“And every year,” Melanie adds, “the weekend before Thanksgiving, we invite everyone over and have them bring something from their freezer. Usually, it’s a lot of pizza, frozen vegetables, soups, and ice cream.”
“That sounds fun,” I say, and I mean it.
They drift back into conversation, talking over one another and laughing. I lean back and let it wash over me. Watching Miles with his sisters is… strange, in the best way. I grew up in a quiet house and hospital waiting areas, where laughter felt inappropriate and joy always came with a side of guilt. His family is loud, ridiculous, and affectionate. They argue over games, hug in kitchens, invent traditions on the fly, and they pull me right into the middle of it.
A part of me aches for that, but a bigger part is terrified by how much I want to stay.
Thirteen
Don’t Screw This Up
Miles
Over the next ten days, I turn down a couple of OneDate events because the kiss at my house and game night keeps replaying in my head. Even though Nora was only the second woman I’ve ever kissed, it was perfect—even if it was technically for practice. Her lips were so soft against mine. I never wanted it to end. Before the dinner with my family, I’d debated whether I should kiss her again, then immediately decided it was too soon. I need to wait for her cues first. There were even moments during the game when Nora smiled at me or when her knee brushed mine, that made me want to reach over, clasp her neck, and pull her to me for a kiss. I feel like myself around her. I don’t need to rehearse responses three sentences ahead. My body isn’t a system under stress. It just… runs smoothly.
Mallory texts me a picture on my way to work this morning. It’s a candid shot of Nora leaning in close, laughing, her hand resting on my arm. My mouth is open mid-sentence, eyes lit up as if I’m actually having fun. She captioned it: Happiness looks good on you. She’s a keeper. Don’t screw this up.
They adore her. That part’s impossible to miss. Especially by the way Mallory hugged her like they’d known each other since kindergarten, or the way the kids argued over who got to sit next to her. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. They think she’s my girlfriend. And part of me wishes she was.
Something shifted that night. I wasn’t the single guy on the sidelines for once—I fit in with my sisters. With my family. Nora didn’t look bored or unsure. She looked as though she wanted to be there. With me. Sure, some of it was the practice, but most of it was Nora. She doesn’t make me feel like a project. She makes me feel like a person who’s already enough—just learning a few new tricks. Even my sisters noticed. I left that night feeling different. Lighter. More confident. Perhaps dating isn’t as impossible as I always thought.
After work, I reach my front steps with my phone already in my hand, my thumb hovering over Nora’s name.
Just call her.
Instead, I push the door open—and freeze in the doorway. My dad sits on the edge of the couch in his underwear as competitive chainsaw carving plays on the TV screen. His elbows are on his knees, staring with intent as if one wrong cut could destroy civilization. Mallow naps beside him, fully at peace, because apparently this is the new normal.
He doesn’t even look up when I step inside. “Dad,” I say carefully. “Why are you on my couch… in your underwear?”
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he lifts a hand in greeting. “Hi, son. It’s laundry day.”
I stare. “What?”
“Your mother’s doing laundry.”
My jaw clicks shut then opens again. “You can’t just—Dad. What if I brought someone home?”
His brows shoot up, finally peeling his gaze from the TV. “Did you bring someone home?”
“No.”
He relaxes like I just told him the house isn’t on fire. “Then we’re all safe.”
I drop my bag on the floor with a heavy thump, the cases inside rattling softly. Dad doesn’t even flinch.
Since retiring, he’s embraced a very specific kind of freedom. One that involves an ongoing vendetta against pants. Even though their basement apartment is fully equipped with its own living room, he much prefers the natural lighting in mine.
I sigh, already resigned. This is exactly why I never host SBL meetings here. Some things can’t be unseen, and no one deserves to stumble into that by accident.
“Now the reason for the underwear has been established, why are you here?” I ask. “I thought you and Mom were going to be in Georgia for a month.”
“We were.”
“And?”
“Your mother changed her mind. She wanted to come home early for the Freezer Feast.”
“But you two have missed the Freezer Feast before.”
