Dad squeezed my shoulder as his gaze wandered, no doubt picking up on the subtle signs that the shop could use an infusion of cash. “Everything good?”
“Yep.” I gestured to the seating area. "Want coffee? On the house."
“Oh, I could use a pick-me-up,” Mom said, but she gestured to my dad to cough up some cash, which he did immediately. “One of those yummy lattes you make would be lovely.”
“Yummy latte coming up,” I said with a smile, ignoring how Callum’s attention immediately zeroed in on my parents.
Why did I feel like I was suddenly standing naked behind the counter? What was he still doing here? Usually, he was out the door by now.
I made them both lattes—Dad's with an extra shot, Mom's with vanilla the way she preferred—and joined them during the lull. Mika caught my eye from behind the counter and made an exaggerated sympathetic face.
"So," Dad said, wrapping his hands around his biodegradable cup. "How's business?"
"Good. Busy,” I chirped with too much enthusiasm to be believable. I cleared my throat, adding with a more natural tone. “Actually, really good. Can’t complain. Keeps me on my toes.”
“That chair over there looks like it’s wobbling,” my dad gestured with a frown. “Seems a bit unsafe.”
“Um, yes, actually, the owners already have a replacement chair on order,” I lied. “I think it’ll be okay until the new one arrives.”
Mom frowned as if she were unsure about my assurances but leaned forward, changing the subject. “Darling, you’re never going to believe who we ran into at the grocery store last week —Janet Morrison. You remember her daughter Emily? Well, according to Janet, Emily just finished her physical therapy degree."
There it was.
"That's great for Emily," I said carefully. I did remember Emily and we weren’t friends but my mom thought if we went to school together, we must be buddies.
"She's already got a job lined up at a sports medicine clinic. Starting salary is sixty-five thousand." Mom's tone was an impressed whisper. “Can you imagine that? Janet mentioned the program is still accepting applications for the fall semester.”
My throat tightened. "I'm not going back to school, Mom."
"We're not saying you have to," Mom quickly said. "We just want to make sure you've thought about your options."
"I have options. I have this." I gestured around the shop, at the exposed brick walls I'd helped paint, the menu board I'd designed, the place I'd poured three years of my existence into because the owners decided to take on a lost girl who needed a purpose. “I might not be on the deed but this place feels like mine.”
“That’s delusional thinking, Willow,” my dad said, not even trying to soften his criticism. At least my mom tried to give me a pillow to land on. “If your name isn’t on the paperwork, none of this is yours.”
“I know that, Dad,” I grumbled, hating that he was such a stickler for the obvious. “I’m saying, it feels like mine because I put in a lot of sweat equity.”
“More like free labor,” my dad countered.
“Stop, you two,” Mom said, shooting my dad a quelling look. "But Willow, honey, you're twenty-three. Don't you want something more stable? A career with benefits and retirement and?—"
"A future?" I finished for her. "You can say it."
“Well, yes.”
They looked at Brew & Bean and saw a phase, a detour, a mistake I was too stubborn to correct. Theydidn't see the way I'd learned to read customers, to remember orders, to create art in a cup. They didn't understand that this was the only thing I'd ever been good at that felt entirely mine.
Maybe I was hiding behind a perfectly frothy cappuccino but it was my choice to make and they needed to let me make it.
"I'm happy," I said, and hated how defensive I sounded.
“And I’m willing to bet you’d be happy —perhaps more so —being able to afford your bills without help.”
YEOUCH, DAD.
“I’m sure I would.” I couldn’t deny that they'd helped me with rent twice in the past year when the shop had slow months. They'd co-signed my lease since my credit wasn't good enough on its own. My mom slipped me cash now and then without my dad knowing. Usually at the end of the month when I didn’t have enough left over to buy food.
My mom could sense that me and my dad were about to get into an uncomfortable conversation. She looked to my dad, signaling that it was time to go. “Well, we should let you get back to work," Mom said, standing and pulling me into another hug, though I was much stiffer this time around. "Think about what we said, okay? There's no shame in changing direction."
