Chapter 3

After Alex made the shortlist, Dad decided to clear out the back storage room and turn it into a real office.

"Alex can't keep sitting at the cash register when he's talking business with group clients," Dad said.

Mom went around with a tape measure, and finally zeroed in on the metal cabinet I'd stashed in the corner of the storage room.

Inside were supplier invoices, group order lists, and six years' worth of credit records.

On the very bottom shelf, my high school textbooks and the folder with my college admission papers were sitting there.

"If we move this cabinet, we can put a computer desk right here." Mom handed me the key. "Throw out anything useless inside. Make sure it's all cleared out by the end of the day."

I crouched down and started moving stacks of invoices onto the floor.

Every sheet had a date in the top right corner. Some were stained yellow from oil; others had my messy handwriting from when I first learned to keep the books.

Mom picked up an old order book and flipped through a couple of pages. "Why are we keeping all this? It's taking up space."

"There are a few regulars who still owe us money," I said.

"Jot down what they owe and hand it over to Alex. He'll take care of it from now on," she said.

Alex leaned against the doorframe and immediately shook his head when he heard that. "I can't make sense of any of this stuff. Emily's not gone yet, right? Let her keep handling it."

"You're right." Mom threw the book right back into my arms. "It's not like you're never coming home again. Come back on weekends, fix up the accounts, then head back to school."

I looked up.

School was more than four hundred miles away, an eight-hour trip, one way.

But Mom made it sound so normal, like I was only moving to a slightly more distant room, and of course I'd come back every weekend to make filling, do the accounts, and sort out refunds.

That afternoon, someone from the Community Office came by to check our hygiene logs.

Dad was stuck looking for the disinfection record, shouting for me from behind the cash register.

I grabbed the right logbook from the metal cabinet. After the official finished going through it, he asked, "Do you fill these out every day?"

"Yeah," I said.

"These records are super tidy. No wonder your shop's passed the random checks three years straight; these forms really make a difference," he said.

Dad jumped in with a grin. "All the credit goes to me; she's following my instructions."

The official glanced at me. "Still, it's not easy to keep this up every single day."

After the official left, Mom pulled out the yellow timesheet ledger and logged four hours for Alex.

I couldn't help but ask, "He spent the whole afternoon playing basketball. Why are you giving him four hours?"

"He helped us pass the inspection, so he gets credit, too," Mom said.

"I did the hygiene records," I said.

Dad dropped the pen on the table. "What are you trying to say? Is making the whole family unhappy what you want?"

"I only want to know why everything I do gets counted as his," I replied.

"Because this is our family's shop." Mom patted my arm. "The more you do, the more your dad and I trust you. Alex is still young; if we mark down some achievements for him, he'll be more motivated to learn."

I stared at the yellow timesheet ledger, not saying another word.

That evening, as I was cleaning out the cabinet, a printed contract slipped out from under the computer desk.

It was a brand-new pie delivery deal for an office building. Starting in September, we'd be on the hook for six hundred pies a day.

The responsible party was listed as Dad, but the contact info was my name and my phone number.

I brought the contract over to Dad, but he was busy helping Alex pick out an office chair.

"I'm leaving for school in September. Who's supposed to handle this pie delivery contract?" I asked.

"Don't worry about school for now." Dad didn't turn around. "Wash your apron tomorrow, and we'll all sit down for a real family talk."

I stood by the door, clutching the contract.

The metal cabinet had been moved out to the hallway, its doors hanging open.

The folder with my admission papers was buried under the new chair meant for Alex.