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“Money was tight?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m prying.
“I didn’t know we were poor until I went to school.” He smiles to himself. “I always had things. My mom was good at thrifting. But school really made it clear that there were kids with fresh, white sneakers, and there were kids like me, with sneakers on the verge of falling apart. There was a difference.”
“I never noticed anyone like that growing up,” I admit, feeling guilty.
“Which means you weren’t one of the poor kids.” He laughs at the look on my face. “It’s okay, your family life is a mess now.”
I glare at him. “I know I’m a wreck, but my parents were pretty normal. They both had jobs, we had money. They didn’t lose their freaking minds until my senior year of high school.”
“You went to Penn,” he points out. “You must’ve been good in school.”
“I did okay. Good enough to get accepted, but not good enough to merit any scholarship money. Both my parents pressured me into accepting anyway. They said having a degree from an Ivy League school like Penn would be like printing money. It wouldn’t matter if I graduated in debt.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Bad advice.”
“Turns out, yeah.”
“I have a similar story. I worked hard back then, really hard. I saw the way my parents lived, always struggling, and I knew my best shot was getting into a top school. So I obsessed over homework. Graduated top of my class. Then lucked into Blackwoods. They gave me a scholarship, I think because they like to do a little charity work from time to time. Met Carmine, Ford, Lanzo, and Evander. Went to law school. The rest is history.”
“Now you’re a lawyer,” I say, squinting against the sun. “Your parents must be proud.”
“Proud enough,” he says, looking out at the sea. “You’d make a good mom, you know.”
I cough at the sudden pronouncement. “Where’d that come from?”
“Just thinking about last night. You really would.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” I shake my head, pushing myself up onto an elbow, smiling at the way he glances at my body. “I might’ve talked a little too much, you know, when we were going to bed.”
He kicks some sand lightly. “Maybe, but I mean it. You’re patient. You’re kind. You care. That’s pretty much what you need to be a good mom, isn’t it? But I’m worried I’d be a shit dad. I’m worried I have too much of my own father in me.”
“You don’t drink that much,” I point out, arching an eyebrow.
“No, but I’m obsessed. Maybe I’m not addicted to alcohol, but I am addicted to work. You said it yourself, remember? I’m a workaholic. I don’t have anything else. I worry I wouldn’t be able to fix myself, and I wouldn’t be around for much.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him that he can change, if he wants to. His whole life, he’s been working alone, acting alone, but if he found a partner—if he found a woman that he wanted to bring into his life—he could rearrange his priorities. It’s far from too late.
But Orin and Molly approach from the ocean, holding hands. Orin grins huge at us and waves, getting our attention. “We’ve been talking, and I have an announcement.” He stands in front of us with hands on his hips while Molly gives a beleaguered sigh and takes her seat. “I’m ready to extend a formal invitation to join the family, Gareth. If you’re interested in accepting.”
Gareth sits up straight. I watch his face closely, looking for the excitement I expect—but instead, there’s only worry, uncertainty. Even now, in this moment, with his ultimate goal so close at hand, he can’t be happy. He can’t accept that this is good. That he wants this.
“I’d need to discuss the move with my wife,” Gareth says cautiously.
“Discuss away,” Orin says. “That’s why I told you both at the same time. You don’t make solo decisions anymore.”
“But once we settle that—” Gareth stands, and finally, the smile I was expecting breaks across his face. “I’d be happy to work for you.”
“Wonderful,” Orin says, shaking Gareth’s hand.
“Now that’s out of the way, let’s celebrate.” Molly pulls a bottle of champagne from a cooler bag and breaks it open. “Here’s to a long life and a longer partnership.”
She hands out glasses. I accept mine, toast the others, take a long sip. Gareth watches me as he drinks. I know what he’s thinking—we’re moving to Boston, whether I like it or not.
But I meant what I said the night before.
What else do I have but an adventure with him?
I have nothing keeping me in Dallas. Nothing holds me back. No prospects, no future. Only him.
