Page 50 of Fight for Me
His anger seems to deflate a little, and he runs his hand through his hair. “Come sit at the table and tell me what he said.”
I grab some milk and cookies, setting them out in front of us, and then I take a seat. There is nothing that helps me feel calm quite like this does. Each time I would cry, get hurt, or feel like my world was crumbling, my mother set this out for me. It would just magically be here anytime I needed it.
I dip the cookie into the milk, letting it get soft and soggy, and recount to Declan the areas that Milo was concerned about.
He writes them down, making notes, and offering suggestions as we go.
A sleeve of cookies later, I’m exhausted.
“So, you think any of that is doable?” I ask.
“I think we should look at fixing the big things, but the smaller stuff won’t matter to a farmer.”
I bite the pad of my thumb. “Maybe, but what if it’s a developer that comes in?”
“You want to see condos built here? What would a developer really want with this type of land? Sugarloaf is a farming town and really isn’t made for any big industry.” Declan leans back in his seat and then takes a long pull of milk. When the glass lowers, he has a milk-mustache, and I try not to laugh.
But I fail.
“No idea.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m not.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re clearly laughing.”
I take pity on him and hand him a napkin. “Do you like your mustache?”
Instead of wiping it away, he leans forward. “Do you like a mustache?”
“I don’t know, I must ache you later.”
Warmth spreads through me as we slipped into the kids we once were. Laughing at ourselves and each other at every turn. There was nothing that could embarrass us, and we loved cheesy jokes.
I’m glad to see something hasn’t changed.
He wipes the milk off his face and shifts closer. “I want you to think about it, though, selling this place to a developer.”
“Milo thinks I’ll make the most money that way.”
He scratches the back of his head and shrugs. “Money isn’t always everything. You may not want to have the farm anymore, but this place is where you grew up.”
It’s ironic to me that he’s worried about heritage now. He’s the one who walked away from his family and would’ve sold that farm off without hesitating.
“Declan, don’t you think that you giving me that advice is ... hypocritical?”
“I didn’t love my home.”
“Okay, but home is where the people you love are. This farm has meant the world to me because of my family, but they’re not here anymore. What do I have left to stay for?”
Please say you. Please say something to make me stay.
He looks at me with deep eyes that are searching mine as I mentally give him the answer. I chant it over and over in my head, waiting for him to say it.
“Nothing, I guess.”
“No?” I give him another chance.
