Page 24 of Book and Ladder
“Nostalgia?” I quip, knowing full well that’s not at all what he meant.
“Our coffee shop, Haute, roasts their own beans. They import directly from organic sources across South America and Africa. Each cup has recognizable notes according to its origins.”
“Maybe it’s time to head back to Nashville,” I suggest, though we both know he won’t.
I’m not sure why he’s here. So far, it’s just been defined as a nearby project. That’s what my parents told me when they announced they’d be returning to our family home for a season—the place I maintained for them when they moved to Nashville to expand Dad’s development business.
“I’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” he says, smiling.
I don’t hate my dad. Far from it. But we’re like oil and water. We meet at a line, but never seem to be able to cross it.
“I’m not trying to get you out of my hair,” I assure Dad. “I just love Sip and Repeat and the people who own it. So, I guess your critique felt personal.”
“Business isn’t personal, Patrick.”
“And drinking a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning is business?”
“Everything is business at one point or another.”
“Speaking of business,” I delight myself with the segue. “You said we needed to discuss family business.”
“Yes. Good. Let’s get to the point.”
I take another sip of my latte.
“Your mother and I are here because I am expanding and developing another Home Mart.”
“Oh? What does Waterford have to do with that?” I feel like I’m missing something.
“We’re expanding here, Patrick.”
“Here? In Waterford?” My voice raises.
Heads turn.
I smile. People return to their own conversations.
“Yes, son. In Waterford. We’ve got a parcel selected on the outskirts of town. I am in the process of pursuing permits and permission to survey. They’ll be discussing it at the next town hall.”
“How is this family business?” I ask—again, momentarily forgetting who I’m with.
“Everything I build will be yours one day—yours, Declan’s and Maeve’s. And I thought, for once, you might want to join in the process from the ground up. When you leave the fire department, you’ll be that much more acquainted with all aspects of the company.”
“When I leave the department?”
“Eventually.”
“Like, when I retire?”
“Or if you decide you’ve had your fun sooner.”
“My fun?”
We’ve been around this so many times I could draw a map of the conversation with my eyes closed, so I drop the subject. Firefighting is a game to him. And my chosen path is like dating a bunch of cute women before you settle down with someone who makes sense—his exact words in previous talks. According to him, no one of our stature should pursue any civil servant job as an actual career. The danger and odd hours alone make it an impractical and irresponsible choice once you decide to have children—again, his words.
Dad sips his coffee, winces in what I’d call a refined expression of disdain, and returns the cup to the saucer.
Almost to himself, he mutters, “Maybe I’ll have someone from Haute advise the shop owners, connect them with better suppliers.”
