Page 51 of The Cul-de-Sac War

Dan opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand. “But I digress. The point is, honey, that while you are fun, and capable, and always ready for the next adventure—”

“And you can do anything you put your mind to,” Dan added.

“The point is, you . . . just sometimes . . . have this tendency to run off toward the next thing. Like with your hobbies, and your sports, and the jobs . . . and the colleges . . . and all the boyfriends—”

Bree’s cheeks flushed. “Okay, Mom, I get it. So I have, in the past, moved on with new opportunities. But this is different. This is Nana’s house. There’s no moving on with this. This is my dream.”

“I know, honey.” Her mother patted her arm. “But being a florist was also your dream. And a baker. And the general manager of Dollywood. It’s just, there are a lot of things we can do with the money by selling the house. If you are going to take it, we need to know you really mean it over the long haul.”

“And to demonstrate that,” Dan interjected, “we have an idea.”

He paused for the magnanimous moment and held out his hands. “One year.”

He smiled triumphantly.

Bree looked from Dan to her mother. “One year, what?”

Her mother spoke. “One year that you stay in one place, doing one job, providing your own way, then you can have the house. Live in this fine home with Evie, keep up your terrific acting career at the Barter. One year.”

“And on this day next year, April 7,” Dan put in, “if you still want it, it’s yours. If you decide you don’t”—he cleared his throat—“or can’t, Evie has agreed to buy it out. It’s the perfect housing solution.”

Her mother and stepfather smiled at her as if this was the most brilliant idea they’d ever hatched.

Bree felt her blood grow cold. “One year,” she repeated.

The notches in the key dug deeper into her palm as she clenched her fist at her side. One year. One year of working at the Barter—where she was approximately two weeks from being out of a job. One year of living in this house with Evie—where she was about two weeks away from living without electricity and sewing clothes from barley bags.

Her mouth opened. Paused.

The words were on the tip of her tongue: Super, guys. No problem whatsoever. But before we start, I just gotta do one thing. It’s absolutely not a reflection on my stability. Or seriousness. I just need to change everything about my job and roommate and life real quick first.

She could hear how that sounded in her own ears.

“One year,” Bree said, forcing a smile. “No problem.”

Six hours and approximately three thousand calories of birthday cake later, Bree pushed her parents’ passenger door shut and waved them off. The dog sat at the front of his owner’s mailbox, looking like a forlorn dad watching his children head off to college as they angled out of the cul-de-sac. Russell was so compelling that her parents parked in the middle of the road and got out to give the dog several friendly rubs. Chip, meanwhile, stood at a distance on his porch, pretending to move around some empty five-gallon paint buckets.

Right. Like they really needed moving twelve inches.

Like he ever actually moved anything twelve inches.

“Lovely, again, to meet you,” Bree’s mother called, waving once more to Chip before getting back in the car.

“And if we have some trouble getting our dog to do that roll-over trick—” Dan called.

“You feel free to call anytime,” Chip supplied. He turned a broad smile on Bree. “I’m sure Bree’d be happy to walk her phone over so we can chat.”

Bree nearly collapsed then and there. Great. Just great. She could already see her parents’ wheels turning. This conversation was going to carry them the whole drive home. She’d start getting calls “for Chip” by tomorrow.

“We just might!” Dan called, then settled into the driver’s seat.

And here’s your daughter, the one you are leaving, back here! Bree wanted to yell, but she refrained as they honked once more for the dog.

Bree lowered her hand as the car rolled down the hill and out of sight.

One year.

“Nice parents,” Chip called from the porch, but she ignored him.