My father’s mouth drops, and my mother smiles at me, giving me courage.
“You did, sweetheart?” she asks, obviously pleased.
I nod. “Yes. And Micah’s going to go to Nashville to record his new album. He’s very talented. I know he’ll do well, and this can become a career for me.”
My father lifts his chin. “Okay. But what about being Micah’s manager as well as study marketing? If you go into marketing, you could eventually work at the company with me.”
I take a step back, reeling. “That’s why you wanted to push me into a marketing major?”
His eyebrows furrow. “I’m not going to run my company forever. I thought… maybe after college, you could help me then eventually take it over.”
I can’t believe what he’s saying. That’s sort of sweet in his own way. But I have no interest in his business at all. In fact, I can’t think of a more boring business than what he does. Why would I want to sell rivets? I take a moment to think so I can be rational and still not hurt his feelings. “I don’t think manufacturing industrial fasteners is really my thing, Dad. That’s whatyou’repassionate about.”
“It’s not exciting, but it’s a stable path. Reliable income.”
I sigh, and shake my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to take over your business.”
His expression turns thoughtful. “What about health insurance? Have you thought about that?”
The question catches me off guard. I expected more arguments, more objections about the instability of creative careers. But this is a practical question. A real concern, not a dismissal.
“Yes.” I shift my weight. “I’ve already contacted an organization called Music Health Alliance, which helps musicians and their managers get health insurance. They work with people in the entertainment industry to find affordable coverage. I’ve filled out the preliminary paperwork.”
My mother crosses her legs. “You seem to have done a lot of research.”
“Yes,” my father says. “But it’s still a gamble. An unstable income. Like writing is.”
Micah and I practiced this part, so I take courage and go into my speech. “I know it’s difficult to make a full-time living as a writer, but I’ve done a lot of research. Many authors are turning to self-publishing to make ends meet. You get a higher percentage of royalties. You get seventy percent versus the twelve to fifteen percent traditional publishers offer. And you can do things like create audiobooks and translations to bring in multiple streams of income.”
My father raises his eyebrows but doesn’t interrupt me. The silence feels like permission to continue, so I do.
“And while I write books, I can take online classes. One of my life goals is to get a diploma, so don’t worry about me quitting school. I want to graduate.” My voice grows more passionate as I speak, the words flowing faster now. “Online school isn’t any easier. In fact, in some ways, it’s harder than going to in-person classes. You have to be self-motivated.There’s no one checking on you, no professor taking attendance. But I am determined.”
My father shifts but doesn’t object anymore, so I continue.
“And as I’m doing all of that, I can be Micah’s manager, which pays real money.”
My mother practically bounces off the couch, her face glowing with pride. She crosses the room in three quick steps and envelops me in a hug. “Oh, sweetie. This is so exciting.”
She turns to Micah. “Congratulations. Your hard work is paying off.”
“Thank you,” he says, ducking his head.
I grin at her, tears pricking at my eyes, but I force them down. I can’t fall apart now. Not when my father is still sitting there, silent and unreadable.
My mother steps back. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. “I’m so proud of you both.”
“Of course I’m proud of you both as well,” my father stammers, the words coming out unsurely. He stands slowly. “I just worry about you,” he says quietly, and for the first time, I hear the fear underneath his control. The love underneath his demands.
“I’ll be fine, Daddy.” The childhood nickname slips out without thought. “I need to follow my dreams.”
He finally crosses the room and walks to me, his steps hesitant. When he reaches me, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a hug that feels awkward and wonderful at the same time. “I just want you to have everything life has to offer,” he murmurs into my hair.
I can’t believe it. I actually stood up to him, and he didn’t force me into submission. He didn’t threaten or manipulate or guilt me into changing my mind.
He listened.
He does love me. He’s just been showing it by trying to protect me from failure, from struggle, from the uncertainty of a creative life. By trying to get me to take over his business.
