When everything blew up, I knew I had to start over and find myself again. I knew I needed help at the foundational level. And what better place to do it than here?
Except now, a certain girl is occupying all my thoughts. I know it’s because I want to take things off Lilly’s plate. I know it’s because I owe it to her parents for everything they gave me as a teenager. But a small part of me is wondering if there’s more. The way she broke down two days ago watching the calf will probably haunt me for a while. Her eyes were void of light, turning deeper blue like the sea rather than the bright sky.
But then, she flipped a switch. Her sadness was replaced by a mask of happiness I’m itching to find out if I can turn into a permanent one. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this before. I don’t like it.
Not when the woman behind whatever these feelings are is out of reach and off limits.
How fucked up is this?
A call comes through on my phone in my pocket—Dad.
“Hello?” I pick up, and concern washes over my voice. He never calls. It’s usually Mom who does, considering my relationship with my father has never been great.
“¿Cómo estás, hijo?'“
“Bien, ¿y usted?”Usted. The most formal way of referring to someone, but the only way my family approves of.You need to show respect to your elders, hijo.
“Te estoy llamando para hacerte una pregunta.” I knew he wasn’t calling just because. He has a question, because of course he does.
“Claro. Déjame bajarme de la camioneta y hablamos. Estoy llegando a la casa.” I park the truck, get out, and walk to the porch. Whatever this conversation is about needs my focus. I was almost here either way.
“That cabin is not a home.”
Here we go.
“Are you calling to reprimand me for my choice of moving out here, or are you calling to ask me something, like you said?” Almost forty years old and still getting scolded by my parents over my life choices. I understand they have the best marriage there ever was, the cookie-cutter American dream, if you will, but they don’t understand there’s more to life than that.
I mean, look at Oliver, my middle brother. He had it all too—the house, the job, the kid—and then his wife died, and the dream was dead.
So what if mine looks different than theirs?
I do want a life with someone else and kids and a job that fills my tank, but it didn’t happen in the linear way they were hoping for. And as much as I liked Cassandra, I don’t think I ever loved her.
“You’re right.”
That’s new.
“I am calling to ask your opinion on something. I know we have had our differences.”
That’s putting it lightly.
“But we found our way around each other, ¿veldá?”
“Sí, más o menos.” Less than sort of, but sure, let’s go with it.
“I am struggling with your brother.”
“Oliver?”
“No, Lucas.”
Oh, the second golden child with all the hopes and dreams. Dad played baseball professionally. I sucked at it. Oliver is great, and so is Lucas, except Lucas doesn’t love it as much as they do. I bet it has something to do with that.
“What’s wrong with Lucas?”
He lets out a breath. “You know that best friend of his? Summer?”
Chaos child? “Yes.” Now that I think about it, she’s a lot like Riley—young, wild, free.
