Page 7 of Honeymoon Phase
“I think he’s hiding from me.” I squint as I look out the window to see if his truck is here. I don’t even know why they call him Bullhead. That’s just been his name for as long as I can remember.
“He’s still got a few brain cells left, then.” My father clears his throat, and I can hear the drizzle of fresh coffee brewing in thebackground. “How many proposals have you done this week, then?”
“Just Chuck so far, but it’s only Monday.”
He pauses to take a loud sip, and I can picture his long gray mustache damp and stained from his regular coffees. “You know this is for the best, Addie May.”
“Bullshit,” I reply for the hundredth time. “I’m not giving up.”
My dad and I have been having the same fight for the past six months since he dropped the massive bomb on me that he was moving to Florida with his new girlfriend and planning to sell the lumberyard to an interested buyer who’d put in a huge offer. Our family-run business for over a century is going to be sold off to some outsider.
Gross indeed.
“Your day-to-day life won’t change. You’ll still stay on as sales manager and have a stake in the business just like I will, but you won’t be the primary owner. It’s too much for one person to take on and you’ll still make plenty of money.”
“I don’t care about money,” I argue.
“Someday you will.”
I lick my lips and drop my head back on my chair. “If I was a boy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” I wince as an image of my little brother flashes into my eyes.
My dad tsks. “The trust says nothing about gender, and you damn well know it.”
“So you say,” I murmur petulantly.
“Damn it anyways, Addie,” my dad growls into the phone and I wince. I don’t love poking him like this but until he concedes, I’m afraid that’s just what our relationship is. I want this nightmare to be over. He continues with a more forceful tone, “The trust states that no singleperson, not man, not woman, no PERSON can own the lumberyard. My grandfather was old-fashioned but not sexist. Whether you were a boy or a girl,you’re not qualified to inherit the business until you’re married for a minimum of one year. I wouldn’t have been able to take it over from my dad if I hadn’t married your mom.”
“Don’t bring her up.” A thickness forms in my throat at the mention of her and I wince at the sound of my teeth grinding in my ears.
He sighs. “I’m just saying. It’s not about a business partner. It’s about a life partner. Owning a company on your own is a lot of work and having that emotional support at home is important. That’s why the trust says you have to reside with your partner, not just be married. Making a house a home and all that.”
“You didn’t have any of that aftersheleft.” I wince because we’re talking about her again and I hate it. “You managed just fine.”
“You were my home,” he states firmly. “You’re the one who gave me this potbelly with all that damn bread you kept making.”
“Exactly.” I slap my hand on the desk, sending sawdust particles everywhere. “I cooked and I managed to work at the yard. You know I can run this place with my eyes closed. Please just let me do this on my own. Let’s hire a lawyer and change some shit around in that crusty old trust.”
“Not gonna happen, Addie. I don’t want that stress for you. It’s too much for one person to bear.”
Silence grows between us, and I lower my phone, stopping myself from arguing with him more.
He thinks I’m messing around with this husband quest, but he’s dead wrong. I will find someone and fulfill the requirements of that trust. It’s time I stop teasing the lumberyard guys and get serious since it’s clear my dad isn’t changing his mind.
My dad isn’t a bad man. Stubborn, yes, but I know he’s just trying to protect me, which is crazy because he raised me on his own like a feral animal in this lumberyard. I remember sleeping in his office on nights he’d have to wait for a late delivery orcoming in with him at the ass crack of dawn to fulfill an order and having to take the city bus to school. I have been illegally driving the forklift since the age of fifteen. Hell, I was fourteen when I had my first beer with my dad and his cronies. I remember being smashed between him, Chuck, and Bullhead in a single cab pickup as we barreled down a gravel road while they made me hold a case of Budweiser on my lap and hand them fresh ones every time they tossed their empties out the window. I was scared out of my mind the cops would catch us, but I never told them about that because they’d make fun of me and call me “soft.”
I wasn’t soft.
I just hated littering and still to this day stop my vehicle if I see trash on the side of the road. We get one freaking world, you know? Find a damn trash can, people.
And I know some people of Boulder judged my father harshly for how they saw him raise me. But I’m grateful for my upbringing. The shit my dad and I went through together bonded us in a way that means I will forgive him for this bullshit trust he’s refusing to revise, because I’m tough and self-sufficient and worked my way through some dark shit at a young age. And I have the calluses on my hands to prove it.
Which means I will not go down without a fight over this business trust stipulation. Even if that means getting my ass married, which is something I never planned to do.
I just didn’t realize how hard it would be to actually find a guy. Apparently no one wants to sign a prenup stating they’ll marry me, live with me for a year, and divorce me while receiving absolutely nothing in exchange. Weird, right?
Only that’s not true. I did have an offer. But it’s not one I could ever say yes to.
“How’s Edith?” I ask, pulling my phone back up to my ear and attempting to show some semblance of humanity to theman who gave me everything I have in life except this lumberyard.
