Page 73 of Deceiving Grier

I drew a deep breath and squared my shoulders. Now that I’d started, there was no turning back. “When school finishes, I’m staying in Oregon. I’m not coming back to run the company.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you are.” My mother waved away my words like insects buzzing around her head.

“No, I’m not. I’m going to stay in Oregon.”

“Why would you stay in Oregon? Your life is here.”

“It wasnevermy life,” I said. “I don’t belong here anymore, and I definitely don’t want to run the company. I don’t think I ever did.” Now that the words were out, the truth on the table, the weight pressing down on me for so long, for as long as I could remember, finally lifted. I knew this was the right thing to do, and there was no way in hell I would stop now.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, and when she locked her gaze on me, her eyes were furious. “For the love of god, Grier. Your father hasn’t been in the ground for twelve hours, and you’re doing this? It was all your father asked of you.”

She made it sound as if it was nothing, just some simple thing like maybe he’d asked for a glass of water or to borrow a pen, something inconsequential. But he hadn’t asked for something small that didn’t matter. He’d asked for my life, my future, and any chance I had for happiness. And now, I wasn’t willing to give any of that up.

“It’s never been for me,” I said, carefully.

“Not for you?” My mother’s voice started to rise. I could hear her furious indignation, her panic. “This is your father’s legacy we’re talking about. He devoted his life to that company and ensuring it would carry on after he was gone. That business has been in this family for generations.”

I had heard variations of the legacy and generations lecture so many times over the years I had built something of an immunity.

“And it still will be in this family,” I said. “Fiona manages it better than I ever could. It should have always been hers.”

My mother gave me a pointed glare. “The business has always been carried on by a Miller son.

“That’s stupid, small-minded and ridiculous. The company should belong to Fiona—and Paisley if she’s interested—and that’s what I’m going to tell Ben when he gets here.”

“This is because of that man you’re with. You’re choosinghimover your family.” My mother’s eyes turned glassy, and while I knew I was doing the right thing, I didn’t want to hurt her. She believed she was doing the right thing, too—for my father, for his memory.

“Me not wanting to take over the company has nothing to do with Sawyer.” Except maybe he’d given me the courage to believe I had the right to a life of my own. “This is about me choosing my own future.”

“When school finishes, how will you make a living?”

“The same way everybody does, Mom. I’ll get a job.”

I didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell her about my plans to open my own store in The Square. I didn’t really want to listen to her lecture me about the odds of whether my idea for a business could survive. No matter what she said, she wouldn’t change my mind. Even if I lost out on taking over Harry’s shop and making it my own, I knew what I wanted, and I knew I could get it as long as I was willing to do the work.

“You could have a job here. Why would you want to work for someone else at an entry-level when you could come back and manage your own company?”

“It’s not for me,” I said with a shrug.

My mother’s expression tightened, her eyes darkening. “Fiona, let me speak to your brother alone.”

“Why?” Fiona snapped. “So you can try to change his mind? Is it really such a terrible thing that I take over the company? I’ve only been working there since I was sixteen years old, running the place the entire time Dad was sick and Grier was away at school.”

“It’s. What. Your. Father. Wanted.” My mother enunciated each word as if Fiona and I just didn’t get it. As if what my father wanted mattered more than what either Fiona or I wanted. As if our futures were expendable when compared to the wishes of a dead man. “Now, let me speak to your brother.”

“Don’t worry,” I told Fiona. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, and stormed out of the kitchen.

Once alone with my mother, I sat in the seat opposite her. “I meant what I said, Mom. There’s nothing you can do or say to convince me to change my mind. Believe me when I tell you I have given this a lot of thought. This is the right thing for all of us.”

My mother didn’t answer right away. She sipped from her coffee cup and set it back down on the table as if carefully considering her words.

“I know your father and I have been hard on you,” she said. “We’ve just been so worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” I asked, doubtfully.

“We knew you had a big responsibility ahead of you, and we wanted you to be prepared for it. All we have ever wanted is for you to be happy. When you told us about yourlifestyle,” I stiffened at the emphasis she put on lifestyle. I knew the gay thing made them uneasy, and I tensed, afraid she was going to say something that I wouldn’t be able to forgive her for. “I feared you would never be happy. That you would never find someone to marry and have a family with. That you would never have the life we always hoped you would.”

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