Page 81 of Better Than Gelato
“But how? Brianna said you guys tried a few years ago, and the business wasn’t…um, it wasn’t worth much.”
“Well, Brianna’s right,” my dad says. “But when Brad came down a few weeks ago to help out, he commented on how much this area has changed. That sad old mechanic shop got bought up and turned into a salon. And they rebuilt the bike shop that burned down a few years back, and it sells these fancy electric bikes now. So Brad started talking to some real estate people…”
I listen as he lays out the whole thing. The equipment and customer list are not worth much, but the building, which my dad bought twenty years ago, has skyrocketed in value. The location is going through something of a renaissance and investors are coming in and buying everything they can. High-end restaurants and spas are popping up all along the block.
“We’ve gotten a very generous offer from a gentleman who’s going to turn it into a luxury coffee house,” my dad says. “He says Mom and I can have free coffee anytime we want!”
“I think he’s more excited about the free coffee than the buyout!” my mom says.
My brain can hardly believe what it’s hearing, but my heart is leaping with excitement.
“We’re getting more than we ever imagined!” my mom says.
My mom’s always seemed happy with her life, but there’s a lightness in her voice that’s new. The lightness of freedom.
“We’re signing all the papers next week, but we wanted to talk to you first,” my dad says. “I know we’ve always said we’d turn the business over to you after graduation. As you know, I didn’t start out with much. And I always wanted to be able to pass something on to my kids, so they wouldn’t have to start from scratch.” My dad’s voice cracks with emotion.
“We’ve had some rough years, but I’ve tried to hang on, tried to keep things running until we could pass it on to you. I knew you could turn this place into more than I ever did.” There’s a little sniffle before he continues. “And then Mom talked to me after she got back from Italy.”
“I saw how much you loved taking pictures,” my mom says. “I’m sure you always have, but with the kids and the chaos, we missed it. When it was just the two of us, it was obvious. You light up when you take pictures, Juls. And the way you talk about photography, well, you don’t talk about business that way. I feel like an idiot for being so slow to see it, but is photography what you really want to do with your life?”
I’m laughing and crying and barely know how to respond. “Yes,” I finally blurt. “I didn’t want to let you guys down. But yes.”
“Oh, Juls, you could never let us down,” my mom says. “We are so proud of you. We never meant to make you feel like you had to take over the shop or carry that burden.”
“Absolutely not,” my dad says. “We want you to be free to follow your own path. And we know you’ll do great.”
“Thank you, Dad,” I say, still in disbelief.
“So we have your permission to sell?” he asks. I can tell from his voice he’s smiling.
“You don’t need my permission, Dad. But yes, you have it.”
Can this really be happening?
“What are you guys going to do?” I ask.
“Whatever we want!” my mom says, and she sounds like a little kid on the first day of summer.
“Dr. Bartlett has invited me fishing next week,” my dad says. “So I may have a new hobby.”
“And I think I might visit Brianna and her kiddos in Washington,” my mom says. “I think she could use a hand.”
“I’m so excited for you guys!” I say.
“We’re excited for you, Juls,” my dad says.
When I hang up the phone I can’t move. I stare at the wall replaying the conversation in my head.
For the first time everything I’ve ever wanted is right there for the taking.
ChapterTwenty
Igo into the living room, scoop Isa up and turn on “Best Day of My Life” by American Authors. We dance, and I belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs. I feel like I’m at Disneyland on Christmas, and I’ve just downed a case of Red Bull. When the song’s over, we lay in a heap on the couch, and I plan my next steps.
I turn my phone over to Isa to take command of the playlist. Then I go onto the UC San Diego Visual Arts College website and pull up the application for the photography program.
It’s intense. I don’t have any of the prerequisite classes the other applicants will probably have. But the application says those are encouraged but not required. There’s an essay, letters of recommendation, and a long list of photography samples they need. My brain is fizzing with excitement and then I see the deadline and my stomach drops like a broken elevator.
