My parents are as polished and professional as ever in their business casual attire—even after arriving from a flight. My father’s silver hair is trim. Mom wears her patent, sleek black bob.
When we were growing up, people would comment that my sister was identical to our mother. Her “mini me.” I was just the “other daughter.”
Now, as adults, since Elise followed their footsteps as a lawyer, people comment that “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Well, they only got one apple. That would be their eldest daughter. Somehow, they produced an orange and I went tumbling across the orchard.
My mother’s lips purse. My father’s expression is already disappointed before I even open my mouth.
“April,” Mom says, breezing past me into the shop space. “We need to talk.”
“You could have called first.”
“Would you have answered?” Dad asks, and he has a point.
I gaze at the floor because I have been avoiding them lately.
My mother breezes around the space and then returns to my father’s side like we’re about to have a faceoff. I remain standing, arms crossed defensively, when really, I want to curl into a ball and pretend they’re not here.
Mom begins the deposition. “Elise told us you signed a commercial lease.”
“I did.”
My father’s temple twitches.
“For a dog bakery.” The way she says it, it might as well be a pet cemetery.
“A dog bakery and training center. The Barkery. Yes.”
My father’s expression sharpens as if I just confessed a crime. “April, we’ve been patient. We’ve waited for you to work this out of your system. But this has gone too far.”
“Worked what out of my system?”
“This phase,” my mother says, waving her hand vaguely. “The dog walking, the training classes, the small-town life. We understand you needed time to figure things out after law school, but?—”
“I didn’t need time to figure things out. I figured it out immediately. I don’t want to be a lawyer.”
My father’s nostrils flare. “You’re wasting your potential. You have a brilliant mind, April. You could be making real money, building a real career?—”
“I have a real career.”
“Walking dogs is not a career.” My mother’s voice is disdainful. “It’s a hobby at best.”
The old April—the one who spent years trying to please them—would shrink right now. Would apologize. Would at least consider their perspective. But as of right now, standing in this space, which may be the only good thing I have left, I bury that version of myself like a dog would a bone. It’s gone. Lost.
“You came all the way to Nebraska to tell me my job isn’t real?”
“We came here because we’re worried about you. Plus, this whole thing with that hockey player?—”
“Clark.”
“Is foolish. He plays games all day. You need someone serious.”
Dad says, “You barely know him?—”
I cock my head, wondering just how well they know me. “I’ve known him for ten years.”
“And now suddenly you’re committed to each other? After all this time?” Dad shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense, April.”
“What doesn’t make sense is you showing up unannounced to criticize every choice I’ve made.” My voice is rising, but I can’t stop it. “I’m twenty-eight years old. I have a successful business. I’ve signed a lease on a commercial property. I’m happy.” At least I was until this week.
