Page 45 of Ice Ice Maybe
“What’s the problem?” he asked defensively.
Mom shook her head. “That’s not an answer, unless you’re sick or sleep deprived. Is that what you mean?”
“Quite the opposite,” Dad said. “A day is not enough time to do anything worthwhile, so I might as well sleep it off.”
Nolan quickly adapted. “Okay, let’s make it Blank Slate Week instead. That gives you seven days to do something unexpected.”
Dad grumbled, but eventually gave in when everybody stared at him. “Fine. I’d start by reviewing long-term strategic plans, identifying areas for improvement.”
“Something non-work related,” Nolan said. “This is a chance to improvise and have fun.”
“Impulsive decisions lead to suboptimal outcomes,” Dad interjected.
“Come on, Dad, give us something!” I said.
“Something you’ve always wanted to do or something you used to do, but stopped,” Nolan added.
Dad held up his hand. “I get the idea.” He shook his head and sighed. “Okay, I’d probably dust off my old guitar and write a song or two.”
We all stared at him, stunned into silence.
“Dad—I didn’t even know you played,” I finally said.
Mom nodded, a hint of fond reminiscing brightening up her eyes. “Back when we first started dating. Your dad was quite talented.”
He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable under our collective gaze. “Nothing professional, mind you, but there was this one melody that’s been stuck in my head for years. I’ve always wanted to finish it.”
“I thought you got rid of that guitar,” Mom said.
“Still got it—it’s in the attic.” Dad shrugged. “It was a long time ago, back when times were different. But sometimes, late at night when I can’t sleep, I still hear that tune.”
For a moment, I saw a glimpse of a different man, not the hard-driving businessman, but someone with hidden depths and unfulfilled dreams.
“Well,” Nolan said, breaking the silence. “I think we all agree that’s what you should do with your week off.”
“Don’t count on it,” Dad said, bouncing back to his rigid self. “In the business world and in life, success is built on meticulous strategy, not whimsical flights of fancy. That is the number one rule.”
“I disagree,” Nolan said, his voice calm but challenging. His eyes briefly met mine, before glancing back at Dad. “A wise woman once told me that rules can create rigidity, limited expression, predictability, and in many cases, artificial behavior. I have since learned that she is right.”
I felt my cheeks warm as I recognized my own words. How had Nolan remembered it so precisely? The fact that he’d not only listened to me but internalized my words enough to quote them back made something flutter in my stomach. Too bad Dad sucked the air out of my sails in the blink of an eye.
“That woman is obviously insane,” he said.
“That woman is your daughter,” Nolan clarified.
Mom crossed her arms. “How does your foot taste this time, Everett?”
Dad stammered. “Oh, I, uh …”
“When was the last time you had a vacation, Mr. Dalton?” Nolan asked.
“Ha!” Mom said. “Start naming presidents in reverse order and I will tell you when to stop. The last three vacations, Zena and I went by ourselves.”
Nolan stared at him.
Dad held up a finger. “Don’t you dare even think about giving me another lecture.”
Not wanting the two of them to get into another verbal sparring match, I jumped in and said, “Mom, your turn. What would you do if you suddenly had a week without obligations?”
