“Didn’t you want her to be healthy?”

He finally looks up at me, his tone turning soothing. “Of course I did. But I guess I thought, though, that if she didn’t need me, why would she want me? And all over again, I was in knots. Now that she had choices, would she still choose me?”

And all of a sudden I understand.

My dad had had absolutely no idea what he brought to the table outside of his money and power. He spent so much time and energy taking care of things, providing for her, throwing cash at their problems, that the nature of their relationship had been blurred. He thought my mom loved him, because she was young and naïve. Because fear kept her bound to him.

Once she was older, wiser, and stronger, what did he have to offer her except himself? And would she even want that?

“I’d lost her too many times, and now it was going to be for good,” he continues. “I couldn’t let her go. I finally woke up.”

For a long time, my father did what was best for him. Even though he loved her.

But after sixteen years, my mother finally realized that no one was going to save her but her, so she let him go. If he came after her, he came after her. If he didn’t, life would go on.

I’m not sure if my mother’s plan worked by giving me the book, though. I’ll make mistakes, and I’ll want things that are bad for me. That goes without saying. It’s human nature to be imperfect, after all.

But I have learned one thing tonight. Life moves fast, and the next forty years will be here before I know it. I don’t want to wake up at fifty-eight with regret.

I take in a deep breath, exhaling a sigh. “Dad, I suck at soccer,” I say, raising my eyes to look at him. “I hate piano, and I don’t want to be a lawyer or a doctor. I don’t want everything you want for me.”

His eyes narrow on me, and he tenses. “Quinn, if this is about Notre Dame—”

“I want to go to Notre Dame,” I cut him off. “I think it’s exactly where I belong.”

I see him relax a little. “Good.”

“And I agree, taking a couple of courses here in town this summer is a good idea. Maybe I can finish my degree early.”

He nods, still looking nervous like he’s waiting for bad news to drop. “I’m . . . glad you think so. But why do I get the feeling that you’re about to tell me you met a boy and you’re pregnant?”

I chew on the corner of my mouth. Here goes nothing.

“You know the property you own on High Street?” I ask. “The old bakery on the corner of Sutton?”

“Yeah,” he replies hesitantly. “I bought it years ago. It was a prime location, so I snatched it up. Why?”

I hold my breath, spitting out the words before I have a chance to second-guess myself. “I want you to sell it to me.”

He rears back, looking at me like I spoke another language.

“Just let me say something,” I blurt out, holding up my hand. “I’ve been busy in one way or another my entire life, and I understand that what you wanted for me you wanted out of love. And because I didn’t know what else I wanted to do, I went along with everything. The tutors, the extra courses, dance classes, gymnastics, swimming, summer volunteer projects in the rainforest . . .” I list each item on my outstretched fingers. “I did it, because it was better than staying still. Or so I thought. But if I had stopped, I would’ve had time to think.” I lower my voice, trying to get my point across. “I never dream, Dad. I never look forward to anything, because none of it’s a passion. Sell me the store. Give me a new summer project and see what I can do.”

“You want to start a business?” he asks. “At seventeen?”

“A summer business,” I clarify. “For now. And I’m almost eighteen. I promise I won’t get distracted. I realize college is important, and I’m going. But I really want this.”

“It’s not a dollhouse, Quinn.” He laughs, sounding flustered. “It’s a building with property taxes and health and safety inspections and plumbing problems—”

“And I can do it. I know how to research, plan, and be a problem solver. I can do this. It won’t be your problem.”

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Quinn . . .”

“Dad, please,” I implore. “I’m excited. I can’t wait to get started.” And then I lean in, joking with him. “I mean there are worse ways I could spend my time, right? If I’m buried under this project all summer, I won’t be dating, will I?”

He rolls his eyes and sets his drink down, next to the crystal bowl of gourmet jelly beans.

“How do plan to pay for this?” he questions. “You’ll need supplies, renovations, inventory, utilities, and even if you did get a loan to buy the property, I’m not comfortable with you having that kind of weight on your shoulders—”

“I don’t need a loan.” I pull out the bankbook and toss it on the table.

He stares at it before picking it up and opening it. Quickly scanning the inside, his eyebrows finally shoot up. Probably when he saw the balance.

His eyes dart over to me, all humor gone. “This isn’t your college account. Where did this money come from?”

I give a half-smile and stand up, grabbing a jelly bean and popping it into my mouth.

“I think you need to go talk to Mom.”

And then I turn and walk out the door.