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Once inside the preschool, Vada does the first rebellious thing. She says a quick, “Bye, Daddy!” and she races down the hall to catch up to Winona. Her best friend.
The girls clasp hands and sprint away from us, running up to their teacher.
I stand in shock next to Ryke and Daisy, my phone aimed at our daughters for Willow.
“Fuck,” Ryke curses, eyes hardened on the scene. Like his three-year-old is already grown up and doesn’t need her mom and dad anymore.
Daisy playfully tips his baseball cap over his eyes. “They’re still little. They’re just super, magnificent independent girls.”
“They’re fucking three. They don’t need to be that independent.”
“Ditto,” I mention. Shit, I didn’t realize this part would be that hard. I want her to come back to me. Am I really going to have to leave her here? I hate school. I hate these walls. I hate this place, but Vada…
“She did so good,” Willow says on the phone. “She looks happy.”
She does look really, really happy. I start smiling. Before Vada slips into the classroom, she turns to glance back down the hall.
She remembers me and waves.
I lift a hand in a stiff wave back, too emotional to be flinging my palm left and right.
“I screen-captured that too,” Willow says, emotion in her voice. “It’s such a good pic.”
“Send it to me.”
My phone pings.
Daisy suddenly notices that Willow is on FaceTime with me. “Willow, you feeling any better? Need me to do a chicken noodle soup run? I can be over there in a snap.”
I pass Daisy the phone so they can chat.
Ryke goes to speak to the teacher, and I follow to do the same. I’m defaulting to his experience here. And Ryke nods to me in silent greeting. He’s never been one for many words outside of fuck, but having him here is calming. And cool, really.
I get to raise my kid with his kid.
We share a short smile, and for longer than a second, it feels like I have an older brother with me.
He is my brother-in-law now.
Gratitude suddenly overwhelms me. Yeah, I’m just grateful—to have found this family I wish I always had. A family my daughter will always know.
There is nothing cooler than that.
10 years later
JUNE
epilogue
Garrison Abbey
Dirt tracks, bicycle tires, and a familiar announcement projected over a rowdy audience, “riders ready…watch the gates”—I smile, taking it all in.
Summer.
I’ve lived through thirty-nine summers, and before I met my wife, before those long drawn-out summer days in a comic book store, the few hot months out of school were hell.
I hated every summer.
My brothers were home more, and I’d do anything and everything to stay away.
Now, I hunger for the summer days, for the sticky heat and dirt under my soles. And I know with certainty—at thirty-nine—that I’ve loved more summers than I’ve hated.
Standing behind a wooden fence, I’m among the noisy crowd who cheer on racers. Sun beats on an outdoor BMX track, a little bit outside of Baltimore.
I run my palm back and forth over my head, hair buzzed short. I prefer nothing in my eyes. Not needing to hide anymore.
I haven’t for a long time.
My parents never tried to reconnect. Not even when I was in my early twenties and first left. They released me from their household like a crow who flew through the window and found its way out.
I never had to attempt to pull away twice or a third time. Once was all it took. And I’m grateful for that.
All three of my brothers ended up working for our father’s tech company. I never see them. Never speak to them, and like my parents, they’re gone from my world.
“Let’s go! Let’s go!” people shout from the sidelines, pumping up the teen racers as they catch air over dirt hills and skid along the curves of berm turns. Pedaling towards the finish line.
I drop my left arm, while my right arm remains loosely draped over my wife’s shoulder. And I smile as my eyes graze Willow and her fingers that are laced with my hand.
My gaze keeps traveling across the event. Competitors in full-face helmets, visors, and long-sleeved jerseys line up with their BMX bikes and wait for their moto, what Lo still calls a “heat” even after the tall one corrected him a hundred times.
Loren Hale is still that guy.
The corner of my mouth rises, and I glance down the fence. Where Lo has his arms around Lily while they watch the race. Lo is smiling, and in a quiet beat, he catches my gaze and we exchange something pure and happy.
Something I think only guys like me and him can ever truly understand. How long it’s been and how far we’ve come. To peace around us and to peace with ourselves.
I nod.
He nods back.
Johnathan Hale died twelve years ago after his many years of alcohol abuse finally caught up to him. He started laying off me after my kid was born. And by the time he passed away, we were on better terms.
