Page 59 of Ship Happens

“I guess so,” Owen replies, because what else could he say? “But I . . .”

“You . . . ?” Jacob echoes.

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

“But I think that we should, especially if we don’t have our relationship to worry about anymore.” He says the words without an ounce of judgment in his tone. He’s simply stating a fact.

“Maybe . . .” Owen starts to say. “I—”

But Jacob interrupts him. “—‘don’t want to talk about this.’” Shaking his head, Jacob lets out this soft chuckle. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just very . . . you,” he continues. “To not want to have these conversations about yourself. Because you’re afraid of failing and being embarrassed.”

“What the hell?” Owen pauses, falling behind Jacob. “Where is that coming from?”

“A year’s a lotta time to think about things, Owen.”

“So, you’ve been thinking about me?” Owen questions, unable to help himself.

Jacob smirks at that. “Yeah, I have.”

“I’m not . . .” Owen begins to lie, but Jacob gives him a look. A reminder that this is the man he used to trust with everything. So maybe he can trust him with this. “I’m scared. Really scared.”

“What about, exactly?”

Owen takes a step forward, catching up to Jacob. “About failing, about letting everyone down. What if I never get to open this place? Or worse, what if I do and it’s a complete flop? I could close as quickly as I open.”

“You can’t worry about the what-ifs, Owen. If we all did that, no one would get anything done.”

“Easy for you to say,” Owen sputters. “I’ve told you the things my parents said to me.”

“You have, yeah.” Jacob nods. “But if they’re what’s stopping you . . . Owen, you haven’t seen them in over a decade. Maybe you should—”

“It’s not—” Owen stops him. “It’s not them. Not really.”

It’s what they said to him growing up, how they devalued the thing he felt the strongest connection to, the thing he always felt drawn to. His art. When he was a kid, his parents had placated Owen any time he said he wanted to be an artist when he grew up. However, the older Owen got, the clearer it became that he was expected to follow the path laid down by his parents from birth. He’d test into the best high schools, have plenty of extracurriculars that’d beef up his college applications, go to Berkeley to study law like both of his parents had done.

And then he’d finally make them proud.

None of that happened, though. Because of his diagnosis, Owen had been forced to repeat the ninth grade, and his steadily decreasing GPA made sure that none of his father’s connections could get him into one of the better schools in the city. There hadn’t been a single hope of getting into Berkeley.

The final straw came when Owen flunked out of UCSF. They barely looked at him as they explained how exhausted they were by their child, how he was nothing more than a disappointment. They never officially disowned Owen, never told him to stop coming home; they just stopped talking to him. His mother stopped calling him, he stopped getting invitations to Thanksgiving or Christmas. They stopped replying to his happy birthday text messages, stopped sending them when Owen’s came around.

Suddenly, Owen just didn’t exist to them.

Owen wishes he could say that it didn’t bother him, that he felt some sense of freedom from finally getting out from under their thumb. But his parents had always been a safety net. No matter how hostile it might have been, he’d always had a house to go back to, parents who wouldn’t let him go without a roof over his head or food in his stomach. And suddenly, that was gone.

Alcohol quickly became the easiest method of keeping the darkest of his thoughts at bay, which only worsened his arthritis, leaving him with some of the worst pain he’d experienced since his diagnosis, a period of his life that he’d only ever found the courage to tell Kaitlyn and Jacob about.

“It is a scary thing. I get it.” Jacob’s voice pulls Owen from his spiral. “What’s that percentage where most businesses close within the first year?”

Owen’s stomach sinks. “Thanks for the confidence.”

“Hey!” Jacob exclaims. “Let me finish my point.”

“Okay, okay.” Owen motions. “Go ahead.”