We Are Inevitable by Gayle Forman (read aloud txt) 📕

“Of course we’re gonna do a café,” Ike says. “By the way, did the porch-swing guy want an espresso?”

“Uhh, maybe later.”

“Doesn’t anyone want one?” Ike asks.

“I wouldn’t say no to a latte, one shot,” Angela says. “The cake pairs very nicely with coffee.”

“I didn’t know you baked professionally,” Penny tells Angela.

“Oh, it’s always been a hobby,” Angela replies. “But I recently retired and I’m so bored I could cry. And then Ike called and asked me about supplying the café’s baked goods and at first I said I couldn’t do it, but then I thought about you, Penny.”

“About me?”

“Yes, if you could go into business at your age, why couldn’t I? Maybe this is the beginning and one day I’ll have a chain of bakeries.” She beams at Penny, who grimaces back. “Now, who wants a slice?”

“I do!” I jump to the front of the line, wedging myself next to Penny, grabbing a piece. “Penny, come talk to me before you leave about that, uh, paint thinner.”

“Paint thinner?” Ike asks.

“Penny had a deal on some paint thinner at the hardware shop.”

“Didn’t see anything about it,” Ike says.

“It’s not advertised,” I say.

“Hmm,” Ike considers. “We’re at least two weeks away from painting.”

“Two weeks?” Penny asks. “That puts you into December?” She says this mildly, without even looking at me.

“She’s right,” Ira says. “We should be open by Black Friday.”

“Finishing up by then’s gonna be a stretch,” Ike says. “Particularly because I won’t get much work done next week when I’ll be in Walla Walla visiting my daughter. Though we could push to open before Christmas.”

“Catch the holiday rush,” Garry says.

We haven’t had a holiday rush in years, but that doesn’t stop Ira from nodding.

“None of this is set in stone,” I repeat to Penny. “Why don’t we talk about it outside?”

“Have your cake first,” Angela says, thrusting a slice at Penny and one at me.

“I think I will,” Penny says, accepting the famous crumb cake. “Aaron, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Back on the porch, Hannah’s looking a bit peeved. “Everything okay in there?”

“I’m not an addict!” I blurt out, as I thrust the cake toward Hannah.

“What?”

The cake sits there in midair. “I’m not in the program. I’m not an addict.”

Hannah’s face bunches up in confusion. It would be adorable were it not for the source of the confusion. “But you don’t drink. You said you can’t go into bars.”

“I can’t go into bars because I’m underage. And I don’t drink because I don’t. I’ve never had a drink or smoked pot or anything.”

“But you had all those recovery books in your basement.”

“Because of my brother . . .” I trail off. “He was the addict.”

“The brother who died?” Hannah asks.

“Yeah,” I say, the taste of rotting strawberries making me want to gag.

“I am so sorry,” Hannah says.

“It’s okay. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your brother?”

“It’s not my favorite topic of conversation.” I look at her. “Why didn’t you tell me about your addiction?”

“My sponsor’s been asking me the same question. I don’t really know.” She shakes her head. “It’s not like it’s a secret, but I think I was just enjoying myself, enjoying you; it felt easy, almost like we already knew each other and could skip over all the processing and just be.” She knocks herself on the head. “Stupid, Hannah.”

“No! Not stupid.” I grab her hands. “I mean, I’m not an addict but I also felt that connection. From the moment I saw you reading. Like I knew you. Like this was gonna happen.” I zig my hand back and forth between us. “Like it had already happened.”

Hannah is nodding, like she felt it too, and for a second I feel hope. It will be okay. It doesn’t matter that she’s an addict. I mean, she said she’s been sober a year. Sandy never made it past his three-month chip. A year means you’re practically one of the brochure success stories. She’s nothing like Sandy. I never could fall in love with someone like my brother.

“None of this matters,” I tell her. “I don’t care if you’re an addict. What matters is who you are, not who you were.”

“Who I was is part of who I am, Aaron.”

“I’m not saying it right . . .” But before I can say it right, Penny walks out.

“Aaron,” she calls. “Shall we discuss that . . . paint thinner?”

“Paint thinner?” Hannah asks.

I stand up. “Last time. I swear.” I follow Penny to the bottom of the porch and beckon her around the corner. “You didn’t tell Ira, did you?”

“Now, why would I do that? We had an agreement.” She stares at me hard. “We still have an agreement.”

“And I have until the end of the month to get you thirteen thousand dollars. You don’t need to come in and check on me.”

“I’m not here to check in on you. I’m fine however this goes. If you raise the cash, I’ll have a nice dividend. And if you don’t, I’ll have a renovated space. It’s a win-win for me.” She pauses to consider. “Maybe I’ll start a coffee bar of my own. I don’t much care for those drinks, but other people seem to. I bet I could put quite a dent into Cindy Jean’s business.”

“Why would you want to do that? You eat at C.J.’s every day.”

“But I don’t own C.J.’s.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s just business.” She turns back to the store. “Anyhow, from what I hear, you might get your way after all.”

“What did you hear?”

“That your friend in the wheelchair emptied out his savings account.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“From Rita Fitzgibbons.”

“Who?”

“She’s the bank manager. She said your friend made a substantial withdrawal and I assumed it’s for all that.” She gestures into the store. “Wouldn’t be how I’d invest my money, but if it weren’t for other people’s foolish business decisions, I’d be out of a job.”

“No, Chad didn’t pull that money for the store; it’s for the deposit on