Page 19 of Your Two Lips
“Catching air?” I shook my head. “Are you a skater now?”
She tousled my hair like I was twelve again before moving back into the heart of the kitchen.
“I was working on Alice Yung’s bike. Her mom dropped it off the other day for a tune-up. I’ll probably get some kick-ass—”
Mom cleared her throat.
“I mean delicious Vietnamese egg rolls for my trouble.” Mrs. Yung made the best egg rolls. A fact I did not share with Mrs. Nguyen or her two sons who worked in the greenhouse. “Where’s Dad and Luc?”
“Out by the grill.” She pointed to the partially covered deck and outdoor kitchen off the back of the two-story farmhouse. Lucas and Dad were laughing together, beers in hand.
“I never worried about you more than when you were racing, flying over those hills and ramps.”
“That’s done, Mom. Well, except for one coming up, but it’s for charity and fun.” I gave her the dimples. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not that guy anymore. How about some wine?” I showed her the bottle I had brought. Her favorite red from Liberty Hill Cellars.
“Yes! Thank you. What were we talking about?” She winked. “Open that one. Your father hasn’t opened any yet.”
Dad managed the grill and the drinks. Sure, Mom could grill and open a bottle of wine, but then what would Dad do? Those were his jobs, and we tried not to overstep. “I’m finished whipping up the Chantilly cream, and it’s time to celebrate me!”
“Happy Mother’s Day.” I kissed her temple and walked to the side counter for the opener. I poured her a generous amount and spotted a new cake on the cake stand. “What recipe is this one?”
“I didn’t make that. Your brother brought it from a restaurant in Seattle. Almond cake.” Almond anything was Mom’s favorite. Still a bold move, bringing a world-class home baker a restaurant cake. “If it tastes as delicious as it smells, I may eat the entire thing before you lot can have any.”
“Good thing Mother’s Day is only once a year. You get drunk with power and start hoarding baked goods.” I held up my hands in surrender.
She pinched my side as she shifted to take off the well-worn apron. “You may be right. You kids are all too skinny.”
“Mom, no one would call me skinny.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to eat with your mother more often.”
Ahh, there it was. I knew she wanted me to stop by more after work. If it were about her and her cooking, I would be here. Lately, it was hard to be with Dad and stay silent about his doubts and delays. After a long day on the farm, I usually preferred the solace of a sandwich while I worked on a bike.
I tried to sound casual. “Have you and Dad talked more about signing the resort papers?”
“I’ve seen the paperwork on his desk,” she said as she sliced ripe tomatoes from the greenhouse.
Yeah, I did too. Sitting on top of his office in-box, untouched. His desk had been my grandfather’s and was made of dark wood with a column of drawers on each side. It was a statement piece. The statement? Dad was in charge. When I started full-time on the farm, I asked if I should have a desk in the office too. Dad had looked around the space and said, “I don’t think there’s room.” That about summed it up.
I did my computer work from home.
Mom sighed, her eyes holding all the hope. “I know you want this, Finn. I want it for you. But your dad and his dad before that … change is hard.”
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the island.
“It isn’t what he pictured for the farm, love. He wants wide-open views of nothing but fields, water, and mountains.”
“He can’t control the view forever. Things change.” I ran my hands across the back of my neck. “It’s not like I’m building a high-rise. The landscaping and trees will blend everything into the flow of the hillside.”
“Give him time,” she said, her voice gentle as her eyes held mine.
“We need to get started with the summer weather,” I said, my tone still hard.
“Your dad has a lot on his mind. Getting older, the aches and pains of demanding work take longer to bounce back from these days. I’ve asked him to consider transitioning more to you.”
That was a surprise. If I took on more with the farm, I would have to adjust how we ran things to build the resort, and Dad would hold out on that, too.
“You want to change his legacy just as he’s thinking of handing it over,” she said, leaning across the island and resting her hand on mine gripping the beer bottle. “Your grandfather had expectations. Dad’s wrestling with the past, his own mortality, and his ability to control this land he literally put his blood and sweat into. He had a vision for the future, and this resort of yours wasn’t part of it.”
