Page 35 of Finn Rhodes Forever

“Hi,”I called as I stepped inside my parents’ house that evening.

“In the kitchen,” my mom called back. Classic rock played in the living room so I knew my dad was still home.

I kicked my shoes off and followed the sound of my parents’ voices.

“…I’m telling you, Joe, bloodeverywhere, all over the floor,” my mom was saying, seated at the kitchen island as my dad unloaded the dishwasher. Her gaze shot to my hair and she slumped in relief. “Oh, thank god you got your hair fixed. Those bangs are cute on you.”

This afternoon, Sadie had dragged me to the salon to have it fixed. The stylist had given me wispy curtain bangs and a shoulder-length cut with a seventies vibe to it.

“Thanks.” I raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

My mom shrugged. “I said I had the day from hell and Joe asked what happened.”

“Jen, no.” He shook his head, wincing. “I can’t hear this stuff.”

She started laughing. “You asked.”

“Mom, you can’t talk to us the way you talk to other nurses.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You two. The kids loved hearing my gross stories today.”

“Oh, right.” My dad leaned on the counter. “How’d that go?”

My mom and I exchanged a look. The air snapped with a strange tension. She adopted a polite, pleasant expression, which meant she was thinking about Finn and how badly his presentation had gone today.

Have you ever been in jail? The drunk tank isn’t jail.I turned and winced out the window.

“Fine,” my mom told him.

“Yeah, fine,” I added. “The kids were more interested in how to make drinks than my thesis.”

My dad folded his arms over his chest and exchanged a look with my mom. I arched a brow.

“What?” I asked them.

My mom glanced between my dad and me, shifting on her stool. My stomach dipped, suddenly nervous.

My dad blew out a long breath. “I’m going to sell the bar.”

My eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He nodded, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. I think it’s time.” He smiled at my mom. “We’re ready to retire. We realized last year that we didn’t want to wait until our seventies to do all the fun retirement stuff.”

“And I’m not fully retiring,” my mom added. “I’m going down to part time.”

Thoughts toppled over each other in my mind like balls in one of those lottery tumblers. Last year, when I was struggling to find the flower, I admitted to Sadie that if I didn’t finish my dissertation, I wanted to buy the bar when the time came and take it over. My dad had done so much for us, and he loved that place. I wanted to do it for him.

Was it my dream? No, being out in the forest was my dream, but it was a good second choice. It was good enough.

But now my fallback plan was being yanked out from beneath me.

“I want to buy it,” I burst out. “I want to buy the bar.”

They exchanged another look, like they expected this.

“No,” he said, studying my face with concern. “I know it isn’t what you want, honey.”

“But—” I started.

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