora with a penetrating stare. “How much was your last royalty check? Enough to cover rent? Groceries?”
“Dad—”
“Because if not, you’re not following your passion. You’re indulging a hobby at the expense of a real career.”
Sora’s shoulders slump, and something coiled up in me finally unravels, then snaps.
“With all due respect, sir,” I say, my voice calm but firm, “your daughter is incredibly talented. And resilient. She works harder than anyone I know.”
J.P.’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.” I meet his gaze. “Not everyone’s path to success looks the same. And not everyone measures success by the size of their bank account.”
“Easy to say when you have one,” J.P. counters.
“I know struggle,” I reply, thinking of the endless days and nights of my childhood on the ranch, working to make ends meet. How my dad got up every day, not knowing if the lights would stay on, but he laced up his boots and put on his hat just the same. “And I know what it takes to keep going when the odds are stacked against you.”
