The Reunion(37)
“Do you know how much money I’d give to see you do that?”
“Let me guess, your fourth-quarter bonus?”
“And so much more.” She stands from her chair, and I do as well. We take our empty glasses to the small tray next to the trash and then we walk out of the bed-and-breakfast together. “Thanks for stopping by to check on me.” She nudges my shoulder. “That’s what makes you a good boss.”
“Thanks for being understanding, and I’m sorry again.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Ford.” She squeezes my arm. “We’re cool.” She winks and then takes off. Looking over her shoulder, she calls out, “Have a good day.”
I wave and watch as she jogs down the street, her ponytail swishing back and forth across her shoulders.
Hell.
Hands in my pockets, I turn my back and, with a deep breath, head to my parents’ house.
“Mom, these pancakes are amazing,” I say, taking another helping of two.
“That’s right, you eat up.” Mom’s expression is far too satisfied as she watches me scarf down the breakfast she insisted upon making everyone. “Much better than that bed-and-breakfast, right?”
“Hell of a lot better.”
“So, does that mean you’re going to change your mind and come stay at the house with Larkin?”
“No. Nice try, though.”
Palmer stumbles into the kitchen, her hair a wreck, an oversize T-shirt hanging over her torso, and baggy flannel pants topping off the look. “Coffee,” she mutters, searching for a mug.
She looks rough. Not that I’m a prince in the morning, but her appearance . . . I wonder if it has anything to do with our tiresome email chain. I know I’m exhausted and overdrawn from dealing with them. I wonder if she’s feeling the same way.
Go in with an open heart.
Larkin is right: I dictate to my siblings, even though I don’t intend to do so. I just want the bickering to end, so that’s what happens. I step in and shut it down. But today, I’m going to strive to address my siblings differently. Who knows, maybe it will help.
“Good morning,” Mom says. “Only took you half an hour to get down here after I told you breakfast was served.”
Mom wasn’t supposed to make breakfast. I was surprised when I walked into the house and smelled my mom’s heavenly pancakes. We were supposed to make them brunch, but I’m not going to complain either, because I’ll never pass up breakfast made by my mom.
“Sorry,” Palmer says while pouring herself a coffee. When her cup is to the brim, she makes her way to the table where Dad and I are sitting, Dad intently working on a coloring page that he’s spent the last two days—from what he’s told me—coloring. When she looks up, she spots me, and immediately she frowns. “What are you . . . ugh, we have that thing, don’t we?”
Cool, calm, and collected.
“You’re on top of it this morning, sis.” I give her a winning smile.
Her eyes narrow. Oooh, don’t poke the bear. Apologize, like Larkin suggested.
“Watch yourself, Ford.” She takes a sip of her coffee, and Dad looks up from his coloring book.
“That had a threatening tone to it,” he says and then motions his colored pencil between us. “What’s going on here?”
Palmer straightens up. “Dad, were you aware that Ford is rebranding without any help from the family?”
She’s going to make it hard on me to apologize; I can tell already.
“I am,” he says, going back to coloring.
“And you’re okay with this?” Palmer asks.
“If he didn’t include you, there must be some sort of reasoning behind it.”
“Here, honey,” Mom says, placing a plate of pancakes in front of Palmer. “Eat up.”
“You know, Palmer, about that,” I say, gearing up for my apology. “I wanted to—”
Slam.
The front door closes and Cooper calls out, “Sorry. The ferry was behind.” He makes his way into the kitchen and takes in Palmer’s scowl and my annoyance at being interrupted. “Breakfast is already served? What did I miss?”
Clearing my throat, I say, “I was actually trying to—”
“Cooper, my beautiful boy, sit down, I’ll get some pancakes,” Mom says while patting Cooper’s cheek.
“Breakfast? I thought we were making you brunch.”
Apparently no one wants me to apologize; that’s fine, I can take Palmer off to the side later. Instead, I focus on keeping the conversation on course today. No fighting, even though the air is feeling thick with sibling tension. We are here for a reason: to plan a party for Mom and Dad. We need to keep it that way. “Mom didn’t give us a chance to make breakfast—beat us to it.”
“As if I wouldn’t feed my babies,” Mom says.
“We appreciate it,” I say. “But do you think you guys could take off for your hike now?”
“Are you kicking us out of our own home?” Dad asks.
“Yes.” I nudge Dad. “Go on, we have things to talk about.”
Dad grumbles something under his breath while packing up his colored pencils. His movements are slower than normal. His hands shakier than what I remember, and as he lifts from his chair, I notice the hitch in his stance, the clutching of the back of his chair. He’s gotten worse.