Page 73 of Play the Last Track
Now is not the time to be confessing to Flynn or my parents about the channel or about the music producer that wants me to record a demo.
Now is the time to finally make a decision.
And I choose the bar.
My mom, who’s cooking what looks like the biggest pot of pasta anyone has ever seen, jolts and turns around. “Hi, to you too.”
“Sorry.” I rush around the island and kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, darling.” She smiles gently at me.
“I-I’ve made my decision. I want to take over the bar. Full-time.” I rehearsed these words over and over in my head as I was driving over from the bar. “Which means that I won’t be teaching anymore. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Oh.” Mom turns the stove off and faces me, wiping a hand down the apron she wears. “Well, we can talk about it.”
“There isn’t anything to talk about. I don’t like teaching,” I say. Just as she opens her mouth to reply, Dad walks in, holding a newspaper in plastic wrap and a football.
“Sammy’s arm is getting stronger and stronger,” Dad tells Mom as he stretches his shoulder. He spots me, and his eyes light up. “Pumpkin, what are you doing here?”
“Just thought I would come by, and I wanted to talk to you both.”
“She’s giving up teaching, Sam,” my mom says sharply. She clicks her tongue and turns back around to the pasta sauce on the stove. “All that energy you put into getting your degree, and you’re throwing it away to run a bar.”
“You guys did it,” I argue.
“So you didn’t have to.” She throws her hands up as her voice rises. My dad springs into action, moving to her side instantly and placing a calming hand on the small of her back. She sniffs, her head hanging low as she clutches the countertops. “I didn’t want you to have to do the three in the morning finishes, or clean people’s vomit. I wanted you to have a nice job, a nice life.”
“Honey,” my dad murmurs in her ear, “she likes the bar. We should be happy she wants to take it over. Saves us from having to go through the motions to try and sell it.”
“You guys are going to sell?” I ask, my frown deepening.
Dad looks up, his eyes a little sad. “We were thinking about it. Your mom and I aren’t interested in going back to full-time work. After the debacle with Grant the other week, we were sure you might decide to walk away from it as well.”
“Oh.” I glance down at my hands, my fingers tangling together in front of me. I didn’t even think about that. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t go back to the bar even after Grant’s tantrum, throwing my glassware—and our past—around the place.
“Is that not the case?” Dad says gently.
“No.” I shake my head. “I like working there. I have lots of ideas to build the clientele and make it more than just a sports bar.”
“I thought you liked being a teacher?” Mom says, turning in my dad’s arms and sniffling. “You did all four years at college to become a teacher, and now you’ve just decided it’s no longer for you?”
“I like teaching, I just don’t want to do it full-time.” I sigh, leaning against the counter. “I appreciate all the effort you guys went through to put me through college. I’m grateful for your support and for the things you’ve done for me. But the bar is like a family business.”
“It is.” Dad nods. He squeezes Mom’s shoulder as her eyes fill with tears. “And, if you want to take it over, then we will be happy to pass the reins.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Are you sure?” Mom presses. “Are you sure this isn’t just a reaction to what happened with Grant? And what about this new boyfriend of yours?”
“He’s not—we’re just seeing each other. It’s not … that … serious.” The lie falls from my lips before I can stop it.
“Does he know that?” Dad raises an eyebrow. “He seems very serious about you.”
I blush a deep red. They met at the police station the other day. Flynn almost fell over in his attempt to shake my dad’s hand. It would’ve been funny if it hadn’t been so damn endearing. “We’re friends. I don’t think it will … we probably won’t last.”
The lie tastes so sour in my mouth, I feel like gagging a little bit. When I look up into my dad’s face, he just smiles at me like he knows I’m lying through my teeth.
“That’s a shame,” Mom says as she pushes away from Dad and goes back to her pasta sauce. “He seems like a very nice boy.”
