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“Of course, we know that, Tillie. Of course. Your dad is just worried is all,” my mom butted in.
But as we finished eating pizza in silence, I didn’t think my dad actually knew that. Because even when I thought back to the best days of Tillie’s Brews, I didn’t think Dad ever really thought of it as a success.
Success was a traditional job that could be depended on for a good salary.
Success was being a lawyer or a doctor, some sort of prestige you could hang your hat on.
Success wasn’t an eighteen-year-old valedictorian giving up on a full college scholarship to head to the city and open a coffee shop, especially one that ended up failing by the time she was thirty.
He didn’t say it, ever. But he didn’t have to. I was a disappointment. I stopped eating my piece of pizza halfway through and excused myself to go to my room.
“Tillie, before you go. I stopped and talked to Tino. He said he doesn’t have space for you on light duty. He’ll hold your job for you until you get back, but he can’t afford to pay you until then.”
I sighed. “Wonderful.”
“It’ll be fine. It’s not like Tino’s was your forever. This will be a good time for you to sort things out. As long as you stay focused.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said because despite everything, I knew he meant well. I knew they both did. I hobbled back to my room on my crutches and fought back the tears. I’d only ever wanted to make him proud while living out my own dreams. But now, I didn’t know if that was possible.
A summer with a popstar or a summer all alone, my life was a mess that went well beyond just a broken ankle. After a few minutes of wallowing, I changed out of my outfit, which took a lot of effort, especially because I was too stubborn to ask for help. I hobbled out to the main area again.
“Where are you going?” my mom asked when she saw me. My dad retreated to his home office, probably back to his work he’d brought home.
“I’m heading to Tino’s.”
“Tillie, your dad already talked to them. It’s going to be fine. If you’re worried about money, don’t. We’ll take care of things until you’re back on your feet.”
I clenched my jaw. “Mom, I’ll figure it out. I will.”
“I know you will,” she said, nodding. I softened.
“I just want to get out of the house and see Grace.”
“You’re supposed to be staying off of your leg,” Mom argued. “The care instructions...”
“That’s what the crutches are for,” I replied. “I’ll be fine. It’s not that far. I’ll take the bus.”
Mom studied me. Still, the same stubborn streak that was prevalent in her was palpable in me, too. I knew it was unwise to be hobbling about a day after the broken ankle situation. But I couldn’t handle being in the condo and moping for one more minute.
“Fine. But let me drive you at least,” she said, rushing over, ready to hover.
I put a hand out. “Okay. But I could do it on my own.”
“I know you could,” she said, without a hint of sarcasm. I smiled. My dad didn’t get me, truly. But my mom did. A part of her understood the piece of me that was the dreamer, the risk-taker.
And even though those dreams and risks hadn’t quite paid off, I limped out of the condo feeling a little bit better about that.
