“When’s the last time you went out on a date?”
I considered her question a moment. Nothing came to mind.
“The last person I remember was the one from that bar you took me to.”
“That was two years ago, Ev, and that wasn’t a date. It was a hookup. They’re completely different.”
Yeah, and hookups totally weren’t my thing, either. “I don’t have time for that kind of commitment right now.”
“That’s what you said after Dad passed away. You used the same excuse after we sold the house. When will you stop trying to live out Dad’s life and start living your own?” She was frustrated with me, as always, but this time I couldn’t blame her.
Once our Dad passed away, I latched on to the shop as hard as I could. Bridget suggested selling it right after we sold the house because of how painful it was for me to work there, and yet, I didn’t let it go. I worked through the teary haze, pushed away the depression, and changed just enough of the shop to make it my own.
Still, everywhere I looked, I could almost see my Da
d there.
He sat in the lounge with the morning paper, he helped unpack boxes of books in the back, and he even joined me when I had lunch upstairs. He was nowhere and everywhere all at the same time.
That was probably why I kept the shop in the first place. It was so I could be closer to him, or at least my memories of him.
“Are you even listening to me?” my sister groaned on the other side of the line, likely having gone on a tangent I didn’t hear.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?” I asked, stopping in the middle of sorting through the books behind the counter once I realized I had a box cutter in one hand and a fantasy novel in the other.
“I said you should’ve exchanged names. Did you get her name at all? Maybe we can look her up online.”
“No, and no. Absolutely not. I don’t do hookups.”
“But you are thinking about her,” my sister said, her voice sounding more confident than I’d like.
“I was thinking of Dad, actually.” But what else was new? I thought about him all the time. When my mother passed away, he took it hard. Somehow, he kept the shop going, which was exactly what I wanted to do for him.
“Spending that much time in the shop isn’t good for you.
You need to get out. Preferably somewhere nice.”
“And eat with what money?” I asked, wanting to pull the words back as soon as they left my mouth.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you said you were okay.”
“I am.” I was. “I’ll be fine.”
“Mom was right. You’re a terrible liar. I can hear it in your voice. How far behind are you?”
“I’m not.” At least that much was true. As for how much longer I could keep it that way, it was hard to say.
“Look, I’m getting paid on Friday. I can—”
“No,” I said, stopping her before she said something we’d both regret. “I’m not taking your money. I’ll be fine, really. It’s just a bad time of year.” More like a bad year. She didn’t have to know that. She was the baby of the family and my kid sister.
I was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.
I may have hated how she blazed through her inheritance, but I refused to share my burden with her. She wasn’t the one who decided to keep Dad’s shop. I got myself into this mess and I’d be the one to fix. She’d made a life for herself, albeit a chaotic one, but at least she was happy. In the end, that’s all that mattered.
“I was going to invite you out for drinks,” my sister said, clearly changing her plan to save me from myself. “We need to catch up. You almost never come by anymore.”
“You could always drop by the shop,” I offered, already knowing how uncomfortable it made her. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it. I’m trying here, Bridget, I really am.”