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“But what is there to consider? Would you rather continue your uptight job where you already know you aren’t recognized for all your amazing work? Remember when they let that fresh new pipsqueak take your office with the view, and you were forced into one without any windows?”
“That was just because I was technically part-time back then.” That feels like a lifetime ago. I cut back my hours because Mina was having trouble with bullying at school, and I wanted to be there for her.
“Okay, but are you, or are you not, in that exact same spot now?”
“…Ok, yes, I am.” It’s tough to admit. I asked for my old office back but was told it didn’t ‘fit my current position.’ Yet another reason I have to do well on this Lil’ Scrap case.
“Exactly,” Grandpa Bob says, like he’s won the argument.
“Fine, let’s say we do go. What are we supposed to do for money?” I ask.
“We have over fifty acres of land to work with. We’ll work that out,” Grandpa says, like it’s no big deal.
“And if we don’t?” I ask.
“We will.” Sometimes, I wish I had the same confidence Grandpa seems to overflow with.
Mina and I exchange suspicious looks.
“I don’t know…” I trail off. Could we really uproot our lives and move to a farm?
“At least come see the place in person with me tomorrow,” Grandpa encourages.
“I can’t,” I say, “I have a deposition.” A deposition where I plan to wear a turtleneck.
“All day?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.
“Maybe.”
My grandpa gives me a look.
“It’s hard to know how long these things will take,” I say.
“Well, fine. We’ll meet there after work.”
“What if I’m running late?” I ask.
“Don’t,” Grandpa says, giving me a look that doesn’t allow arguing.
“I—” Before I can say anything else, he gets up—far too quickly for the aging man he was trying to portray earlier, might I add- and walks away.
I turn to Mina. “What are your thoughts on all of this?”
“I don’t know, mom.” She’s back to scrolling on her phone, so I grab it.
“Seriously, I want to talk about this.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Wilhelmina Louise Dale. Please tell talk with me.”
“I mean, part of me doesn’t want to leave my friends, Mom, but those bullies still come after me sometimes. So maybe living in the country wouldn’t be so bad.” By the end, she’s talking so quietly that I can barely hear her.
“They do?” I frown. “You never told me that.” I want to reach out and hug her, but I know that would only make her want to squirm away. She used to love my hugs. As a teenager, though, she seems to like them less and less.
“That’s because the last time I did, you almost quit your job just to hang around my school and try to intimidate them or something,” Mina accuses.
“I wasn’t trying to intimidate them, honey. I’m a grown woman. That would be pathetic. I was just ready to stand up for you if I needed to.”
