Page 87 of The Overtime Persuasive

Dad laughs, and for a moment, I’m a little girl again, sitting cross-legged in the corner of a rehearsal room while he tests new lyrics with his band. While most kids before the age of ten are worried about coloring books, play dates, and joining sports, I was meeting fans, learning about selling merchandise on the road, or helping map out our routes to the next gig.

Life for me was…different.

“How’s Side B?” he asks.

“Good.”

His expression changes, his eyes narrowing slightly. Dad knows my versions of good. There’s the normal one, where everything is going well. Then there’s the version I use when the building is actively collapsing behind me and I don’t want anyone to turn around.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Nothing now.”

“Eva.”

I hold up a hand. “Several things happened, but I’m handling them.”

“What kind of things?”

I take a sip of wine and think about how in-depth I want to go with him. The last thing I want him to do is worry, or swoop in to save me. Or both. “The city found an issue with the permits from the renovation.”

“What kind of issue?”

“The kind that has closed my café and came with a large and costly twelve-thousand-dollar assessment.”

Dad lowers his glass. “Twelve thousand dollars? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I have a plan.”

“What happened with the permits?”

I explain the city inspection, the problems left behind by the renovation, and the paperwork I’ve spent weeks untangling. I tell him about the subscription boxes, the sales forecast, and how postponing the new hire has made enough room for the first payments.

I leave out the fifteen minutes when I contemplated changing my name and fleeing the country, since that part is no longer relevant, and my father listens without interrupting.

When I finish, he folds his hands on the table. “I’ll give you the money.”

“No.”

“I can have it transferred tomorrow.”

“No.”

“You could pay the assessment in full and be done with it.”

“I know.”

His gaze stays on mine. “Eva. It’s twelve thousand dollars.”

“Yes. I was there when they stated the amount.”

“You’re carrying this stress for no reason.”

“Side B is mine.”

“No one is saying it isn’t.”

“It won’t feel that way to me if you pay for it.” The words come out firmer than intended. Dad sits back and I soften my voice. “I know you’re offering because you love me. And I’m grateful. Honestly. But I’m never going to take money from you for the store.”