I sat up on the cot.
“Kylie?”
For a moment, she couldn’t speak.
Then she whispered.
“Nobody told me.”
I closed my eyes.
She continued.
“Zayn said you wanted to move out. That you needed independence. That everything was fine.”
I took a breath.
“I did want independence someday.”
For a moment, I looked toward the ceiling.
“Just not at a gas station in the middle of the night.”
Kylie laughed through her tears.
Then became quiet again.
“I’m so sorry.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
She took a breath.
“Are you okay?”
For the first time in almost a year, somebody from that part of my life had asked me that question without attaching a request.
I considered the answer carefully.
Then said.
“Mostly, yes.”
She remained quiet.
I continued.
“I have a place to live. My business is growing. Bee’s been really good to me.”
Kylie sounded relieved.
Then asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I looked toward the window.
“Because I didn’t want to be the reason your wedding fell apart.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered.
“Gage, telling the truth isn’t what creates the problem.”
I closed my eyes.
She continued.
“The problem was already there.”
That stayed with me.
Eight days later, my parents came to the laundromat.
Dad’s GMC pulled into the gravel lot shortly after lunch.
I was downstairs sorting completed orders into padded envelopes.
Bee stood behind the counter folding towels.
I looked through the front window.
Dad climbed out first.
Then Mom.
Then Zayn.
For a moment, my chest tightened.
The last time I’d seen Dad’s truck, I was watching its taillights disappear onto the interstate.
Now it was parked outside the place where I’d built a life without them.
The bell above the door rang.
Dad entered.
He looked around.
At the washers.
The dryers.
The folding tables.
The little display of laundry supplies beside the counter.
Then he looked toward me.
“Gage.”
I set down the envelope I was holding.
“Dad.”
Mom stood beside him looking uncomfortable.
Zayn remained near the entrance.
Dad took a breath.
“You went behind our backs to Boyd.”
I looked toward him.
For a moment, I considered explaining everything gently.
Then I remembered April.
The money.
The gas station.
I answered quietly.
“You made plans with my savings before asking me.”
Dad frowned.
“That’s not what happened.”
I took out Mom’s March message.
Then the yellow note.
I placed both on the folding table.
“Boyd told me Zayn borrowed the money in April.”
Mom’s expression changed.
I continued.
“Before the engagement party. Before the drive home.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I looked toward her.
“You’d already decided I was paying it back.”
She lowered her eyes.
Dad folded his arms.
“We were trying to help your brother.”
I nodded.
“I know.”
He seemed encouraged.
Then I continued.
“But you weren’t helping him with your money.”
For a moment, Dad stared.
I looked toward Zayn.
“Did you tell Boyd I had agreed to pay?”
He hesitated.
Then whispered.
“I said the family would help.”
I took a breath.
“Did you know I hadn’t agreed?”
He looked down.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Mom said quietly.
“We intended to repay you.”
I looked toward her.
“Like the four hundred dollars for Zayn’s phone?”
She didn’t answer.
I continued.
“Mom, you took that money without asking me, and nobody ever mentioned it again.”
For a moment, her eyes filled.
Then Dad stepped forward.
“You’re making a big issue out of family helping family.”
I studied him.
The same man who’d told me money didn’t grow on trees.
The same man who kept a motorcycle beneath a fitted cover and treated it like a treasured possession.
I took a slow breath.
“Dad, what about the Road King?”
He frowned.
“What about it?”
“It’s worth almost what Zayn owes.”
His expression changed.
Then he shook his head.
“That motorcycle is mine.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then I continued.
“You bought it with money you earned.”
He looked toward me.
“Exactly.”
I held his gaze.
“And I earned my fifteen thousand dollars.”
The laundromat became quiet.
Behind us, a dryer stopped turning.
For a moment, the little red light above its controls remained lit.
Then it went dark.
Dad stared at me.
I continued.
“You could’ve sold the motorcycle if helping Zayn was that important.”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
I took a breath.
“But you wanted to keep what belonged to you and give away what belonged to me.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Zayn spoke.
“You just couldn’t stand seeing me get married.”
I looked toward him.
“What?”
He folded his arms.
“You’ve always acted like you’re better than me.”
For a moment, I felt the familiar hurt rise.
Then I thought about the brother who’d crawled into my bed during thunderstorms.
I wanted to understand how we’d reached this point.
I took a slow breath.
“Zayn, I was happy you were getting married.”
He looked away.
“I liked Kylie. I still do.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I continued.
“But you borrowed money for a truck and spent it on a party.”
His face reddened.
I held his gaze.
“Then you expected me to repay it without asking.”
He stared at the floor.
“You could’ve helped.”
I nodded.
“I could’ve considered helping if you’d been honest.”
For a moment, he looked up.
Then I said.
“But you never gave me that choice.”
Silence.
Dad cleared his throat.
“So what do you want?”
I looked toward him.
For a moment, I thought about all the things I’d wanted from my parents growing up.
A little recognition.
A question about my business.
A compliment about something I’d made.
Someone to say they were proud of me.