Page 61 of Can’t Say No

My hope disappears with his, sucked right out of the room by the crash of reality ringing in my hand.

“I better take it.” I swipe reluctantly to answer the call.

“Need you in L.A. tomorrow,” my dad says, bypassing a greeting. “You need to meet with Molly Jo.”

“Okay…” I start slowly, still trying to get my bearings, “I have to be at the school tomorrow until three, but I’ll fly out after.”

I can practically hear his eyes rolling.

“You have to be wherever I tell you to be. Flight’s already been booked, Delaney. This is nonnegotiable. Check your email for the details.”

The line goes dead.

Connor’s back is to me, refocused on finding bowls for the abandoned cereal.

“I have to fly out to L.A. tomorrow morning.”

Connor nods slowly, and I don’t miss the sag in his shoulders.

I close the space between us and wrap my arms around his waist. “Just for a few days. And then I’ll be back and we’ll try this simple thing again.”

I nearly choke on the lie, because nothing about this fragile connection between us will ever be simple, no matter how much we wish it could be.

23

CONNOR

Simple my ass. Nothing with Delaney is simple.

After the phone call from her dad the other night, we ate our Lucky Charms in tense silence. She had to rush to pack and catch a few hours of sleep before an early flight, and I shouldn’t have been over there in the first place.

The fall harvest at the orchard is coming in fast, and we are woefully understaffed. I’ve been putting in a few hours every morning before school, then working in the orchard until well after sundown. But with our crew dwindling, it’s not enough.

I know I can’t keep this pace up, but any way I look at it, there doesn’t seem to be another way through. Pull back from the orchard and stomp all over my dad’s legacy, or quit teaching at Ridgecrest and forfeit the future I’ve worked so hard for.

The bell for second period rings in time with a series of notifications lighting up my phone.

Dad: Come by my place after work.

Dad: We need to talk.

Dad: Thanks.

I rub my temple, a nagging headache beginning to bloom behind my eyes. I know what he wants to talk about: the future of the orchard.

The orchard is supposed to be a retirement plan of sorts for all of us. But it has been floundering for years, and much to my dad’s disappointment, I don’t really care to try to save it.

I love the land, the house, the memories. Growing up on an orchard, wild and free, is every little kid's dream. But running it, the business side of things… that’s not for me. My siblings have all managed to leave Ridgecrest and escape the pressure of running the family farm, but I had to stay.

I don’t regret it… but some days, I wonder if the building resentment in my chest is worth it, if the sacrifices will one day turn the town I love into a place I hate.

The dull headache intensifies as the day wears on, and by lunchtime, I’m holed up in my office with the lights off, searching for a moment of reprieve. I can’t quell the pit in my stomach, the familiar prelude to conversations with my father.

Shadows dance across the dark wood panels. My office feels like it’s stuck in the 1950’s in the best possible way. A big window, crown molding, tiled floor, another reason I love this place. Sure it’s a little rough around the edges, but the imperfections make me love it more.

My office window overlooks the main courtyard, buzzing with lunchtime activity. Students eating, studying, laughing. A game of hacky sack, apparently making a comeback, and a vicious round of Uno.

This is what I love. Bringing literature and language to life for my students, exploring new worlds with them through books, seeing the look on their faces when they get acceptance letters after I’ve helped them edit their essays.