I blink. He blinks back, the corners of his mouth lifting. We are having a blink-off, and Tank is winning.
I rub my eyes, then drag a hand through my hair. “Dad, you can’t just Schitt’s Creek a town.”
“Language, son.”
I roll my eyes. Dad trained me and my siblings to steer clear of the three Ls: language, ladies, and the love of money. （For Harper, the ladies was probably replaced with something like lazy, lying, men.） Out of respect, we keep our language pretty clean, and Dad’s relentless financial training turned us all into fiscally responsible adults.
As for the ladies … well. As the old saying goes, two out of three ain’t so bad. Over the years, Collin, James, and I were locked in a three-way tie for quickest turnover in the girlfriend department. Nowadays, Collin is too much of a workaholic to date, and James is practically a hermit. As for me, I want a romantic, true love, all-in marriage like my dad and mom. But seeing how I already met the perfect woman and, in typical Pat fashion, screwed it all up, I’m basically a monk.
“Catch up to the times, old man. Schitt’s Creek is a show. You’d know that if you stopped protesting Netflix’s price increase.”
Tank grumbles, but thankfully doesn’t launch into his tirade about Netflix and price gouging. Instead, he asks, “What kind of a show is named Poop Creek?”
I choke on my laughter. “It’s got Eugene Levy in it. You love him.”
“Is he the one with the eyebrows?”
“The very one. I’ll let you Netflix it on my account.”
“You should really stop verbing nouns. I’m not giving up my boycott based on moral principles for a show named after poop. Not even for Eugene Levy. What’s it about?”
“A dad buys a town for his son as a joke, but the family ends up living there when they lose everything. Sound a little autobiographical?”
He chuckles. “Actually, yes. Considering I bought this town for my sons. Well, all of us, really. But especially you boys.”
“Christmas is months away, and even if it were closer, none of us asked for a whole town in their stocking.”
Tank shakes his head like he’s disappointed in my lack of understanding. “It’s for the brewery.”
I shake my head. “James won’t like it.”
“James hasn’t seen it.”
“Unless it’s a town somehow located within the Austin city limits, James won’t be on board. And because you did this without even asking him, he’ll say no on principle.”
We may call the fledgling Dark Horse Brewery a family business, but it’s my oldest brother James’s baby. His idea, his award-winning brews. The rest of us are more like investors. Mostly the silent kind, since James doesn’t love input.
He is notoriously control freaky about everything from the kinds of barrels he brews in to the farms used to source the hops. James is NOT going to be okay with Dad making a unilateral decision about location for the planned expansion.
Especially considering the fact that wherever this town is, it’s not in Austin. First, my whole family lives here. Other than the few years Collin and I played pro football in various cities, we’ve all stuck close to home. I think losing Mom so young bonded us uniquely together. We’re not just family, but best friends.
Second and maybe more importantly, Austin is a city filled with people ready to drop their cold, hard cash on fancy microbrews. The college kids, the foodie snobs, those busy keeping Austin weird, and even Gen X-ers still partying like it’s literally 1999—they all like beer. Especially good beer. Custom stuff with fancy names and delicately layered flavors, which, it turns out, James is a genius at developing.
I’m honestly a little envious at how my older brothers have found ways to monetize their unique skill sets. James has Dark Horse, Collin has his gym for elite athletes （where Harper also works）， and I have … I don’t even know what. My sparkling personality? My keen wit? My ability to binge several seasons of a TV show in a week?