I feel like I’ve been gut-punched. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think?”
“Am I wrong?”
I sigh. “You’re right,” I mumble as Mister Dog settles down on the floor, curling up into a dog ball.
I take a sip of the coffee and then a bite of the sesame bagel—and damn, it’s good. A little sweet, a little salty, and just the right amount of chewy.
“You like it when things make sense. You like projects to be neat and organized. I had a feeling things didn’t feel so neat and organized, so I wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“A do-over,” I blurt out.
I don’t mean just of the dog event. Or Chloe. Or the goddamn viral video.
I mean of everything.
“So, let’s break it down,” he says.
I turn to him with a wry smile. “Like it’s a business problem we need to find a solution for?”
“Yes. Why do you feel like you messed everything up?”
That’s a good question. I mull it over as I take another bite of the bagel, and when I’m done, I say, “I want to do things the right way. Like you taught me. When you left the business, Dad, you left it in my hands.”
“And you ran it well,” he says, pride in his tone.
Sure. I did. For a while. “Right, but I sold it. I fell out of love with it. And you remember when it was time to sell the business? You didn’t understand why I wanted to make that move. With everything we’d done…you didn’t understand why I was leaving it all behind.”
He takes a beat, drinks some of his coffee, then sets it on the table. “It seemed that way to you, I’m hearing?”
“Itwasthat way. I wanted to show you that I could do the same thing with this dog daycare business. And I just always thought you thought it was crazy to do that.”
He blows out a breath. “I made you think that, didn’t I?” he says with some regret.
“Well…sort of,” I say, but I’m not mad. I just want to…understand it now.
He takes a moment, clearly thinking things through as he looks around my home, maybe taking in the plants, the couch, the dog who owns the place. “I did ask you a lot of questions when you were ready to leave,” he says slowly, “but do you know why I did that?”
I thought I did. Maybe I don’t. “Why?”
“I wanted you to be dead sure of your decision. I wanted you to know in your gut it was the right choice for you. That’s why I still ask you the hard questions—so you’ll know what’s rightfor you.”
And hell, that does make sense. “Sure. I get that.”
“Is Dog Tails right for you?”
I think of the work I do, the way the employees love it, how I feel like I’m providing a valuable service for the community, how much the clients—human and canine—truly enjoy Dog Tails. “It is.”
“Good.” He knocks back some more coffee and then, having given his full-throated approval with that one simple word, he waits for me to go next, making it clear the conversational ball is still in my court.
“You talked a lot too about staying in the lines, sticking to the plan, maintaining boundaries,” I say, and then my gut twists, but I say the harder thing. “I guess I wanted you to approve of my decision to let the shared business go. And I wanted to make sure I was carrying on those values.”
His sigh is full of regret. “I did approve. I do approve. I’m sorry I never made that clear.”
Maybe he didn’t. But I didn’t ask either. I haven’t been clear with myself. With my employees. Or…with Chloe. “I didn’t either. But I do appreciate everything you taught me. Everything you instilled in me.”
“I know. And I’ll be clear now—I’m proud of you,” he says, and my chest warms. “I’m proud of you whether you do it perfectly or a little bit messy at times.”
I bark out a laugh. “Or a lot.”
