I wave and watch as she jogs down the street, her ponytail swishing back and forth across her shoulders.
Hell.
Hands in my pockets, I turn my back and, with a deep breath, head to my parents’ house.
“Mom, these pancakes are amazing,” I say, taking another helping of two.
“That’s right, you eat up.” Mom’s expression is far too satisfied as she watches me scarf down the breakfast she insisted upon making everyone. “Much better than that bed-and-breakfast, right?”
“Hell of a lot better.”
“So, does that mean you’re going to change your mind and come stay at the house with Larkin?”
“No. Nice try, though.”
Palmer stumbles into the kitchen, her hair a wreck, an oversize T-shirt hanging over her torso, and baggy flannel pants topping off the look. “Coffee,” she mutters, searching for a mug.
She looks rough. Not that I’m a prince in the morning, but her appearance . . . I wonder if it has anything to do with our tiresome email chain. I know I’m exhausted and overdrawn from dealing with them. I wonder if she’s feeling the same way.
Go in with an open heart.
Larkin is right: I dictate to my siblings, even though I don’t intend to do so. I just want the bickering to end, so that’s what happens. I step in and shut it down. But today, I’m going to strive to address my siblings differently. Who knows, maybe it will help.
“Good morning,” Mom says. “Only took you half an hour to get down here after I told you breakfast was served.”
Mom wasn’t supposed to make breakfast. I was surprised when I walked into the house and smelled my mom’s heavenly pancakes. We were supposed to make them brunch, but I’m not going to complain either, because I’ll never pass up breakfast made by my mom.
“Sorry,” Palmer says while pouring herself a coffee. When her cup is to the brim, she makes her way to the table where Dad and I are sitting, Dad intently working on a coloring page that he’s spent the last two days—from what he’s told me—coloring. When she looks up, she spots me, and immediately she frowns. “What are you . . . ugh, we have that thing, don’t we?”
Cool, calm, and collected.
“You’re on top of it this morning, sis.” I give her a winning smile.
Her eyes narrow. Oooh, don’t poke the bear. Apologize, like Larkin suggested.
“Watch yourself, Ford.” She takes a sip of her coffee, and Dad looks up from his coloring book.
“That had a threatening tone to it,” he says and then motions his colored pencil between us. “What’s going on here?”
Palmer straightens up. “Dad, were you aware that Ford is rebranding without any help from the family?”
She’s going to make it hard on me to apologize; I can tell already.
“I am,” he says, going back to coloring.
“And you’re okay with this?” Palmer asks.
“If he didn’t include you, there must be some sort of reasoning behind it.”
“Here, honey,” Mom says, placing a plate of pancakes in front of Palmer. “Eat up.”
“You know, Palmer, about that,” I say, gearing up for my apology. “I wanted to—”
Slam.
The front door closes and Cooper calls out, “Sorry. The ferry was behind.” He makes his way into the kitchen and takes in Palmer’s scowl and my annoyance at being interrupted. “Breakfast is already served? What did I miss?”
Clearing my throat, I say, “I was actually trying to—”
“Cooper, my beautiful boy, sit down, I’ll get some pancakes,” Mom says while patting Cooper’s cheek.
“Breakfast? I thought we were making you brunch.”
Apparently no one wants me to apologize; that’s fine, I can take Palmer off to the side later. Instead, I focus on keeping the conversation on course today. No fighting, even though the air is feeling thick with sibling tension. We are here for a reason: to plan a party for Mom and Dad. We need to keep it that way. “Mom didn’t give us a chance to make breakfast—beat us to it.”
“As if I wouldn’t feed my babies,” Mom says.
“We appreciate it,” I say. “But do you think you guys could take off for your hike now?”
“Are you kicking us out of our own home?” Dad asks.
“Yes.” I nudge Dad. “Go on, we have things to talk about.”
Dad grumbles something under his breath while packing up his colored pencils. His movements are slower than normal. His hands shakier than what I remember, and as he lifts from his chair, I notice the hitch in his stance, the clutching of the back of his chair. He’s gotten worse.
From the kitchen island, Mom clears her throat, giving us pointed looks. “Before we leave, your dad and I want to remind you that you three still need to go through your rooms and clean them out.”
Palmer drops her fork and turns in her chair. “You were serious about that?”
“Very serious, so it would be really helpful if you please emptied out your rooms. Take what you want to keep and get rid of what you don’t want. But if you can do it in the next week, we would appreciate it.” Mom tacks on her motherly smile. “Thank you, sweet children.” Then, hand in hand, Mom and Dad both leave, Dad leaning on Mom for support.
Well, that did not set the tone I was looking for.
When the front door shuts behind them, Palmer whips around to me. “They can’t be serious. They really want us to clean out our rooms? Like . . . pack them up?”
“That’s exactly what they asked,” Cooper says, joining us at the table with a plate of food.
“Was this your idea too?” Palmer asks Cooper, already bringing the wrong energy to the meeting.
Cooper opens his mouth to answer, but I cut him off before things can get too heated. “Hey, we’re here to talk about the party. Are you both ready to discuss? Anyone want to lead the discussion?” There, not dictating, keeping it open to them.
“Oh, so you don’t want to talk about the rebranding?” Palmer asks.
Jesus Christ.
I move my hand over my mouth and take a deep breath. “Palmer, I told you—”
“He told you about that?” Cooper asks. “That’s shocking.”
Hell . . .
Deep breaths, man. Open ears. Let them talk. Let them work through things.
“I still can’t believe you knew and I didn’t,” Palmer says. “And why is it shocking that Ford would tell me?”
“Maybe because you don’t care about the store.” Cooper pops a blueberry in his mouth. “And Dad told me about the rebranding. Since I believed my opinion was valued in this family, I asked to have a hand in it, maybe bring some of my own ideas, but Ford said no.” Cooper bites down on a piece of bacon, and both my siblings stare at me, fury in their eyes.
This is not how I envisioned this breakfast going.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
COOPER
From the look in Ford’s eyes, he was not expecting me to call him out like that.
But what I’ve learned from my therapy sessions is that staying quiet is only causing me unnecessary stress that I don’t need to carry around.