Wyatt
The kitchen counter is loaded with groceries. I think I’ve purchased everything a hungry teenage boy could want. We’re on our own tonight. Jo, in an effort to be traditional, insisted we spend the night before our wedding apart from one another. I’d argued, but she got her way. She left about an hour ago with an overnight bag and a departing kiss. I’d told her to tell Shelby I said hello.
So now it’s just me and Travis once he gets home from school. I’d called Tenley earlier for advice. She’s the only stepparent I know. She’d pointed out it’s not the same, because Peyton and Charlie still have their mom, and Travis has never had a father.
Which got me thinking. What did my dad do for me that I would've missed if I’d been raised by a single-mother?
This is how I ended up with a truck full of stuff. We’re going to grill. Camp. Shoot. Toss a football. All things my dad did with us.
Travis walks into Wildflower twenty minutes later and places his keys on the hook Jo has on a wall in the kitchen. He’s only been driving for a short time, and Jo looks like she’s swallowing nerves every time he drives off, but it was important to me to make sure he had a way to get around. After all he’s been through, I want to keep him on the same general timeline as his peers. The truck was a gift from the Hayden family, an old beat-up thing that each Hayden boy drove when the time came. Not Jessie, though. She got a shiny new car, of course.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I tell Travis, taking steaks out of their packaging. I set them aside to allow them to come to room temperature.
Travis eyes the food. He grabs a bag of potato chips and opens it. “Starved,” he says, shoving in a handful.
“So look,” I say, striding out of the kitchen and into the living room. Jo has done an incredible job decorating. Everything is warm, inviting. Bookcases with books from every genre, overstuffed chairs the kids can sink into and get lost in a story. Sawyer found old maps from the days when Wildflower was Circle B and operating as a working ranch. Now they are framed on the walls, alongside a large sign that saysThe World Needs You.
As far as Sawyer is concerned, I don’t think he’s a threat. I confronted him about what I learned, and he told me he’d come to town to sell the ranch, and stayed because he’d lost his wife and being here reminded him of a time when he was a kid and felt truly happy. If that shit doesn't make a man emotional, he’s a robot. He also said he’d picked Jo to buy the ranch because she had the best plan for it. I left him alone after that.
I pick up two of my purchases off the couch. “On my last night as a single man, I have a few requests, and I need a wingman. Are you up for the task?”
Travis’s eyebrows lift. “A BB gun?”
“I assumed you’ve never shot before, and it’s a good place to start.”
He nods. “Okay. Yeah.” He’s trying to play it cool, but there’s excitement hiding in his nonchalance.
“Also,” I lift up the second box, “I want to camp.”
At this he makes a face. “I’ve never camped before.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Grab a box and follow me.”
It doesn't take too long to get all our stuff out back and situated. The tent is a bit trickier than I expected, probably because they're aren't at least four of us putting it together like when I was growing up.
“Are you sure you don’t want Wes and Warner out here to be your wingmen?” Travis struggles to drive the stake into the ground.
I grunt as I drive my stake into the hard earth. “Screw those assholes.”
Travis laughs and wipes a hand across his forehead. We finish the job, and later, when we’re watching the flames from the fire pit twist up into the night sky, I hand him something I worked hard to sneak out of the house.
“A fishing pole?” he turns it back and forth.
“Have you ever fished?”
“No.” He pretends to cast. I smile. His technique is as bad as mine was when I first started. That’s what I’m here for. To teach him. Not just about how to fish, but to show him the beauty in being outside. Cultivating the art of patience. The appreciation for nature. All invaluable lessons taught to me.
“Travis,” I start, sorting out how to say everything I’ve been thinking about. “I want you to know I’m not just marrying your mom. You’re a part of this, too. A package deal. I understand all this has been a lot for you, and things haven't been simple. I want you to know we can be as much of a family as you want to be.” I cross my ankles, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my sweatshirt. “I will be there for you in whatever capacity you allow, and I won’t let you down. Ever.”
Travis’s eyes are trained on the fire. I don’t blame him. I don’t know a teenage boy who responds enthusiastically to emotional declarations. But then he looks up at me. Firelight jumps around in the shine in his eyes.
“I want you to adopt me. I know I’ll be an adult in a couple years, but”—Travis lifts his shoulders to his ears and drops them—“I want to feel like I belong to someone. Like I have parents.”
I reach over, place my hand on his shoulder. One squeeze. Two pats. “It would be an honor, Travis.”
He may or may not see the tear rolling down my cheek. I don’t make a move to wipe it away. In addition to teaching him how to fish and shoot, I’m going to show him it’s okay for men to have emotions. I’m going to take every good thing my dad taught me, and add to it.
Jo
