The fire crackles before us, sputtering before gaining new life, and we sit in silence, my admission hanging between us like the new thing it is.
“No,” my dad mutters, “of course not. What kid wants to be?”
I turn to him, the understanding in his voice so different than what I usually hear. Is this what Sloane’s gotten for the past ten years? Is that why we’re so different?
“I told you, Grant. I could’ve done things differently, and I mean it.” He pauses, his eyes latching onto something as he looks at me. “I don’t think you see where you wentwrong until they’re all grown, like you and Sloane are now. Don’t think it’s possible not to mess up.”
“You didn’t mess?—”
“And what if we did? It’s okay to let us feel that.” The crease between his brows deepens as he inspects my face, like it’ll fill in the gaps of everything I’ve never been honest about.
“I loved my life here,” I tell him, my voice cracking at the emotion I didn’t expect to find there. “I never want you to think I didn’t.”
A small huff escapes him, like a realization.
“So that’s it, huh?” he regards me like a fog just lifted, shaking his head. “There’s nothing you owe us, son. We love you, and that’s it. I’m sorry if I made you think our love was conditional.”
“That’s not what—” I start, embarrassment burning at the tops of my cheeks before he cuts me off.
“I thought joining Fielder Foods intimidated you. I said, Evie, maybe he just takes itsoseriously that the light I used to see in his eyes went out because he’s been workin’ so hard on gettin’ everything right. But…” he tilts his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I never asked, did I?”
The urge to tell him it’s not a big deal, that I’d be honored to join Fielder Foods, that he never needed to ask because of course I would do it, pushes against me. But I fight it, the newness of this moment encouraging me to lean into the truth for once.
“I’m uh… I’m going for the draft,” I finally tell him. And the moment I do, it’s like a thousand bricks fall off my shoulders, like a herd of elephants disappears from my chest.
“Okay,” he nods, taking the information in. His idea ofthe future looks so different than it did just twenty minutes ago, and he’s being more gracious than I’ve been to anyone lately. “I’d be lyin’ if I told you this didn’t make me nervous.”
“I know. But?—”
“But it’s your life, Grant. You can’t be makin’ decisions based on me. That’smyjob,” he smirks. “I want nothin’ more than for you to live a life you’re proud of. One that you’re happy to step into every morning you wake up. I don’t care what that looks like, so long as you have it.”
I don’t notice the tears trailing down my cheeks until one drops on my hands, clasped together in front of me. His assurance is something I didn’t realize I needed.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing back only some of the tears and taking a deep breath to still the rest. “Thank you.”
“No, it’s uh… something I probably should’ve made sure you knew a long time ago.”
I’m pulled into the kind of hug I’ve only gotten from Beau Fielder a few times in my life the moment I stand, and it’s another thing I didn’t realize I needed from him.
“Now, don’t go apologizin’ to your sister when she’s been through half of my better whiskey. You might lose an eye.”
My chest reverberates with laughter as I step back, and I notice the gray at his hairline that wasn’t there when he adopted me all those years ago. “No, I’d better not. But I should see if Mom needs another teammate. She never could draw.”
Now it’s his laughter that fills the room, his cheeks turning ruddy thinking about his wife trying to draw anything that isn’t a straight line. “Might just make her night not see you so dour.”
“Dour?” My face scrunches up at the word and he throws his hands up.
“She hasn’t had to tell a soul that you’re heartbroken—it’s written all over your face.” His laughter softens, his gaze turning thoughtful. “I don’t know what happened with you and Genevieve but… I think you know she’s worth whatever it takes to turn that ship around,” he tells me, leaving me alone with the ocean of hurt keeping me from doing just that.
31
Gen
The china on my mother’s long dining room table is pristine as Gerta, Ken’s housekeeper who I’ve grown rather fond of during these awkward family gatherings, arranges the name cards in the center of each plate. I watch as she sets mine down and glimpse at the next one in her hand.
William Chapman
I pluck it off the plate she’s gingerly set it on, staring at it in the palm of my hand long enough for her to notice.
