“Who’s the guy?” he asks as if he has the right to know.
I shake my head. “We aren’t talking about my personal life.”
“Okay...” He opens the water bottle and takes a drink.
“Just tell me why you’re here,” I say firmly but semi-cordially. “Do you have another campaign you need help with?”
He half scoffs. “I’m not the one who needs help, Claire.”
I frown, already exasperated. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw the video, Claire,” he says. “Everyone saw it. Even my mother, and she’s hardly ever online.”
My stomach rolls, knowing that all those people I used to call friends have been discussing my giant salt disaster. It feels like I’m standing in the freezing cold water of that fountain all over again.
It seems he doesn’t know the rest of the story.
But I do. And I’m over it.
“So?”
He puts on a pitying expression. “Look, I’m risking a lot to be here. Misty was less than thrilled about me coming here, but I still feel some obligation toward you.”
I frown. “Why?”
He scoffs. “Because I was the one who kept you from doing these sorts of crazy things over the years. I mean, if it weren’t for me, you would’ve tried to become a wedding planner when Amelia was in grade school. Or a flower arranger when she hit seventh grade. You always had these ridiculous ideas that I knew would never amount to anything, so it was left to me to talk sense into you.”
I’m stunned silent.
The words hit me sideways. I think about all those other ideas I’d had over the years, the ones I’d dreamed of and never pursued—the times I’d wanted to get a job, to go out into the world and meet people and do something meaningful with my life.
And then I think about all the times John had told me no. Not a harsh, cruel no, but a no just the same.
One that was disguised, as this is, as a redirection “for my own good.”
“This is what happens when I’m not around.” He scoffs. “Throwing all your money down the drain to open a bakery? I mean, really, Claire?”
I drag my eyes up to his, and I feel the prickle of self-doubt on the back of my neck. “So I called my lawyer. We can’t get everything back, but he thinks there are a few options—”
“Wait, what?” I cut in. “You did what?”
“Bankruptcymightbe the smartest at this point,” he says. “You wouldn’t have to pay everything back right away.”
Anger and disbelief start to rise. “I can’t believe—” And I stop.
If he’s saying what I think he’s saying, he’s even worse than I thought.
“I’m here to help, Claire,” he croons. “Don’t worry, babe, I’m going to figure out a way to help you out of this.”
I stare at him for a long moment, trying to make this make sense. It’s like scales falling from my eyes. This is how he did it. All those years of keeping me small. All those years of disregarding my creativity but benefiting from it when he needed to.
How had I never realized it before?
And then I have the most freeing thought I’ve maybe ever had in my whole life. I just don’t care.
I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t care if he’s marrying Misty. I don’t even care if they have babies and he’s an old grandpa kindergarten dad.
And the not caring—it’s downright exhilarating.
