Page 80 of Better Than Gelato
ChapterNineteen
“Hey Juls, do you have a minute?”
My brother’s voice doesn’t sound panicked, but I can’t help but hold the phone tighter, anticipating bad news.
“Yeah, I’ve got a minute.” I put down the shirt I was folding and sit on my bed. “Is everything okay? How’s Dad?”
“He’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you about the plans for this fall.”
I let out a relieved breath, but my stomach tightens thinking of running the shop in a few short months.
“I already talked to Brianna,” I say. “I told her I’d do it.” I pick up my shirt and start folding again.
“Well, I may have found a way you don’t have to.”
“What?” I sit up straighter. “Really?”
“It’s still early, and I can’t tell you details, but I wanted to make sure you enroll in your classes. Just in case this works out.”
Brad has always been especially sweet about me going to school. I think because he would have liked to himself, but didn’t get the chance.
“Okay,” I say, the tiniest shred of hope springing up in me. “I will.”
* * *
I’ve never seen a flamingo try to line dance, but I’m nearly certain it would look like this. It’s our Thursday Dance Party, and I’m teaching Isa the “Cotton Eye Joe” dance. She’s hopping around the living room on her little stick legs, and I’m trying my best not to laugh.
My phone rings, and I turn the music down a notch and move into the kitchen. Isa keeps dancing with a look of concentration on her face and the grace of a skinny pink bird.
“Dad! How are you? How’s the hip?” I’ve talked to my parents more in the last three weeks than I have in the whole seven months I’ve been here.
“Juls, I’m doing great. And my hip’s doing great. I’m going to put you on speakerphone, we’ve got some big news to share!”
I hear my mom’s voice. “Juliet! How are you?”
“I’m doing great. Dad says you have news.”
“We sure do,” my mom says. “Go ahead and tell her, hon.”
“Well, it started a couple weeks ago,” my dad begins. My dad is a good storyteller, but not a fast storyteller. I make myself comfortable.
“Do you know that bike shop that burned down a few years back?” my dad asks.
“Yes…” I’m trying to figure out where this is going when my mom exclaims, “We’re selling the business!” Her voice is filled with glee.
I hear the words, but it doesn’t compute.
“What? Really? Why?” I ask.
“Because life is short,” my dad says. “We’re ready for less working and more living.”
This does not sound like my dad. This sounds like a motivational poster.
“Are you sure you didn’t bump your head during that fall?” I ask.
My dad laughs. “My head feels great. But my fall did put some things in perspective.”
“Dad’s been spending three days a week at physical therapy,” my mom says. “I think all the old retirees there talked him into it.”
