I grab the nearest pencil and anxiously tap it on the surface of my desk. “I’ll try.” I scan their faces. “So..?”

My dad starts, and, having no patience for bullshit, cuts right to the chase. “So. You wrote a book.”

He states it as a fact, not as a question.

Denying it would be futile, so I nod. “But it didn’t interfere with my work, I swear. I didn’t use company time to write, and I used my own laptop.”

My mom instantly looks deflated. “Honey, that’s not what he meant.” She reaches towards the desk and nabs the pencil from my nervous hands. “We want to know why you didn’t tell us.”

Because.

Because.

I have a million reasons why, but when I open my mouth to give them, no words spill out. Then I say, “What did Calvin tell you?”

Dad shakes his head, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Nothing. Just that you wrote a book. And that no one knew about it.”

“It’s a novel, actually,” I blurt out, unable to stop myself, and then I regret it when they both raise their eyebrows in surprise. “Sorry.”

Dad clears his throat. “He also said you’ve been seeing the Keller boy.” Unable to resist, I roll my eyes at that. The Keller boy. “He’s the one you were with when you spilled the proverbial beans, I assume?”

Only my dad would use air quotes when he said ‘proverbial beans,’ like it was a thing.

“Sort of seeing him. Yes.”

My mom, who can’t resist meddling in my love life, chooses her next words carefully. “Honey, why are you taking this whole thing out on this nice young man? Cal says you walked out on him. How is any of this his fault?”

Because I’m stubborn and willful and embarrassed. But of course, I don’t say any of this. Instead, I shrug, gazing out my office window for the answers.

“Tabitha.” My mother’s voice holds a sharp edge. “Did you hear what I said?”

God, I hate it when she talks to me like this, like I’m a child. I feel my chin start to wobble a little when I open my mouth to say, “Why did I take it out on Collin? Because it was easier to get mad at him rather than myself. Because I knew I was wrong. I needed someone to blame and he was there.”

Mom leans back in her seat and waits for me to continue.

“God, I acted so juvenile.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it with my shirtsleeve, refusing to stare into the faces of my disappointed parents. “He’s so great, Mom. I hope… I hope you get the chance to meet him.”

“If he’s anything like his sister, I’m sure we’re going to love him.”

“He is. You will.”

Silence fills the room then, and when my dad doesn’t continue where my mom left off, she sniffs impatiently. “Your father and I aren’t here to talk about your relationship, although we were concerned about it when we heard.” She shoots a pointed look at my dad, to get him on board with the discussion. “The real reason we wanted to sit you down was to tell you that we’re proud of you, honey. Of course we were shocked! But not for the reason you’d think. Tabitha, sweetie, you wrote a novel!”

“God damn right my girl did!” my dad booms, accompanying his decree with a bang of his fist to my desktop. “My daughter wrote a book. A goddamn book!”

“Hodge,” my mom scolds him for cursing, and rolls her eyes impatiently. “Anyway. The thing we’re disappointed in, is that you were afraid to tell us. The thought that you kept that secret from your father and me for a year makes me… so sad for you, sweetie. It breaks my heart that you’d even think we wouldn’t support you.”

“I…” I look down at my folded hands, clasped together on my desk. “I know you depend on me. I went to college for this, for freaking construction. Do you know how many women were in my classes? Hardly any. Then I had to go to an Ivy League school. Who does that? Why didn’t I just go to State, for crying out loud?” I’m on a roll now that the floodgates have opened. Cathartic, I forage on, mindless of the consequences my words might have. “This is the only job I’ve ever had since I was in middle school, working in the office—why would I leave to be a writer? Talk about a bad decision.”

“Honey, your dad and I—”

“And then there’s Cal,” I blurt out. “He’s counting on me to be here when you and Dad retire, which is when? Eight more years? Seven? Then what? He’ll hardly be qualified to take over by himself. I’m not either, but at least I have a few more years of management under my belt.”

My parents glance at each other, worried that I’ve lost my damn mind, then back at me. “Tabitha Elizabeth, haven’t we always told you, you can be anything you want to be?”

Where is Mom going with this? “Well… yes.”

“Then why are you working here?”

My head snaps up. “What?”

What does that even mean?

“If you want to be a writer, why are you working here?”

“I just told you. Weren’t you listening?” My voice is meek. Weak. Pitiful.

For a strong, independent woman, I sound pitiful.

I suck.

“You do not suck, sweetie.”

Oh shit, did I say that out loud?

“There you go again. Do you always mutter to yourself?” my dad asks. “I hope you don’t do that around our clients.” He chuckles. “It’s bad for business.”

My mom smacks him in the arm. “Hodge.”

“What your mom and I are trying to tell you is we want you to follow your dreams. We never meant for you to be imprisoned here.”

“Dad, that’s not it at all!”

He ignores me. “If you need to stay working here while you get on your feet—until your books take off and you can earn a living—then you’re welcome to stay. If you want to take some time off, we’ll help you do that.”

“Help me do… what?”

“Well, you’re twenty-four years old, but if you want to move back home to save money—”

Ew.

“I am not moving back in with you. No offense, guys.”

“We’re just giving you options. You’re not stuck here. I know you’ve always thought you were responsible for holding down the fort until your brother was old enough to take on more responsibility, but give me some credit. That’s what Dale and Roger are for.”

Dale and Roger are my dad’s Vice President of Operations and General Manager.

“But… they’re not family. I thought you wanted this to remain a family business.”

“Sweetie,” my mom puts in sharply. “Now you’re just being ridiculous. Maybe that would have been possible twenty years ago, but times are changing.” She pats my dad on the hand. “Do you hear your daughter, Hodge? She thinks we’re not with the times.”

They both laugh. “I bet she doesn’t think we know all about them Timber and the Tweeter Apps. Please, we’re down with that.”

My mom makes a gesture with her hands that looks surprisingly thug. Gangster even.

“Please stop throwing hands signs,” I plead.

She does it again.

“Don’t do that. Please stop.”

Mom laughs. “Greyson showed me that Bumble site last time Cal brought her home. You should see some of the young hunks online these days.”

“It’s an app mom, not a website.”

She waves her hand in the air. “Same thing.”

No, it’s not the same thing. I beg the universe for patience. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth…

And then she asks the question I’ve been dreading: “So, your dad and I were wondering, what is your book about?”

I groan into my hands as my head thumps down onto my desk. My mother ignores my obvious discomfort and chatters. “Is it one of those murder mystery novels? I was just telling Donna Standish you have such a flare for drama, and that of course she could have a signed copy of your paperback.”

One thought—and one thought only—flashes through my mind as my parents ramble on like I’m not even in the room.

I am going to kill Collin Keller.

If I don’t kiss him first.