Stu directed a solemn look my way. “I think you owe Mayor Bennington an apology note. I have stationery in the den.”
“Such inconsiderate rudeness is not tolerated in this family,” Mom continued. “Atanylevel. Megan Irene Campbell, you know better.”
The middle name scorn cut deep. “I really am sorry. For embarrassing you and for belittling Crystal Cove.” I held up my plate and silently accepted egg casserole. I moved the plate too soon and a chunk of sausage slimed onto the linen tablecloth, instantly releasing a grease stain.
“Did you talk to Nick?” Derek asked me quietly.
I shook my head no. I’d texted him an apology but didn’t hear back. Probably best to cut ties, though I hadn’t the heart to delete his number.
Mom let out a long, measured sigh. She steepled her hands over her plate. The Christmas tree-shaped block of butter displayed on a tiered serving tray waited for us to dig in, but no one did. “Megan, maybe you can share with us what you want out of life. That may help Stu and me to understand.”
When my outburst wasn’t playing like a highlight reel through my mind, I’d been thinking this over too. I thought back to my conversation with Nick. What did I love about living in the city? The arts, the culture, the things I often read about but missed in person because I worked so many hours and didn’t have the funds for pricey ticketed events. I had, however, attended museum free days occasionally and even met up with one of our cafe regulars, Sadie, at the Chicago Historical Society. She became my unofficial tour guide for a fashion exhibit. Sadie worked her day job at a vintage shop. She did the retail hustle same as me while dreaming of running the shop and expanding the business online.
Only my something more was far more undefined.
“I like planning events,” I blurted. I sounded ridiculous, and Mom and Stu’s faltering, too-eager faces proved it. I swallowed. “I’ve been booking our musicians at the cafe and coordinating private events. I’m good at the planning. It’s why I wanted the manager job at the cafe but...” I unfolded the red holly-trimmed fabric napkin and lay it across my lap, tugging at the edges. “I don’t think manager is what I want. I think I want to run events. Like, as a job.”
Derek finished chewing a forkful of egg scramble. “My company outsources our event planning. Even our holiday party. You can freelance that, you know.”
“Freelancing isn’t secure work.” Stu looked at Mom while he said it.
“I know a lot of vendors.” I ignored Stu’s doubty-face. “People are always looking for space to use for events—it’s how our cafe got into booking private parties. I have sources, I just need to better organize them.” My thoughts sounded scattered, but ideas were coming together. “I never considered planning events myself outside of Drip.”
Derek tapped his phone awake. “You could tag in with a company who already does event planning. Or start your own.”
Mom pointed at Derek. “No phones at the table.”
Stu held up a hand. “Let’s take it easy on the starting your own business talk. Megan isn’t in any position to start a company.” He chuckled. “Not with an income making coffee drinks and an unreliable car with four bald tires.”
Mom cast a stern look at her husband. “Stu. Please be mindful Megan is an adult and we aren’t expected to direct her every move.” Mom looked across the table at me. “I think knowing what you want to do is a great start. Even if you don’t know how you’ll go about it yet.”
“All I’m saying,” Stu went on, “is there are perfectly good full-time jobs with benefits at the manufacturing plant here in town. Megan can live here, we can help pay for college and—”
“Stu.” Mom’s voice rose. “We’re overstepping. Our role is to support. If Megan doesn’t want to live with us and finish a degree, we can’t make her.” She looked at me. “I just want the best for you. I don’t think I’ve trusted you enough that you have an idea what’s best for yourself."
My heart tugged. “Thanks, Mom.” She had my back and believed in my ability to dream for myself. “Your support means a lot.”
Stu sat back. “I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped. Same as your mom, I want to see you happy.”
I believed him. Watching Stu and my mom together, they looked happy. Content, even. Mom was smiling more than I’d seen her smile in years. “We’re all family now. I appreciate how you care about my future. I really do. I’ll even take you up on the tires, since it means that much to you.”
Stu’s face perked up. “I know a guy just outside of town. He’ll give us a good deal on a full set of tires.”
Mom’s hand went to Stu’s and she squeezed. Silent communication transferred between them and his expression softened.
“Thank you, Megan,” Mom said. “We are a family. All of us here at this table.”
My family. My suddenly-social-and-dancing-with-strangers-brother, my hardworking mom now in retirement, and a stepdad who got things right most of the time. His heart was in the right place. I’d never be like his kids, but I was realizing I didn’t want to be like them. I wanted to be the best me.
