I went back to my parents’home. I couldn’t face going back to Knox’s house. Strange. I’d gotten used to calling it home over the last few months. But today, it’s his place.
Mom is on her way. She should be here any minute. I felt bad that I left the restaurant the way I did while she didn’t have anyone to support her. When I spoke to her on my way here, she told me she’d spoken to Mrs. Porter, too, just after I left.
The house feels too quiet when I walk in. Almost like a tomb.
But that fragile feeling inside me is worse. It feels like my stomach is made of ice-thin glass and any more bad news will shatter me from the inside out.
I head into the living room and turn on the TV just to fill the silence and distract me. I flick through the channels trying to find something that will hit the spot.
I tried calling Mia, but she’s in St. Lucia with Logan. Her phone went straight through to voicemail because she’s probably asleep. The time difference there is quite a few hours.
I left a message. I know she’ll call me back. It’s just a matter of when. But by the time we speak, I probably will have gone crazy.
I just can’t believe what’s happening. And Knox…
I can’t even hate him. The person responsible for all of this is Dad.
What I hate is that Knox kept his secrets from me. But what he’s doing isn’t exactly unreasonable. I can’t blame him for wanting to create a name for himself.
But it hurts. God, it hurts, that he won’t choose me.
I can’t be mad at him for that, either. That would make me the bad guy.
Tears sting my eyes again, and my vision blurs. I don’t even know what channel I land on, until the headline freezes me where I stand.
“Monroes Restaurant Set for Demolition: Community Reacts to Sudden Announcement.”
My knees almost give out.
God. I can’t escape. It’s on the news.
Footage of the restaurant fills the screen.
My restaurant.
My family’s legacy.
The camera pans across the cream awning, the mahogany doors, the outdoor planters my mother replants every spring. It looks so normal on TV. So beautiful. So heartbreakingly familiar.
It’s hard to believe that all of that will be gone.Demolished.
The reporter speaks. “In a surprising development, Vale Global Holdings has announced plans to demolish the beloved Monroes Restaurant on Park Avenue to make way for a luxury commercial project.”
The words hit me again like blunt-force trauma. Reading it in the newspaper was bad enough, but hearing someone say it…
It makes my heart hurt.
Tears stream down my cheeks. I wipe them away, but more come as I continue watching the news.
The footage cuts to a longtime customer I recognize: Mr. Grayson with his silver hair and kind eyes.
“My first date with my wife was at Monroes,” he says. “We celebrated every anniversary there. It feels like losing a family member.”
Another clip follows of a middle-aged woman wiping her eyes.
“I used to come here with my parents when I was little… before they passed. I don’t understand why they’re tearing it down. Some places should be protected.”
My throat closes. She’s right. Some places definitely should be protected. The memories people form there are more than just sentiments. They’re part of their lives. Monroes is over a hundred years old now. That’s over a hundred years of memories, experiences, and events that became a part of people’s lives.
