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Grant turns his attention to me. "You're right. Want to stay for the reunion? Or help me spread the word about the game room?"
I want to get out of this room more than I want my next breath. "Let's give them time to catch up alone."
As I follow Grant out of the room, I look back to see Daisy staring at me while Dani chats to her about the farm. Daisy's expression is tense and unreadable, giving me no indication of what she might do with what she overheard in this room.
CHAPTER FOUR
Asher
According to Amelia, there's a skill to helping my parents without ruffling feathers. A gentle convincing that whatever I'm giving them or doing for them was their idea all along, and I owe them for something they did for me in the past. Amelia's been playing the game for years.
I'm sure that works great for her, but I don't have time for that shit. And nothing about me has ever been subtle or gentle. Arms loaded with groceries, I kick the base of the door on Mom and Dad's condo.
They moved in here after Amelia left home. It's a decent-sized, two-bedroom close to downtown, but most of the surrounding units have been rented to college kids and my parents often complain about the noise.
It's quiet tonight, but it's just after five. The sun starting to go down.
The door swings open and my father scowls. "What the fuck, Ash? We thought you were the police."
I shake my head and push past my father into the condo. The kitchen is just inside the door and I set the two bags on the counter. Mom's in a recliner in the living room, the cord of a heating pad draped over the arm. Her back must be hurting again. "You doing something illegal you're worried the cops might show up about?"
Dad's smile is wry. "If they show up here, it'll be to tell us they've pickedyouup for doing something illegal." Dad looksnothing like me. He's a good four inches shorter and wiry where I bulk up easily. He's my and Amelia's stepfather and has been since I was six-years-old and Amelia was Harper's age, but he's never been anything to me but Dad. The only involvement our biological father ever had in my and Amelia's life, besides sending child support checks, was to refuse to let Bruce Winfield adopt us.
"Only thing illegal about me is how good I look in these jeans." I give him a quick side-hug and back thump before heading back outside to retrieve more groceries.
I nearly shed tears when I moved back to town four months ago and saw my parents face-to-face for the first time in nine years. The pictures Amelia sent over the years hadn't prepared me for how much Mom and Dad aged while I was gone.
They're only in their early fifties, but life hasn't been easy or kind to either of them. My dad has worked as a roofer since he dropped out of high school at sixteen and my mom has worked as a server for nearly as long. Years of physical labor and health issues have stooped my dad's back and given my mom aching knees and lower back. Probably because of the trouble I caused as a kid, they're both fully gray and their faces are lined as though every hardship, every loss and struggle, is etched onto their skin.
Dad holds the door when I step inside a second time, and I drop the last two full bags on the counter. "What is all this, Asher? You storing your extra groceries at our house?"
I unload the bags, putting stuff away. Amelia wasn't lying. Their refrigerator is bare and their shelves and pantry aren't much better. "Amelia said you two were eating crap from the fast-food restaurant. Told me you've got no food in the house." Direct and to the point, that's how I deal with my parents.
Maybe it's because I lived up North in the land of directness for three years or maybe that's who I've always been. It doesn't really matter. I've got no time or energy for white lies and fluff.
"We haven't had a chance to go to the grocery store this week," Mom says from the living room. The fact she hasn't gotten out of her chair yet isn't a good sign. "I had to work a double yesterday and go in again this morning. And your dad's been working overtime on a new condo building on the mountain."
"And we like fast food," Dad says. "It's not your or your sister's business what we eat. We've worked too hard to get bossed around by our own damn children."
Dad slams his fist on the counter for emphasis, but I see the hurt in his eyes. This was never what he wanted. He inherited a good acreage of land from his grandfather and he'd had dreams for it. Dreams to work the land and give me and Amelia a better future.
"You'll be bossed around by me and Amelia until you take better care of yourselves. And we're going to do whatever the hell we want to help you out, because you kept a roof over our heads and food in our bellies all our lives."
"That's the job of a parent," Mom says. "You need to stop worrying about us and focus on your own lives. Your father and I are just fine."
"No dice. You're going to let me and Amelia do things for you, because we love you and we want you to live long enough to see your grandkids grow up."
"Grandkids plural?" Dad says gruffly. "You got something you want to tell us, Ash?"
I laugh. "Fuck no." I put away the last of the groceries and go into the living room. I bend over and give my mother a hug. She might be in pain, but she hugs me hard.
"Thank you," she says. "You're a good son, Asher."
Straightening, I smile down at her. "I'm a shitty son and you know it. I've got a lot to make up for."
"We know you would have visited if you could. You were living your life and following your dreams. You never have to make up for that."
Truth is, I stayed away so long because I was ashamed. Ashamed to tell Mom and Dad I've been in jail, ashamed to tell them the jobs I had to work just to stay barely afloat because no one wanted to hire an ex-con. I studied and got my certification to be a personal trainer and got a good job that made me enough money that moving back to Catalpa Creek without needing to rely on family became realistic.
