“Dacha?” Dad cracked the tiniest smile. “Like a Russian country house?”
“Exactly.” He tapped his tablet to life. “Here’s the menu.”
Dad scrolled through, nodding slowly.
“There are really a hundred kinds of vodka?” Mama asked.
“Thousands. We’ll have beer and cocktails too, of course, plus Washington wines and Eastern European ones.” He pulled a spiral-bound booklet from his briefcase and set it on the table between them. “My business plan.”
His parents flipped through, exchanging pointed glances. Lots of eyebrow action, grunts, and pursed lips.
Dad finally pushed the papers away. “Where?”
“Depends where I can get a lease. I’m hoping for the Lincoln District. Lots of up-and-coming new bars in that area, plus there’s an international flavor to that neighborhood, but no Russian places yet. In fact,” he scrolled to a map. “there’s no Russian bar in the Tacoma area, though there are a few in Seattle.”
“Where will you get the money?” Dad asked.
Mama inhaled sharply. “You don’t expect us to sell the shop?”
“Of course not, Mama. I’m working with Uncle Pete on possible sources of start-up capital.”
Dad’s expression remained stoic, but his gruff voice betrayed his emotion. “What about our business? We put our whole lives into that place. We were counting on you to keep it going.”
“I wish you’d—” He sucked in a breath. No shifting blame. Take responsibility. “I should have discussed this with you sooner.” He reached across the table and took his mother’s hand. “And, to be honest, I dreaded disappointing you. I know how much the shop means to you.”
“Not just us,” Dad added. “My parents, their parents, the cousins, your Uncle Leo and Aunt Lada…”
“I understand. But don’t you think I deserve the chance to build a business like you did? One I can be proud of?”
Dad’s shoulders slumped. “Son, there is so much you don’t know about running a business. I was going to teach you.”
Eddie bit his lip to the point of pain. As much as he yearned for a business that was wholly his own creation, maintaining a strong connection with his parents was worth a compromise. “So teach me, Dad. But with the bar, not the dry cleaners. I’m sorry, but I just can’t face a future chained to a business I don’t love.”
Mama’s chest rose and fell on a shaky breath. “We just want to make it easy for you.”
He squeezed her hand. “I don’t want easy, Ma. I want this.”
The corners of Dad’s mustache drooped. “I guess we could sell the shop.” But his crumpled expression said it all—that place was his pride and joy. Passing it on to a stranger would break his heart.
Eddie raised his forefinger. “Or you could consider keeping it in the family.” He quickly explained the plan he’d brainstormed with Uncle Pete and Bruno—combine forces with other relatives running dry-cleaning and laundry businesses in the Seattle area to create one big company. Between their grandparents’ mother ship in Seattle, plus Uncle Leo’s shop in Bellevue and their cousins’ shops in Kirkland, they had enough expertise to maintain high quality and even expand. “And you could keep working if you want to, Dad, but as management, not a floor worker. Stop by the shop for a few hours, make sure things are running to your satisfaction, then relax at home.” He clasped his father’s calloused hand. “You could turn my old room into a home office.”
Mama’s eyes brightened, and not from tears this time. “We could even travel, maybe? We haven’t been to the beach in so long, Vadim.”
Dad nodded slowly. “It’s worth a discussion. Saturday, eh? Let’s meet at that tea shop on Capitol Hill, the one with the good sharlotka. Maybe you can get their recipe, son.”
Would his parents really acquiesce this easily? No doubt, they had months of negotiations ahead of them as the relatives carved out their own roles—if they even went for the idea at all. And he still had one more bomb to drop. He took his parents’ hands, hoping he could get through this without tearing up. “Mama, Dad, I appreciate everything you’ve done to make my life easier and more comfortable. But it’s time I move out.”
“Out?” Dad’s brows scrunched together. “What are you talking about? You moved out years ago.”
“Living over your garage doesn’t count. It’s time I got a place of my own. My boss at Bangers has an apartment I can rent.”
“You can afford that on a bartender’s salary?”
“Assistant manager, Dad,” Mama corrected him.
“I can manage.” Barely.
Mama sniffed. “Our baby is a man now, Papa. He’s leaving us.”
Eddie’s eyes stung. “Don’t be so dramatic, Ma. I’ll be ten blocks away. Besides, the rent from that garage apartment will pay for a lot of beach trips.”
Dad massaged his chin. “This is a lot to consider, son. And you know I do not like change. But we will talk about it.” He slapped his thighs and rose. “And now, let’s go to work.”
Head spinning, body light with relief, Eddie packed up his presentation. Rosie was right. They did understand—or at least they showed signs they might ultimately accept his decision.
His good mood fizzled as the truth weighted him like a lead blanket. If he’d told them before, he’d still have Rosie at his side today. It would take more than posterboard and a business plan to win back her trust. Time for drastic measures.
Chapter Eighteen
Rosie looked up from her sketchbook at the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs toward Inky Dreams Studio. Since cupids and hearts were classic tattoo motifs, she’d been riffing on the Bangers cupid, adding a devilish wink here, a floppy curl on the forehead there. Trouble was, the more she played with the image, the more the arrow-shooting pest resembled Eddie.
Magda stepped onto the landing, her silver mane sparkling with snowflakes. “Got a present for you.” She set a slim rectangular package on Rosie’s desk before toeing off her boots. “Go on, open it.”
Rosie pulled out an envelope with a familiar label. Inside, sheets of synthetic skin for tattoo practice. “Um,
