“Son,” my dad says with his Southern accent thick. “You need to head outside.”
He’s the one who loses control. He’s the one who hit my mother when she tried to dump out the alcohol. He’s the one who swore that this was over. That he wouldn’t ever risk hurting us again.
“You shoved me so hard into the wall, my shoulder was so wrecked I couldn’t work under the cars for days. You remember that?” I ask him although I don’t know why.
I don’t know who he is anymore.
I look back up at Miss Jean, who’s got her phone in her hand and tears in her eyes. I can’t help that my own eyes prick when I say, “A weekly pickup?”
She doesn’t look back at my father, who looks to her. All she does is silently nod.
“For how long?” I ask and my father tells me to be quiet. To get out of the store.
After I spent all my time trying to make sure they were okay. I worked extra to make sure they could stay healthy. I didn’t tell a soul my father wasn’t working anymore. It wasn’t a father-son shop anymore.
“How long, Miss Jean?” I repeat and her answer makes me see red.
“As long as I’ve worked here.” She’s worked here since before I was born.
Brianna
Both Renee’s message and the mug of steaming hot chai latte make it seem like it’s going to be fine. Like everything in the whole wide world is going to be just fine.
If you want him and he wants you, then just go for it.
I tap out my message and ignore Melissa even though her quick pace to the window gets my attention as I sit in my favorite wicker chair in the bakery.
You make it sound so easy, I text her and then peek up at the menu. The bakery’s rolls are heavenly and downtown they buy them by the bulk to pair with their chili. If things are the way they used to be, Asher will get a Reuben and I’m craving a ham and cheddar with spicy mustard. Although I think I might ask Asher if he wants to go out for chili dogs tonight, now that I think about it.
I check my messages from him again to see he hasn’t responded to me asking if he’s almost here. The clock reads that he’s six minutes late, but knowing him he’s probably caught up in a conversation. I debate on ordering for him so I’m not late getting back to the office.
My phone pings and it’s not Asher.
’Cause it is, Renee messages back at the same time that Melissa startles me with a far too loud “hey” and I turn around in my chair, the simplistic yet chic and almost hippie decor blurring as I do, to see Melissa waving me to come over.
“Me?” I question as she practically bounces in her apron that’s longer than her blue polka dot minidress or romper, I’m not sure which it is.
My brow furrows as Melissa looks back at me and nearly hisses, “Brianna Ann, get your butt over here.” Her tennis shoes stomp as she gives the command.
What in the world? I’d be lying if I said a familiar and unwanted nervousness wasn’t spreading over me. The kind you get when you know something isn’t right. Like something bad happened. It’s in her posture, her tone. Her pointer finger bounces off the front bay window as I’m halfway to her.
“It’s Asher.” Her eyes are wide and there’s nothing but sympathy lingering in her voice.
A chill runs through me as I rush to the window.
The sight is heartbreaking. Mr. Hart shoves Asher. Hard into the parked car and Asher doesn’t miss a beat to shove him back.
“What is going—” Melissa’s mid-question but I can’t stay. My body moves on its own. I shove the small chair that had the unfortunate position of being between myself and the exit and it crashes to the floor as I fling the door open and run out into the street.
Miss Jean is calling down the street. A few other people have made it out to the sidewalk. Griffin and Brody both exit the bar and jog up, they’re yelling to stop. A few other people are calling out to break it up.
Heat dances along my skin as I witness Asher land a right hook on his dad’s face.
The sight is one I never thought I’d see in my life and judging how Miss Jean backs up, she’d agree.
It’s a brawl between son and father on Main Street in broad daylight. My jaw drops as his father cups his cheek and Asher calls him a liar among other words I can barely make out.
“Bri, get him!” Miss Jean yells and Melissa’s behind me shouting the same.