Connor looked over to Derek’s kitchen table that he used to hide under as a child and pretend he was sailing a pirate ship to Derek’s old, battered leather lounger that Connor was allowed to sleep in when he was sick, snuggled under thick blankets. And beyond that, to the garden where Derek had taught him how to throw a ball and to the patio chairs where Derek had set him straight on the facts of life.
Derek had been the present father that Donovan had never been, and Connor had a realization he was putting all of his efforts into impressing a man who had never really thought of him as a son…more as a talented heir apparent…another feather in his crown.
“Are you okay, Connor?” His mom walked toward him.
“Sorry, I was just thinking how good Derek has been to me. To us.”
Alyssa smiled broadly. “He has, hasn’t he? He made so many sacrifices, worked two jobs at times, to look after us.”
“I should do something to pay him back for that,” Connor said. “I don’t know why it hasn’t occurred to me before now.”
His mother ruffled his hair, something she’d done for as long as he could remember. “Oh, Connor. He doesn’t want paying back. You don’t owe him or me anything. You, the wonderful, if not slightly anal, man you are is enough.”
Connor laughed. “Thanks, Mom,” he said sarcastically. “Did I mention Emerson changes the time she wakes up every morning and hates my food prep? And she makes me waffles I can’t resist.”
Alyssa laughed. “I like her already. But Derek doesn’t expect anything from you. He always said it was our job to raise you to be a fine, honest, young man. On the way home from your father’s birthday party, he said to me that we’d done a great job. He loves you. And all those sacrifices you make for someone you love don’t feel like sacrifices. You do what you have to do to keep them safe, to help them grow, to show them the possibilities of joy and happiness.”
Connor felt his heart expand. Who knew a grown man still needed parental acceptance? And why was he chasing it from his father, who only cared about what Connor represented as a part of his personal legacy?
The ground beneath his feet suddenly felt unstable as everything he thought he’d been chasing had begun to unravel.
What if the path he’d been on since he was old enough to remember wasn’t the path he wanted to take anymore?
Emerson saw the lights of the distillery floor go off in her peripheral vision as she heard Jake shout farewell to some of their employees.
Yippee-Fri-Yay. She’d woken up that morning with a panicked feeling that it was Monday and she hadn’t written the production schedule. The calendar on her phone that she’d reached for groggily had confirmed it was indeed Friday, and she still had the day to write it.
She looked at the round table in her father’s office. The old kitchen table from her mom and dad’s first apartment was lovingly referred to as the boardroom table, and it was here she intended to tell Jake and Olivia everything.
Connor had been right. She’d been wobbling. He was also right that she’d been trying to be the stoic one and carry the weight of it alone. Jake and Olivia were smart, pragmatic, and as committed to the distillery as she was. It was time to stop thinking about all the plans she’d felt slip away and write a new one.
It was time to build Dyer’s Gin Distillery Part II.
“Hey,” Olivia said, walking in with a box of doughnuts, which she placed on the table. “I figured if this meeting was to happen in here, we’d need sugar. I like what you’ve done with the office.”
Emerson looked around, seeing it from Olivia’s point of view. Everything was filed, the surfaces clear, and Emerson had brought in some plants from her home. Lavender, her favorite, and lots of green foliage.
“Up until you said that, I was still thinking about it as Dad’s office. But you’re right. It does look different.”
Olivia threw her hand over her sister’s shoulder. “It’s yours now. And it looks more like it. When we renovate, we should get some better paper storage solutions than these ugly green filing cabinets, though. Or even better, perhaps scan everything so we can go digital.”
When we renovate…
“I’m ready,” Jake said, bounding into the office. “Oh, you brought doughnuts. I always said you were my favorite sister.”
Emerson shook her head as Jake opened the box and pulled out a Boston cream.
“Alright,” Emerson said. “Let’s take a seat and get started.”
Once everyone was seated, doughnuts in hand, she began.
“Before I get into the meat of this, if at any point this becomes more than you can deal with, Liv, you tell me to stop, and we’ll figure out how to take it from there, okay?”
“Okay.” Olivia placed her doughnut on the table. “I said a version of this the other day at Dad’s, and I’ll say it again. It’s time we moved on from you all acting as though I’m going to fall apart. Just let me get on with it. I know my limits, and I have a plan for if I feel like I’m regressing. I’ll let you know if I need you.”
“That’s fair. I’m sorry if we’ve been smothering you.” Emerson reached for her hand to give it a quick squeeze.
Olivia squeezed her hand back, but then let go. “You have, but I get why. Now it’s time to stop. So, what do you need to talk to us about?”
“The distillery is not in the shape we thought it was
