He nodded.
“And so you’re hiding out here? Great.”
“She knows where I am,” he said. “She’s got location tracking on my phone.”
I could see how, if I were fourteen years old, I would want to dump a bunch of cash into a redneck hot tub company. But Topher wasn’t fourteen. He was twenty. And blowing through cash that didn’t even belong to him while other people—like me!—took the blame.
I knew what I had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. I was the fun uncle. Not the tough-love uncle. But I owed this to Topher. I loved him enough to know that.
“You’re fired,” I said.
“What?” Topher circled around the couch and rushed toward the dining room table. “Slice, Slice, Baby is my life! I basically ran the place for the last four months!”
“I know that,” I told him. “And that’s my fault. I asked too much of you. I should have done this sooner, but dammit, Toph, I’m doing it now.”
He began to pace. “What am I supposed to do? I was trying to save up for my own place.”
“You were?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I was thinking about it.”
I pulled out the chair beside me. “Sit down, buddy.”
He sniffed, his eyes glossy with tears.
Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, I pulled him in and planted a kiss on his forehead just like I’d done so many times when he was a kid. After a moment, I let go so he and I could see eye to eye.
“Tomorrow, you and I are going to see your mom. We’re going to tell her everything. I’m going to own up to my shit and you’re going to own up to yours.”
His head lolled back. “This blows.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “It does.”
“And listen, I don’t give a shit if you go to college—though your mom might and it might take some time and convincing—but I want you to find your thing, and I’m going to do whatever I can to help you do that. So if you want to be a chef, I’m sending you to whatever Michelin star culinary school you want. Or if you want to work as a mechanic or a choir teacher or—”
“Craft services,” he blurted. “I’ve always wanted to work in craft services in Hollywood.”
“Really?” I asked.
“I know I love working with food,” he said as he rubbed his eyes and yawned. “And I’ve always wanted to work on movie sets.”
His yawn set off my own and I stood to stretch. “I don’t know if there’s a school for that, but the offer stands, kiddo. Whatever you want to do, I’m going to help you get there. And that includes talking to your mom.”
“That’s the hardest part,” he mumbled.
“Hey,” I snapped as I went to investigate his everything pizza. “Your mom is an amazing parent. You know that, right? She’s spent her whole life loving you and dreaming for you and fighting for you. Before your siblings and stepdad, it was just the two of you. She’s not perfect, but you’re growing in a direction she doesn’t know how to handle.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m not going to be some lawyer or professor like she wants, but I can still make her proud.”
“I know that,” I told him. “And she will too.”
I scooped up a slice of his pizza and folded it in half before taking a bite full of pineapple, olives, and anchovy.
“Topher, this is fucking foul,” I said as I took another bite.
He grinned. “But if you hadn’t tried it, how would you know?”
After doing a little surgery on my game controller, we played a few rounds ofMario Kartand picked apart his Frankenstein pizza while Bread paced circles, waiting for me to go to bed.
