Page 34 of Rescuing Aria

The directness of her response catches me off guard, even though I knew it was coming.

“He doesn’t mean it that way.”

“Doesn’t he?” She turns to face me fully, her expression serious. “I love your dad. He has been generous and supportive, and I’m grateful for everything he has done. But he fundamentally doesn’t understand what we are to each other. In his mind, you’re the Holbrook who’s managing the idiot artistic girl’s cute little business.”

The accuracy of that assessment stings because I’ve seen it too—the subtle ways Dad frames our partnership, the assumptions embedded in his language, the way he addresses strategic questions to me while treating Ember’s input as creative consultation.

“I could talk to him.” The offer emerges automatically. “Clarify how our partnership actually works.”

“Could you? Because every time we have these conversations, you end up defending his perspective instead of challenging it.”

That hits harder than I expect because it’s at least partially true. The habit of managing Dad’s expectations and smoothing over tensions runs so deep that I sometimes do it automatically, even when it undermines people I care about.

“That’s not fair.” The words carry little conviction.

“Isn’t it? When Miranda suggested simplifying the kintsugi technique, what did you say?”

I think back to the conversation, trying to remember my exact words. The silence stretches long enough to become its own answer.

“I didn’t say anything.” The admission tastes like ash.

“You didn’t say anything because agreeing with her would have hurt my feelings, but disagreeing with her would have contradicted your father’s vision. So you stayed quiet and let me defend something that shouldn’t need defending.”

The workshop feels smaller suddenly, the weight of unspoken tensions making the air thick and difficult to breathe. We’ve navigated numerous challenges together—the initial awkwardness of our different backgrounds, the trauma that brought us together, and the delicate process of building trust and friendship. But this feels different.

More fundamental.

“I don’t want to lose what we’ve built.” My voice emerges quieter than intended.

“Which part? The business or the friendship?”

“Both. Either. I don’t know.” I run my hands through my hair, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Three months ago, this felt simple. We were successful, we were happy, we had a clear vision. Now everything feels complicated.”

“It got complicated when your father decided our success needed management.”

There’s truth in that, even though it feels disloyal to acknowledge it. Dad’s involvement has brought opportunities and resources, but it has also brought expectations and assumptions that don’t align with what we’ve built.

My phone buzzes with a text, and I glance at the screen automatically. Jon asking if I want to grab dinner after he finishes at Guardian HRS. The simple message carries its own complication—our relationship that exists in secrecy, another thing I haven’t figured out how to integrate with Dad’s vision of my life.

“I should go.” I stand and gather my things, movements feeling heavy and uncertain. “Jon and I have plans.”

Ember nods, already turning back to her work. “Tell him I said hi. And, Aria… Think about what I said. About choosing sides.”

“I’m not choosing sides. I’ve already chosenmyside. We’re partners.”

“Are we? Because sometimes it feels like you’re caught between your old life and your new one, and I’m not sure which side I’m on.”

The question follows me out of the shop and throughout the evening, coloring every conversation with Jon and making sleep elusive when I finally get home. By the time Friday morning arrives, I still don’t have answers, but I have a growing certainty that something fundamental needs to change.

I’m reviewing inventory reports when Dad calls, his voice bright with enthusiasm.

“Miranda sent over her preliminary projections.” He speaks without preamble, excitement crackling through the phone line. “The numbers are extraordinary. We need to move on this opportunity.”

“Good morning to you, too, Dad.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Good morning. But seriously, these projections… She’s talking about achieving a national presence within eighteen months. The investment requirements are significant, but the potential returns…”

I pull up my email, finding Miranda’s report waiting with the kind of detailed spreadsheets that make Dad’s eyes light up. Revenue projections, market analysis, competitive positioning—all the language of serious business that transforms our personal venture into something abstract and strategic.