Page 91 of Heartfelt Pain
I rub my face. “Dad?—”
“Is that why you were over at her place the other day?” he asks. “Wait, you’re telling me you two rekindled the flame.”
“Something like that,” I mutter.
“It’s not going to work, Roma.”
He’s confident. Factual. Almost pityingly as he stares at me.
“Roma,” he sighs. “I’m not saying this to be an asshole. But you don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”
“Have. . . have you met yourself?” I ask, standing again. “You forced your son into a marriage! You’ve got a granddaughter because Max married the woman you told him to.”
“Fortunately it worked out.”
“And if it hadn’t!” The yell bursts from me. “That’d just be too bad, huh. Guess he’d have to suck it up living with someone he hates for the rest of his life.”
The words snap back at me at the same time my dad blinks.
Mom doesn’t look wounded, though. You can’t, when you’ve looked like it your whole life.
I force air into my lungs, trying to steady my pulse when Mom’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Tell him about the shop, Roma.”
Her words make Dad go on alert, waiting for me to explain.
“It’s not. . .” I try to tell her. But Dad is waiting. “I’m thinking about opening my own mechanic shop. Working on classics.”
Dad frowns. “You want to work on cars? You’re thinking about turning your hobby into a living?”
“I’ve got the space,” I explain. “And Sam gave up his business. Morozov needs help with his Impala. And considering he buys a new car once a month I think I could make a loyal customer out of him.”
“One customer doesn’t float a business.”
“I know. It could be a slow start, but people trust me.”
“People?” Dad cuts in. “You mean my friends. My associates.”
I stand quietly in the kitchen.
“I’m not being a hard ass, son. I’m not one to stand in the way of a man’s goals, but you’re coming to me without a business plan in a tough economic climate. It needs work. A lot of it.”
“I know.”
“And why am I hearing about this just now?”
I don’t think Dad’s ever been on this side. Where his sons use their mother as a sounding board instead of him.
“It’s new,” I admit. As in it’s an idea that came up a week ago. I dismissed it, but Ren’s words from last night come to me. I’d offered to quit my job. To step away from the family business if that’s what it took.
She didn’t take me seriously, but I’m not about to lose her again.
Dad must see the colossal shift in me. We stand there not saying anything, but we don’t need to.
“A serious decision like that,”—he means leaving the family business—“can’t be made because of a girl.”
He takes his plate and it clatters into the sink.
