At the memory of that comment, my fingers clench around the wooden spoon I’m washing. Am I doing something wrong here? Should I let someone new be this involved in the girls’ lives? We’re allowing her into our world, and they’re laughing and dancing together now, but Millie could decide tomorrow that she’s over it.
Chapter 12
Millie
Oaks Folks
Millie: Made pizza tonight and thought of you guys! I miss you all!
Mom:Looks great, sweetie.
Mom:Is that a child’s hand in the corner of the picture?
Tess:Yeah, Mom, she had a secret child and never told you.
Dad:That’s your mother’s worst nightmare. Don’t scare her before bed.
Fabes:But for real, whose tiny hand is that?
The sound of the girls’ giggles pulls my eyes from my phone, and I click it off, placing it on the table. They climb the steps of the swing set while Finn and I sit on their back patio, watching the sun dip behind the horizon.
“How did you get into entomology?” Finn asks, dropping his last pizza crust on the plate in front of him.
“Well, I was raised in an outdoorsy family, so insects were always a part of our lives,” I say, taking a sip of my water and studying him over my glass. His legs are spread wide in his chair as he holds a beer bottle on his thigh.
A sprinkle of flour still clings to his black shirt, and it gives me a flashback of his tan forearms working as he folded and pressed his pizza dough. It was embarrassing how quickly my heart rate escalated to the beat of a hummingbird’s wings.
Before I can get flustered again at the memory, I continue, “I grew up on a farm, and I was always the bug girl in our family.” The rest of my words pause on my lips as I realize maybe he’s asking me about this as a post-interview question. I don’t want that to be the case. I want him to just be interested as a friend, but I’m not sure about the meaning behind it. Should I be answering this as a potential promotion opportunity or as a friend having a drink on a patio?
“What kind of farm did you grow up on?”
I glance at him, and he’s looking right at me, the warm glow from the string of lights overhead making his eyes shine. He looks genuinely curious and not at all like someone giving me a job interview. So I let my shoulders relax.
“We have a corn maze and pumpkins in autumn, pick-your-own berries in summer. And my favorite part is in the winter when my parents dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus for a few events, andwe light up a path through the farm for people to drive through. We sell vegetables at the farmers’ market, and we have chickens, goats, horses, ducks, a barn cat, and a farm dog. Oh, and a lone donkey.” I laugh to myself. “It’s a lot. But it’s my favorite place in the world.”
He nods. “That sounds like a kid’s dream. Do you get to go there often?”
“The farm is in Fern River, only about an hour from here. I go once a month or so for the weekend.” I take another sip from my drink. “Do you see your parents often?”
“As rarely as I can.” He sighs, shaking his head. “We have a complicated relationship. I take the girls over there occasionally, but we don’t ever enjoy it, honestly.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my heart aching at the lack of support he seems to have.
“Millie,” he starts, putting his hand over mine on my armrest, inviting my eyes to his. “Don’t feel like you should have to go through life apologizing for things you didn’t do. Sometimes you don’t even need to apologize for things youdiddo. And you absolutely don’t need to apologize for my shitty parents.” His warm, calloused hand is only there momentarily before he pulls it away.
I nod in a daze, startled by the sincerity and concern in his tone.
It’s true. I apologize way too much, but sometimes when I say “I’m sorry,” what I actually mean is “I’m sad for you.”
Finn continues, “My parents have never been proud of my choice to work in astronomy. It took me a while to realize I didn’t have to bend to their will. As a kid, I wanted to make them happy—make them pay attention to me—so I told them whatever they wanted to hear. I said I would be a lawyer, like my dad, but that was never me. Even now, they would love to see me drop everything I’m passionate about to attend law school and work for my dad.”
I would be devastated if my parents weren’t proud of me or didn’t support my dreams. I grew up in a house where we could pursue every single thing that sparked our interest. My childhood bedroom was filled with jars and boxes of insects, and my momstilltakes the time to send me a picture of any insects she finds because she knows I’ll try to identify them for her.
“Shortly after Clara was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, she had me over to talk about her will.” He downs a drink of his beer. “She said she wanted me to take the girls. Their dad has never been in the picture, and we both knew our parents would be awful caregivers for them. It had to be me,” he says with a shrug. “Clara was already so sick that I started looking for a house to buy that night.” He rubs a palm across his jaw. “My parents threw a fit, of course. In their eyes, they have more money and a bigger house, and they’ve already raised kids. But, as it is, they can’t even find the time to be good grandparents to the girls.”
“They’re the ones missing out,” I say, a flash of protectiveness burning in my chest.
He nods and solemnly whispers, “Yeah.”
