“It’s not important. I can cancel. Yeah, I’m sure.”
This isn’t the first conference I’ve been invited to, and it won’t be the last. I’m not oblivious enough to think that I’d be invited if I weren’t the founders’ son. Do they need their social media manager at a business conference? No. They just like having me around. I had a night out with the guys planned tomorrow, but they’ll understand.
Columbus is one of the better destinations. There’s just enough to do that no one should be bored. Apparently there will be five of us: my parents and I, the financial manager, and the project manager. The main focus of this conference is growth. I guess there is reason for me to go.
Scout’s barking pulls me from a mindless gaze. “You need to go outside?” I’ve put enough time and effort into training this dog that there should be no guesswork, but sometimes I think he realizes he’s still a dog who can bark.
My big, scary doberman (he wouldn’t hurt a fly) leads me through the house, glancing back every few steps to make sure I’m following. He was more intimidating when he was young and agile; now he’s an old man who eats canned food for dinner. As we trail around corners and pad across rugs, I realize that I really need to vacuum. The chores that come with a house fall on blind eyes sometimes; I’m still picking up the everything is on me responsibility thing. We’ve only been in this house for three months, and if you walked in right now, you’d be able to tell. Boxes sit in the corner of the kitchen and on the fireplace, waiting to be unpacked. I should throw them away. What do I need in them that I haven’t used for three months?
Scout bolts out the door the second it’s opened. It must still be seventy degrees outside, despite the sun having set hours ago. If the weather stays this nice, a pool might be worth the investment.
I almost laugh at myself. I’d have to have money for a pool.
