Page 123 of Love It or List It
“For what?”
He shook his head.Joe really had made a mess of his hair.“I never wanted to sell the house.”
“Oh.”He’d played that close to the chest.Well, Joe was the one who wanted to go slow.Talk about working against your own interests.He smiled.“I should probably talk to my mom.”
He rang her up and arranged for an after-lunch coffee.A few hours later, he sat at her kitchen table and broke the news.
To her credit, his mom didn’t even twitch or try to talk him out of it, just raised an eyebrow and nodded.“So are you hoping to keep both properties long term?”Ever the real estate agent.
Joe rubbed his face and sighed.“Selling the barndominium and setting up shop in the barn on our property would make the most sense.But I’ve owned it less than two years, so listing it….”
“Might not be the right move,” she finished for him.Commission would eat up too much of what Joe could get out of it.His mom could give him a break, but that would make the property less attractive to agents representing buyers, since their cut would be smaller too.“Well,” she said slowly, “if you can get the business set up at the farmhouse, then you could always lease the barndominium to another business until selling makes sense.”
Joe nodded.“Yeah, I figure that’s the best short-term plan, but I’m not sure our pole barn is suitable for running a business.Might take more than a couple of months to make the move.During which time I’ll have to pay the mortgage and spend money and time fixing up the new place, when it’s just gearing up to busy season.”
“Joe,” his mothertsked.
“I’m well aware that I don’t have to go to banks for a loan and family will help me out.”He blew out a breath.“I just… goddammit, I managed to get here on my own.”
She let the silence hang between them for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts.Then she said, “Not that I want to deny you all of your lovely achievements, but you do realize you’ve had help.Your friends and family and inheritance from your grandfather were the reason you never had to take out loans in the first place.”
Joe opened his mouth, then shut it.Well, shit.What was with his loved ones calling out his bullshit these past twenty-four hours?Clearly Austin had a point about that need for therapy.
He dropped his head to the table and blew out a breath.
“Yes, fine.Point taken.I will make sure to call someone if I need the help and will consider the benefits of an uncle loan over that of a bank.”
She patted his head.“Good boy.”
Before either of them could say anything else—probably for the best; he was having a moment of uncomfortable dissonance—her front door opened and a familiar voice called out, “Good news—I caught an earlier flight and got you those weird pickles it apparently can’t live without.”
Joe lifted his head and stared, bewildered, in the direction of the front door, waiting for the appearance of the man who owned that voice.
A beat later, cheeks pink and hair windswept from the late winter weather, Joe’s father stepped into the kitchen, carrying a jar of pickles and smiling.But he jerked to a stop when he caught sight of his son sitting at the kitchen table.Which was beyond weird, since Joe would have sworn that the only reason his dad would have had to return to his previous marital home was to see his son, not his ex-wife.But clearly he hadn’t known Joe was there.
“José!”A smile overtook his face, and he swept forward.Despite his confusion, Joe rose quickly, happy to see his father no matter the circumstance, and let himself be pulled into his father’s embrace.
Julio Gonzales Vasquez was a large man.He’d been slim in his youth, so said the old photographs, but had thickened out in his thirties.Joe had only ever known the six-foot-plus linebacker of a figure that stood before him now.Despite his own height, Joe took after his mother’s side, and his stomach and jaw showed no signs of broadening like his father’s.All of which meant that, despite his age, his father’s hugs were just as warm and comforting and protective as they had always been.
“Dad, what are you doing here?”Joe moved to fill a mug with coffee.
“Oh, well,” his dad hedged, like he wasn’t sure how to answer.That made no sense.His father had spent his entire career working in the diplomatic service.He always knew what to say.
Joe turned to see the most incongruous sight he’d ever seen.His parents were sitting together at the kitchen table like they hadn’t done in almost twenty years, looking like something out of Joe’s childhood memories—except for the gray around his father’s temples and the fact that his mother was apparently so hungry that she couldn’t even wait to get a fork and was using her fingers to eat warm pickles straight from the jar.
Joe handed his father the cup and then sat down.Maybe he was still dreaming?He cast baffled looks from one parent to the other, trying to figure out what was going on.Not that his parents noticed—they were too busy having some sort of silent communication.
They must have come to an agreement, because his mother turned her gaze from his dad to her jar of pickles and dipped her French-manicured fingertips into the brine to grab another.“Your father came to visit me.We’ve decided to give things another go.”
Twelve-year-old Joe would have been ecstatic at the news.Sixteen-year-old Joe would have scoffed and asked them if they were deranged.
Adult Joe was just confused.“What?”
“We’ve been seeing each other for a few months,” his dad explained.“A lot of what went wrong for us the first time had to do with our youth.Neither of us really knew ourselves or what we wanted or needed.”
“But you do now?”Joe said slowly.
“Yes,” his mother said simply.
