“Oh, no…” Mom reaches her hand across the table to pet my arm.
“Youwhat?” Dad exclaims. “How? Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I say defensively. I shrug off Mom’s hand. “It was stupid. A misunderstanding. But it’s fine. I decided to start my own company.”
Dad pinches his lips together in the way that he does when he thinks I’m making a bad decision. “That’s a little impulsive, don’t you think? How long has it been? Did you even try to look for a new job?”
I wipe my hair out of my face and take a sip of lemonade to cool myself down. “I don’t have to look for a new job. I’m perfectly capable of doing this on my own.”
“You don’t know the first thing about running a business,” Dad argues. “It’s not all ribbons and rainbows and… and… pretty tablecloths.” He shakes his head, at a loss for words for a moment. Then he continues: “You’ll have to think about bookkeeping, and quarterly taxes, and how you’re going to support yourself during slow seasons. You were living paycheck to paycheck. How are you going to pay your rent if you don’t get enough clients this month?”
“You can move back in with us,” Mom assures me with a nod.
I give her a smile, then look back at Dad. “I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “My first client already paid a deposit that’s more than enough to cover my expenses.”
His eyes narrow. “Who is your first client?”
I want to keep my answer vague, but I can tell that he already knows. I take another sip of lemonade to avoid having to answer right away. When I put my glass down, he raises his eyebrows, prodding me to answer.
“Tina,” I mumble.
“Of course,” he says with a sigh. “What did I tell you about never taking money from a friend?”
“Okay, but this is different. She’s not just giving me money. She’s paying me for an event I’m planning for her.” Even though my parents don’t know Ryan, I still feel compelled to keep Tina’s proposal a secret. Something tells me they won’t take me seriously if they know what I’m doing.
Dad shakes his head. “You get these ideas in your head, you obsess over them, and then you act impulsively and make bad decisions. You’ve always been this way.”
I wince.
“Remember that dog you saw at the pet store when you were twelve?” he reminds me.
I cover my face. “You don’t have to?—”
He cuts me off, telling the story anyway: “You became so obsessed with the idea of bringing that dog home. You came up with a name for him, you spent your entire allowance on a dog bed, a leash, a collar, and even a bag of dog food. You guilted your mom into going back to the store and adopting him, except when she got there, he was already gone. Someone else took him. He was never yours to begin with.”
“This isn’t the same,” I mutter through my hands.
“My point is that you become obsessive, and when you do, you can’t see things rationally. Something tells me you didn’t spend any time thinking this decision through.”
I take my hands off my face and glare at him. “Of course I did. I put a lot of thought into this decision.”
I leave out the fact that I spent only a couple of hours mulling it over before agreeing to Tina’s offer.
“And besides,” I continue. “It’s not like this is a binding commitment. I’ll do Tina’s thing, and if I don’t like working for myself, I’ll find another job. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Dad watches me for a moment. The absence of words feels even harsher than when he was openly criticizing me. His words still ring in my ears.You’re obsessive. Obsessive. You can’t see things rationally.
I hate that I know he’s right, though I’m not about to admit it. I like to think that I’ve grown up and gotten better, but I guess I can still be that way sometimes. My mind wanders to when I first met Oliver. I did the same thing with him that I did with that dog at the store. I obsessed over him for a full week and even told Tina how much I liked him. I had practically married him in my head already. All of this, only to find out that he was never mine to begin with. At least I didn’t start buying him things before I learned he was an asshole.
Not that I had any money to spend, anyway. Oh, how I miss the days of earning an allowance just for being a kid.
My parents exchange a look, and in that, a silent communication takes place. Dad bites his lip before speaking again. “As long as you’ve thought this through,” he says, sounding resigned. “I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Our waiter comes to take our order, and with that, the conversation is over.
* * *
“We should get something cute,” Tina suggests. We’re at our favorite nail salon later in the day, staring at the wall of polish colors like we don’t already know exactly what colors we want. The conversation with my parents earlier only temporarily dulled my happiness. Now more than ever, I’m determined to prove my dad wrong. This isn’t one of my silly obsessions. This is my career, and I’m taking it seriously.
