Page 21 of Neat
“Looks like things are coming along,” he said, a sympathetic smile touching his leather lips.
I closed my sketch pad, letting it fall on the folding table I’d had my feet kicked up on before I scrubbed my hands over my face. “I know it’s a mess. I’ve been tired after work,” I said that last part pointedly. “But I’ll get started unpacking this weekend.”
“I wasn’t judging,” he assured me, though his eyes told me otherwise.
I’d learned long ago that though my father always had the sweetest words for me, though he acted as if I was the pride and joy of his life — I was far from it. It was the same with my mother, who loved him unconditionally. And with my brother, who looked up to him like he was a superhero who could do no wrong. They thought they were his everything, that he’d go to war for them — just like I’d used to think.
But I’d learned better.
My father’s main priorities were money, and that distillery, and this town of old men he had wrapped so tightly around his little finger.
ThatI was sure of.
“I bet it will be beautiful when you’re all done with it,” Mom chimed in, trying and failing to hide the wrinkle of her nose as she looked around the space. She wore a rose-colored pea coat that wrapped her up from shin to neck, and a fashion hat the same color hid her short, brunette-dyed hair. Her nude kitten heels tapped on the floor when she crossed to where Dad and I were. She smiled, folding her gloved hands in front of her and not saying another word.
That was what I’d come to know my mother as — a silent sidekick. Agreeable, polite, and ever the dutiful wife.
“I heard you had a rough day at the distillery,” Dad offered, resting his elbow on one of the tall boxes that held shelves I needed to put together. “Everything okay?”
I waved him off, standing and making my way over to the one box Ihadunpacked — the one with the booze.
“I had a lapse in judgment,” I murmured, grabbing the neck of a bottle of gin. I lifted it to my father to ask if he wanted some, but he just shook his head. I didn’t even bother asking Mom before I shrugged, pouring a finger into a red Dixie cup. “I just tried giving a tour when I wasn’t ready to. Classic Scooter know-it-all-gene biting me in the ass.”
Dad smirked at that, folding his arms over his chest. “Ah. I’ve been struck by that a time or two.”
Didn’t I know it.
“Well, I didn’t come here to make you feel worse about what happened,” he said. “I just… I know you don’t want to be there. But, remember, we have a deal.”
I slammed back the alcohol I’d poured, my eyes landing on his with the swallow. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”
“And I believe you,” he said, putting his hands up. “I just had to check. I know you have some sort of…vendettaagainst me.”
I scoffed. “Dad. Please.”
“Well, what other reason would you have to… to…” He gestured to me, as if I as an entire entity was a problem. “To dress like that, and ruin the temple of your body with those tattoos and piercings. And God knows you neverwantedto work at the distillery.”
“So youdidcome here to berate me.”
“No,” he said, a sigh of his own leaving his chest. “I just wanted to remind you that the reason you have this place is because we made a deal. And I don’t want you to think that you can half-ass your part of it without me noticing.”
“I’m not.” I paused. “At least, I didn’t mean to. And trust me, I ate a big helping of humble pie today.”
Dad watched me, like he wasn’t sure if he could trust me to be telling the truth.
That made two of us.
“I’ll turn it around,” I promised him. “Okay? I was just about to head out, actually. To go apologize to Logan.”
Dad’s face leveled at the mention of the name, and Mom snapped out of her daydream.
“Logan Becker?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Ugh,” she huffed, shaking her head. “Those boys are such a menace. I don’t understand why we put up with having them at the distillery at all, anymore.”
“You knowexactlywhy we do,” Dad murmured to her, softly, but with a look stern enough to have her buttoning her lips. He turned his attention to me next. “Why are you apologizing to him?”
