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“I know you are,” she says and her voice is amiable. “That’s why I’m nervous. It’s not just a lot of money. It’s also business with a friend. And you don’t do—”
“You don’t do business with family or friends. I know. But this is our dream, Mom.”
A smirk kicks up my lips when I can practically see her biting her tongue.
“I love you, I love both of you,” she says, emphasizing the word both, “and I don’t want anything to get in the way of your friendship. Especially not money.”
The conversation turns easy. She’s worried, but she doesn’t have to be. Her fingers play with the cuffs of her oversized cream sweater, her nerves showing.
“It’s not just a bar, Mom.” All of the late-night talks with Griffin back when he was in college and I was backpacking across the country come back to me. I’d send him pictures and ideas, and he’d meet me halfway with more ideas of his own. “We already talked about what would happen if things went south and even though I know he’d hate it and I would too, we signed an agreement.”
“And what’s that agreement?”
“If profits dip below a certain point, we shut down the bar and rent it out to focus on the retail side with the beer. It makes sense. The easiest ROI even though the ceiling is lower. It’s sustainable and renting out the bar would keep those costs flush until we can sell it.” Just the thought of doing that makes my blood run cold. The idea of giving our dream to someone else if we can’t make it work makes me restless and uneasy.
“You know restaurants and bars are hard, but—” my mother starts.
“But liquor stores survive everywhere,” I say, completing her sentence for her, then glance at her with a knowing smile. She’s told me that a thousand times. Even though she’s questioning my game plan now, she’s never failed to support me. “Yes, I know. And Griffin knows too.”
A moment passes of quiet contemplation and it’s only then that I realize she turned off the radio at some point. My mind drifts to the bar, and to making a family down there. To Magnolia and Bridget. “I’m not planning on failing, though.”
My mother seems caught off guard by the determination in my voice, judging by the way she stares at me. She comments just above a murmur, “No one ever does.”
While I’m taking in a deep breath, prepared to respond, my mother says, “You know I believe in you two. In all aspects, and you’ve always been business savvy … I just worry is all.”
“Well, when you see it, you’ll stop worrying.”
“I thought it wasn’t ready.”
“There’s still some plumbing to do and I could use some opinions on décor,” I say, offering her the option to help as a peace treaty to stop talking about the “what ifs” if things don’t work out. I’m not naïve and I have plans for every outcome. I won’t settle for failure, though. And I damn sure don’t like talking about any possibility other than living the dream I worked too damn hard for to let slip through my fingers. Doing it there at that bar specifically. That town. Because it’s where Magnolia is.
“How’s Griffin?” I glance at the clock before replying … hours remaining. More picking. More investigating. I should have turned on the damn radio.
“He’s good.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” she questions and I know this is her way of prying into my own love life. Shit.
“I think he might.” I offer up gossip about my best friend in lieu of having to tell my mother about Magnolia while I’m trapped in this truck with her for another five hours. We used to do long road trips when I was younger. My grandfather would drive, with my mother in the passenger seat and me in the back. We went to Yosemite and other national parks, baseball stadiums and Niagara Falls.
Gramps loved to travel and my mother inherited the trait. I used to think I loved it too until my grandfather passed away. That’s when I realized I just loved the stories. I loved listening to his stories on the way to make new ones.
In the middle of her telling me to spill the details about Griffin’s supposed girlfriend, I hit a pothole and my gaze shifts to the rearview as I watch the boxes shift under the rope that’s got them all tied down in the bed of the truck.
Hissing in a curse rather than saying it in front of my mother, I keep my eye on the rearview for a moment longer. Everything in the back all steadies and I don’t think anything shifted too much.
“You tied it all down, didn’t you?”
I don’t bother answering. It’s not long until her mind drifts to Gramps as well.
