“This is not a big deal at all,” I tell her. “And you know I’ll do anything to get you out of Mom and Dad’s place right now. Don’t want you mooching off of them until you’re in your forties.”
I was expecting a laugh or at least a chuckle, but I think I activated something she’s already been concerned about because she’s totally silent.
“I’m sorry. That was a joke.”
“I know. I just—I really want this to work out. And if it is too much—”
“I’m not Daddy Warbucks, but I can pinch this if it turns out to be as good of an opportunity as it sounds like. Although, promise me if you decide to make an offer, you’ll get someone to come out and inspect to make sure it really is this good. I don’t want you to get excited and it wind up being something that isn’t as great as it looks on Zillow, you know?”
“Their real estate agent said it’ll probably cost a couple thousand dollars to renovate. There’s a leaky roof and some water damage, but I figure it’s stuff we have to patch up here and there.”
“Like I said, itsoundsgreat. Just don’t get your hopes up until you get out there and make sure that this place is as amazing as it seems, okay?”
“I’ll check on it and get back to you.”
She makes a squealing sound that’s sweet to hear.
I smile.
It’s nice knowing that she’s filled with this much excitement—so different than when I talked to her at that lunch when she had to tell me the truth about what that bastard Lyle did to her. I like that she feels comfortable sharing that with me. And I like that I can be here for her right now when she needs me.
21
“Miranda was telling me earlier she has a lead from work if you’re interested,” Dad says.
I sit at the table with Dad, Miranda, and Conner. Miranda and Conner are my siblings who still live in Atlanta. Josh, my eldest brother, lives in Seattle now, so he can’t just swing by for one of Dad’s occasional dinner get-togethers—ones that remind me of when we were all in high school sharing our success stories. Well, they were sharing their amazing success stories, and I was more detailing a progress report of how my grades had steadily improved through my normal human efforts—since I didn’t inherit the genius genes.
I love my family more than anything, and I know my Dad, despite how he can be sometimes, loves me. He’s not a fucking ass like Mikey’s parents were to him.
“No, but thank you,” I tell him, reminding myself that he’s trying to help out.
“With your bachelor’s in accounting,” Miranda says, “I could get you a good in with the company. You should definitely consider it. It’s not too late to put your foot back into the business world.”
There she goes again. As if, because I chose a different path, I’m sitting here pining away at my missed opportunity. The thing my family will never get is that I don’t need to have their success to feel successful. Not that I’m making a ton of money, and hell, I’m barely paying the rent as it is, but I’ve made enough connections in this industry to believe I can make this work.
“And I offered to talk to some guys at the bank,” Dad adds.
His hair, graying at the sides, has the same curl to it as mine. I’m the only one of the kids who inherited this gene. Everyone else’s hair is about as straight as they are. I used to envy how much easier it was for them to manage their hair, but now it seems simple and boring. I like my curls, even when they are a little wild and unmanageable.
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I don’t need any help. I’m doing fine,” I tell Dad.
I don’t normally snap like that, but I feel like it’s the only way I can get them to shut up and shift the conversation onto something other than me.
Dad eyes me uncomfortably. It reminds me of when I came out to him, that silent disapproval. That feeling like all the work he’d put into me, his investment, was for nothing.
Like Mom’s death was for nothing.
“I say these things because I love you, Scott. I don’t want you to wake up one day waiting tables. You can do really well in a serious career if you apply yourself like you did in school. You’re always going to have to work a little harder than your brothers or sister, but you can get through it. You don’t have to be a CPA like your sister… or the head of your department like your brother Josh.”
“Or an accounts manager like Conner. I get it, Dad,” I say.
He has a way of making me feel like a dummy. And I know he’s trying to be practical, but how does he expect me to feel when he’s sitting there, comparing us like this, making me feel like I need to be a second-rate version of my siblings instead of a first-rate version of myself. I have enough insecurities without him adding this to the mix.
“I’m going to be fine, Dad. I’m working and I’m happy, so can you back off?”
He quiets before running his thumb and forefinger through his goatee, which is graying as much as his hair.
And that’s the end of the discussion about me.
