Scrooge

1. Haylee Tucker

1

HAYLEE TUCKER

“C ome again?” I ask, looking between my mom and dad, wondering what the hell they are talking about.

Dad looks pale. Even paler than normal, which is probably not too unusual after experiencing a mini stroke a few months ago.

“Jackson Enterprises has increased our rent on this place,” he says, a grim edge to his tone. I glance back at Mom, and her face seems just as pale.

“What do you mean? They haven’t raised the rent in years,” Jillian asks, my older sister just as bewildered as I am.

“Well, since Jerry Jackson died…”

“God rest his soul,” my mom says as Dad trails off.

“His son has taken over. And, well, he is all about money, it appears.” Dad releases a heavy sigh, rubbing his chest, and my eyes narrow.

“Well, he can’t do that,” I say, though I know that, of course, he can. He owns this building. Hell, he probably owns the entire city. He can charge whatever he likes.

“He can and he did,” Dad tells us, and I look at him to Mom and back again, their faces ashen, shoulders slumped.

“So what’s the increase?” Jillian asks as she takes a seat in front of Dad’s solid mahogany desk, which has sat in this office for decades. I remain rooted to the floor, my feet not moving, but I’m starting to feel anxious, my hand automatically grabbing my earlobe and squeezing.

“It’s substantial,” my mom says, walking around to the back of the desk and standing behind Dad’s chair. She places her hands on his shoulders, like she is offering him support. They are so in love, even now, after all these years.

“Substantial?” I ask with a pounding heart, wanting more information.

“He has put us out of business,” Dad says, and I hear a gasp and look at Jillian, who is already looking back at me, our mouths open in shock.

“What do you mean, out of business?” I prod some more, but I can see Dad’s heart breaking. Not that he’s been around the store much these days, especially since his stroke. But this is his legacy, and he and Mom worked here at Tucker Toys all their life. They built an institution, which my sister and I both manage now, while they start to slip into retirement.

“The rent is now too much. We can’t sustain it,” Mom says, as Dad rubs his eyes. My chest aches, thinking about what will happen if Tucker Toys closes. Not only do we lose Dad’s legacy, but Jillian and I lose our jobs, our parents lose their retirement funds, and the city loses so many memories.

My sister is white as a ghost. I see it now. The fear in her own eyes. She has two kids to look after, school fees, sports and dance, and all sorts of things she needs to finance. Without working in the family business, she is going to suffer. As will I, but I only have myself to worry about.

“But Tucker Toys is a New York institution. People come from all over the world to visit us,” I say, like they don’t know. But my head is spinning.

“Can’t you talk to him? Mr. Jackson? The son? Can’t he see that he will be ruining us?” Jillian’s nerves are clear in her shaky voice.

“Your father called his office multiple times. But he won’t take our call. We don’t have the same relationship as we did with his father,” Mom says, her usual smiley personality now nonexistent. That alone is enough to have me feeling shaken.

“But Jerry always used to take your call,” I say, shaking my head at how little sense this all makes. Mom and Dad share a look.

“Jerry did, but I don’t even know his son. He has been living in Europe for years and came home when his father passed. Rumor has it, he hasn’t been the same since his father died, and all I know of him is that his reputation isn’t good. They call him Scrooge, and now I know why,” Dad says, and I frown with frustration.

“Scrooge? Sounds like it should be asshole, if you ask me,” I quip.

“Hayley!” my mom scolds me, but I just raise my eyebrows, challenging her to disagree before my father moves on, ignoring my name-calling.

“Jackson Enterprises is building high-rise apartments all up and down this street. Apparently, everyone wants to live this close to Central Park and the real estate market is booming,” Dad says.

“Their leasing manager told us they plan to knock down the store and rebuild,” Mom confirms. “They want to use our name and our branding for the new build. Like a nod to the heritage of the street.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” I huff, shocked at the arrogance.

“Jerry’s kid is an asshole,” Jillian says, tossing me a look of agreement.

“Jillian!” my mother scolds her this time, and I snigger.

“She isn’t wrong.” I slowly take a seat, the information now settling. “So what is going to happen? What does this all mean?” I ask, looking back at my parents. The stable ones, the foundation of our family unit. The ones who would move heaven and earth for my sister and me.

“Well, for one thing, you need to stop grabbing your ear. What have I told you all these years?” Mom says sternly with a lifted eyebrow, and it has the desired effect as I let go of my ear and drop my hand immediately.

“That it will fall off if I continue to pull at it… But seriously, if there was ever a time my ear was to fall off, now would be it, Mom,” I say sarcastically, and her lips thin. “What are we going to do? We are about to go into the busiest time of the year with Thanksgiving and then Christmas.”

“This Christmas will be our last.”

I think my heart literally stops beating.

“No!” I say in a rush, jolting to stand, not wanting to hear it. “It can’t be. I won’t let it. There has to be something we can do.” I start to pace around the small office at the back of the shop, thinking of a plan. It is a little dark and dingy, and to be fair, this building is almost a century old, so a bit of a renovation is needed. But not a total knockdown to build something that is all marble and glass, with no life. Something only attainable to the one-percenters. The unfathomably rich.

“We do what we always do. We get ready for our busiest time of the year. Because come Christmas, Tucker Toys will be gone,” Dad says as his gaze drifts down, unable to face us. He doesn’t have to say what he is thinking because it is written all over his devastated face.

“You haven’t let us down, Dad,” I tell him, and he looks up quickly with glassy eyes as I see my mom dab hers.

“Not at all,” Jillian chimes in.

“We can find a way out of this,” I assure them both. Sure, our business has been decreasing a little, but the shop still brings so much joy to people.

“Oh, I am not sure we can this time, sweetheart,” Dad says, and I watch the flame in his eyes dull again.

With a deep breath and renewed determination filling my bones, I make a commitment to do anything I can to make this right. To not let this break us. My dad deserves it, we all do.