Page 31 of Pour Decisions
Dad’s eyes narrow and he pulls the silent treatment again. I’m not cracking. I could sit here all damn day.
“You’ve been real resistant lately,” Dad finally says, “to doing things the way we’ve always done them.”
Resistant? Since when has me voicing my opinion been resistance? Years ago, when there were several more people between me and Dad’s level, he didn’t push back much at all at a simple idea. But now that I’m basically one step away from his job, I’m suddenly resistant?
I don’t think “resistant” is the word he’s thinking of. I’m not doing exactly what he wants anymore, and the idea of leaving his legacy to the unknown probably doesn’t feel good.
“I just feel strongly that we need to evolve,” I say, with a shrug. “Take bigger steps. It’s not even a big step when you think about it.”
“Being too strong-willed won’t get you where you want to go, son.” Dad ambles back into the hallway. “Just remember that.”
He leaves and I stare at the empty doorframe, my anger slowly simmering faster and faster. Was that a threat?
A few minutes later, I get a notification that Dad declined the meeting and invited me to a dinner with some men who run a chain of liquor stores in the South, one of our biggest customers. I make a note to reply to it later when I’m not so pissed off. Focusing on the same old shit is going to make our sales decline if we keep going down that path.
Thinking about it pisses me off too much, so I get up, do some desk stretches that Katrina recommended, and get back towork. But my back continues to ache all the way through the rest of the day and once I get home.
Katrina is already there, standing in the kitchen. Someday I won’t be blown away by how beautiful she is every time I see her, but today’s not that day. She’s in a romper and a hoodie, her feet bare and her hair up in a scarf. A box of crackers is on the counter and she’s shoveling them into her mouth.
Did she eat lunch? I make a mental note to make her something. I already meal prep my own lunches, so making the sandwich she likes as a part of my evening routine won’t be a hassle.
“Hey!” She smiles at me—her real, warm smile that makes me melt on the inside. Her eyes skim over my shoulders and chest, more analytical than anything.. “Tough day?”
“What makes you say that?” I ask. Bubba trots past me to get to her, tail wagging.
“Shoulders are tense.” She glances back at me again as she bends to pet Bubba. “Very tense. Is your back aching?”
I try to relax them, rolling one back, then the other. “A little bit.”
“So yes, it’s been a tough day?” she asks.
I shrug. “It’s beenaday.”
She raises an eyebrow at me, a tiny smile on her lips that tells me she knows I’m full of shit.
“I was just about to do some yoga to unwind. Want to do your PT homework too?” she asks.
“Sure. Just let me change.”
I change out of my work clothes and feed Bubba. He runs into the backyard with one of his toys when I open the back door. Kat is already outside, legs in a butterfly stretch. I lay my mat out next to hers and start the exercises. They’re a good distraction from her starting her yoga, which twists her body in ways I can’t ignore.
“Did I put relaxation and stress management on your treatment paperwork?” she asks as she watches me stretch from a downward dog position.
“No, but you implied it.” I suck in a breath and lean into a stretch more. “Heavily.”
She steps her feet up to her hands and stands up straight. “If I had written it down, would you be more chill?”
“Doubt it.”
She snorts, stretching her arms up. “I should have seen that one coming.”
We move alongside each other silently. Well, mostly silently—Bubba barks at some birds and pants after he zooms back and forth across the yard.
“How has your back been?” she asks as I curl my body up like an angry cat. “Any changes to your pain or new challenges?”
“Is this an at-home session?” I ask, quirking up an eyebrow.
“No, I’m just checking in.” She smiles back, catching that I’m teasing her a little bit despite my flat tone.
