“These are worth over $100,000, Dad,” I finally manage to say as my initial shock wears off. “Am I reading it correctly?” He nods sheepishly. “That means I have over $100,000 to put toward the bookstore?”
“Well, there is the matter of taxes and such, but, yes. The bulk of that belongs to you should you decide to cash them.” He clears his throat. “I take it you’re not angry with me? You’d have every right to be.”
Ten years ago, I would’ve been angry. Ten years ago, I would’ve seen my father’s act of squirreling away money as a sign that he was preparing for me to fail. That he wouldn’t have believed for a second that I could make it on my own in San Francisco as a writer, and if I was given access to those shares, I would mishandle them. That a life designed without his help could ever be anything but a complete failure. But I’m not angry with my father today. If anything, for the first time in a long time, I see a little bit of myself in him.
“You’re stubborn, Dad.”
“Your mother would say pigheaded,” he chuckles. “But I like the way stubborn sounds much better.”
“I guess we have that in common.”
A warm smile spreads across his face. “You know, I think the most successful people in life are stubborn. Present company included.”
Teenage me could never have imagined a moment like this. Adult me will never forget it. We spend the next several hours discussing business and creating a core memory for the both of us.
Martin picks me up when it’s time to swap out shifts. Nana Rosie is up after me, and she’s armed with a stack of plant-based cookbooks.
“Your father is going to be a whole new man after I have Marie change his diet.” She taps the cover of a book titled Plants Are Friends and Food.
I have a feeling Marie might finally retire if she has to cook anything out of a cookbook with cartoon vegetables.
I walk out to the parking lot and see Martin on his bike. My helmet rests behind him on top of his leather jacket.
“We really need to discuss those shoes, Banks.” He nods at my Birks and socks. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you let me compost them.”
“I suppose I owe you quite a few favors,” I say. “I’ll grant you three, but none of them can include getting rid of my shoes.”
“Are you a genie in a bottle?” Martin hands me my helmet.
“That’s what Christina says.” I pull his jacket on. “So what are your wishes?”
He kisses me slowly, wrapping his arms around my waist. “First wish is that you’ll spend the night tonight.”
“Granted.”
“Second wish is that you’ll let me visit your bookstore in San Francisco.”
“Done.” I slide onto the back of his bike, cradling the helmet in my lap. “What’s your last wish?”
“That you’ll be my date to the company New Year’s Eve party.” He smiles.
“Real or fake?”
“Real.”
“I’m in.”
“Good. Then I can give you this.” He reaches into his pocket. It’s a necklace with a rainbow moonstone pendant. “I noticed you weren’t wearing your old one anymore.” My hand instinctively reaches for my neck. “The lady at the shop I got it from says it’s supposed to symbolize new beginnings.”
A wave of emotion I can only describe as utter contentment washes over me like a cool ocean breeze. He motions for me to move my hair out of the way, then drapes the delicate pendant around my neck and takes a step back to admire it.
“What do you think?”
“Beautiful.” He lifts my chin and kisses me. “The necklace is nice too.”
“Where are you taking me?” I pull my helmet on.
“Wherever you want to go.”
“Home,” I say.
For the first time in forever, I want to go home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It sounds cliché, but it takes a village to create a book.
To my brilliant agent, Joanna MacKenzie, thank you for being my champion. You are one of the best humans I know, and I feel incredibly lucky to have you represent my books.
To my excellent editorial duo from Amazon, Selena James and Kristi Yanta, thank you for seeing potential in my words and molding them into this story that I’m so incredibly proud to have written. Both Penny and I have come a long way in a short time, and we owe that to the both of you.
To my critique partner and forever friend Falon Ballard, you have no idea how many times you kept me going when I wanted to give up. You are the best thing I’ve ever found on the internet.
To my Pitch Wars mentor Katie Golding, you picked me at a time in my life when I really needed someone to choose me. Thank you for teaching me how to write.
To Lyssa Mia Smith and Jumata Emill, thank you for cheering me on. It’s been a pleasure to read your words and to have you both provide a safe space for mine.
I would be remiss not to acknowledge how Brenda Drake’s Pitch Wars mentorship program influenced, improved, and encouraged my writing. While Pitch Wars is no longer an active program, bookshelves around the world are better for it having existed, and I am forever grateful to have been a part of the program as a mentee and mentor.
To my extended family and friends who have encouraged and inspired my writing, thank you for supporting this wild dream of mine. Fair warning, if your name wasn’t given to a character in this book, it is highly likely you’ll find yourself in the next.
To my mom and sister, thank you for providing me with a lifetime of material. Little pieces of you both are weaved throughout the Banks family in all the best ways.
To my three children, my life would be so boring without you. I would be so boring without you. I hope you always want to come home for the holidays. Thank you for making me a better person.
To my husband, thank you for letting me be a whole planet instead of a moon. My dreams are real because you want them to come true just as much as I do.
And finally, I lost a member of my village during the creation of this book. Jim, I hope you get to see this book from wherever you’re sitting, and I hope, for my sake, you actually read the ending.