Page 30 of Pour Decisions
“I know you do. I can tell.” I swallow. “I forgive you.”
I’m surprised the words come out as easily as they do. But his sincerity and the way he’s helped me out make it easier. There’s no point in holding onto the old pain if both of us want to move past it.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this. Just when I think I have a handle on it, another question pops up and throws me all over again.
“Did my mom know?” I ask. “About what Raymond did for the money?”
“I don’t know. I was too shaken up to ask my dad that.” He sighs.
I bite my lip. Surely Mom didn’t know. It wasn’t like she was on good terms with Raymond at that time. Maybe I’ll ask her if I ever drum up the courage to. I want to leave that whole incident in the past, but I don’t want this lingering in my head.
We finish our food in silence, my buzz replaced with stone cold sobriety and swirling thoughts.
The waiter picks up the vibe at our table and silently drops off our check once we finish our food. JD pays for it before I can even dig my wallet out of my bag. I still feel so shaken up that I probably would have messed up that simple transaction too.
But once we step outside and start the walk back to our cars, my head starts clearing. I know the truth now. And it’s changed how I’m seeing everything. The future seemed straightforward, but after tonight, I’m not sure.
CHAPTER TEN
JD
If I thoughtKat was on my mind all the time before, she’s even more stuck there now that we’ve cleared the air.
She forgives me, even though I’m not owed forgiveness no matter how hard I try. I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.
I could have taken that and moved forward with her as just my roommate if I hadn’t had such a good time with her at the ridiculous sculpture event. It brought back every feeling I’ve been missing since we broke up—lightness, fun even though the absurdity of it was driving me crazy. I never realized how not at ease I am with most people until I was reminded of how relaxing it is to be with her.
I want her back. But her forgiving me and her wanting me back in return are two very different things. She just got divorced, for fuck’s sake. Any relationship is the last thing on her mind.
“John David,” Dad says, snapping me out of my daze.
“Hm?” I look up at him where he’s standing in the doorway to my office. How long have I been staring off into space?
“What’s this on my calendar for a few weeks from now?” he asks, still standing in the doorway. Bubba stretches in his bed and thumps his tail, looking at Dad but not getting up.
“What do you mean?” I ask, jiggling my mouse to wake up my computer.
“This meeting with a gin company?” Dad frowns and pats his leg for Bubba to come. Bubba grumbles and sighs, making his way to his feet. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“Because I did. It’s a good opportunity for us to expand our offerings in new markets,” I say. “And gin is faster to produce.”
“Is that right?” Dad’s eyebrow, now more salt than pepper, lifts. It’s a move he uses on more junior employees and it tends to shut them up, but it hasn’t worked on me for a long time.
“Yes. It’s just a meeting.”
“But it’s not moonshine or bourbon,” he says, petting Bubba. The dog yawns and goes back to his bed with another heavy sigh. He’s not used to working for pets.
“Stryker Liquors used to just be Stryker Moonshine not that long ago.” I shrug. Andhewas the one who created Big Bubba Bourbon. “Why not add more products so we can be more stable? The company we’re meeting with has been making big strides and our infrastructure could help them grow.”
Dad and I stare at each other for a few beats. I’ve learned this tactic from him—stay silent and oftentimes, someone will say something just to fill the dead air. When he tries to use it on me, we sit in an uncomfortable amount of silence.
My back starts throbbing the longer we sit. It’s been feeling significantly better since I started physical therapy three weeks ago, but sometimes the pain flares up again. I shift in my seat.
“Not a big fan of gin. Or this little idea,” Dad says, crossing his arms over his chest.
My “little” idea? The last time we took a little idea on—Wes’s canned cocktails—we made millions. And I’m not some intern.I have a lot of experience. I shift in my seat again and bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t visibly wince.
“Does it matter, though? It’s just a meeting,” I say. “We don’t have to commit to anything. I made that clear when I invited them in.”
