Page 90 of Gin and Bear It

“Seriously, I can help you come up with an excuse if you don’t want to go. Maybe something about the bar opening and marketing?” She shrugs. Her sincerity is so sweet that it tugs at my heart, even though I’m mostly pissed at this upcoming party.

“It’s really fine. I have to suck it up or Dad’ll be even more pissed off at me than usual.” I back up against the cat tree in the corner, where CC has been sitting and watching me drink my coffee. He climbs onto my shoulder and sits.

“You don’t get along with your dad at all, do you?” she says, leaning her hip against the counter.

“He doesn’t like me. Never has.” I shrug the shoulder that CC isn’t sitting on and go to the fridge.

“What? He’s your dad. Surely he loves you.” Jada looks like I’ve told her my dad is from space.

“Technically, maybe. But not really.” I grab a cookie from Sarah Jane’s that I put in the fridge for safekeeping. “He has some duty as a father, like working and bringing in money. But he’s never given much of a shit about any of us besides JD.”

“Oh, Ash…”

The memory of Jada’s dad’s warmth when telling her that he was proud of her comes back to me, along with a stab of jealousy. Even when my band’s songs topped the charts, I never got a nod of approval from my dad. Just a tenth of the pride that Jada’s dad showed in that moment would have fueled me for years as a kid.

“Did you know he’s literally tone deaf?” I say. “All music sounds like noise to him. It’s pretty rare, apparently.”

“What? That’s wild.” She reaches over to pet CC, who butts his cheek against her fingers.

“Yeah. When I was just learning guitar—I was maybe six or so—I used to try to play for him. He’d always be annoyed, so I stopped trying to get his attention that way.” I break the cookie in half and offer the other side to Jada. “Then it motivated me to practice harder as a ‘fuck you’ to him. And to be different than my brothers. I didn’t want to fall into line.”

I’ve had more time to think about the teenage me than ever recently, and the more I do, the softer I feel. Was a lot of my behavior extremely cringy and annoying, especially to my brothers and mom? Yeah. But I was fucking miserable a lot of the time and didn’t have the maturity to understand how to deal with that.

It’s still hard to deal with, even though I’m embarrassed to admit it at thirty-five years old. Constant rejection from someone who’s supposed to love you isn’t something you can just forget about. The nagging feeling of not being enough might follow me forever, even if it’s a tiny wisp of a thought in the back of my mind.

Jada murmurs a thank you and takes the cookie. She makes that nagging feeling fade and she doesn’t even know it.

We share the cookie and she heads off to work, leaving me to my own devices. I check my email and my mood plummets even more. A message from our manager (or former manager, at this point) requesting a meeting sits at the top of my inbox, starred.

The lawyer Dylan and I hired is still negotiating for us, occasionally asking us for files proving that we wrote the songs, or to sit in on a video call about the case. It’s swinging in our favor, inch by inch, but we haven’t spoken directly with Caro and Gordon yet.

Another email in the same chain, this time from Dylan, comes through. He’s agreed to the meeting, so I can’t back out. I check the calendar on the fridge, where I’ve penciled in a few Stryker Liquors-related things along with Jada’s events. The date they proposed is the day after we’ll be in Nashville for Danika’s wedding.

I quickly reply to the email, agreeing to the date so I won’t put it off. Then, I dive back into my music to forget about it.

The song I’ve been working on is coming together. Not feeling pressured to deliver it to anyone is making the process more freeing, the way it was before the band took off. The progress I make keeps my mood up, even as the time for Dad’s dinner approaches. I feed the cats, give each of them a few pats, and head to my parents’ house.

My brothers are already here, early. When I go into the house, I’m greeted by Bubba and Lady, who are holding either end of a long rope toy. I only hear male voices toward the kitchen. My brothers and mom are there, but Dad isn’t.

Mom doesn’t have a single hair out of place, as always. Even the apron over her dress is clean, even though almost every spot on the massive island in the middle of the kitchen is covered in a dish. She must have started cooking last night. It’s a feast of everything Dad’s doctors suggested he not eat for his health.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Mom says, waving me over. She kisses me on the cheek. “You’re right on time. Let’s bring everything into the dining room.”

“Just us today?” I ask as I grab a plate piled with buttery biscuits and cornbread.

“Yeah. Rose is sick, Bianca’s in New York for her spa, and Katrina’s at a conference,” Wes says.

The way he says that Rose is sick sounds like she actually isn’t, but it’s a convenient excuse. I don’t blame her. Bianca travels a lot, so that’s not weird. Katrina, JD, and my dad had some conflict in the past, so JD purposefully keeps them apart unless absolutely necessary.

Once all the food is on the table and the dogs are secured outside of the dining room, Mom goes to get Dad. He lumbers in. He’s always been a big, broad man, but he’s lost a little weight since he’s retired. It doesn’t diminish the weight of his presence.

We tell him happy birthday and he murmurs a thank you before sitting down at the head of the table.

Old anger flares up inside me like a reflex. Why did he want us here if he barely acknowledges us?

Mom says grace, then raises her wine glass.

“To many more happy, healthy years,” she says with a soft smile. Dad, at least, gives her a small smile back and nods.