I saw a quote recently that said ‘biology makes you a father, but love makes you a dad’.You’re my dad, Murph, in every way that matters.And it’s an honour to have you think of me as a son.
Thank you for everything.
Love, Nathan
The card slips from my hand and flutters to the floor as my body folds in on itself.I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the sob that rises in my throat.Tears soak my face and neck, and drip onto my sweater.I’ve been so caught up in managing the weight of my own grief and doing my best to help Mum carry hers, even though it doesn’t feel like I’m making much of a difference, that I sometimes forget it must be a crushing weight for Nathan too.
With him being the strong, silent type, the one who shows up selflessly for everyone else, it can be easy to assume he’s handling everything okay.There have been moments when he looks lost or as if something is haunting him, but then his eyes clear and he visibly straightens.It’s as if he’s steeling himself, donning mental armour so no one will see that he has deep fissures in his heart too.
By the time the tears slow and finally stop, I feel like I’ve cried a small river.I blot my face with a handful of tissues and wipe my damp hands so I don’t get the cards wet as I rebundle them and tie the ribbon around them once more.I peer into the drawer again and see a green notebook peeking out from under a stack of letters.
I pull it free, running my fingers over the elaborate Celtic knot embossed on the front.Without looking inside, I know this journal is different from Dad’s travel journals or even the notebooks he carried with him to jot down story ideas, bits of dialogue, and research notes.
Despite the voice in my head telling me I should go to bed and not risk another meltdown, I open the journal.I plan to take a quick look to satisfy my interest, but when I see the date in the top right corner of the first page, my heart trips in my chest.I do some mental math; this would have been shortly after my parents met.I skim the page, smiling at Dad’s familiar handwriting.
Before I know it, I’m taking the journal across the room to the armchair and getting comfortable once more.
If someone had told me at the beginning of this year that I’d meet the love of my life, travel with her through Europe, and then follow her to her tiny hometown in Canada, I’d have told them they were barmy.
And yet here I am.
Mae Mahoney appeared out of nowhere, like an auburn-haired vision from a fantasy.I thought love at first sight was a fairy tale, a myth, an outright lie…until I experienced it myself.
I’ve officially been in Honeywell Hollow, Ontario for one month.I’m staying at a charming B&B while Mae and I look for a place of our own.The owners, Mr.and Mrs.Montgomery, welcomed me with open arms, made me feel at home, and have given me work doing odd jobs around the place.
At night, Mae comes to the B&B since I don’t yet have a car.The Montgomerys told me that if I decide to stay, they’ll gladly sell me the old car that’s been sitting in the garage.Mae has shown me everything there is to see in Honeywell, and I’m as smitten with the town as I am with her.
Okay, that’s not entirely true—the town is wonderful, but Mae is extraordinary, and ‘smitten’ is an understatement for the depth of what I feel for this woman.
One night, while Mae and I sat at the back of the B&B property, watching fireflies dart to and fro, I confessed my long-held desire to be a writer.I told her of the hours I spent writing as a boy, of the notebooks I filled, and how I thought it was a passing fancy, a way to fill the time, until my creative writing teachers told me I had a knack for storytelling.Mae claimed she’s been enthralled by the stories I’ve told her these last couple of months, and that if my writing is half as good as my ability to tell a tale, I should pursue it.
And so, over the last two weeks, I’ve spent every spare moment when I’m not with Mae or working for the Montgomerys writing.It was slow at first as the voices in my head spewed doubts, but the words are flowing now.Mae laughed when I told her she’s my muse, but it’s true.I feel more inspired than I ever have before.
Loving Mae and being here has filled me with a brand new set of hopes and dreams I never imagined to aspire to before.I’m thinking seriously of the future for the first time in my life—marrying Mae, buying our first home, having children.Perhaps even pursuing my writing in a professional capacity.
It’s all new and frightening, but exciting too.I miss travelling, but I’m certain those days aren’t behind me for good.Mae and I are already talking about taking a trip together later this year if we can manage it.
These last few months have felt like an adventure, and now being here—sinking into the slowness and simplicity, the joy of being in love, and feeling like I’ve found my home—is an adventure of a different sort.Mae has shown me something I never thought was achievable: that it’s possible to have both wings and roots.
I snap the journal shut and clutch it to my chest, allowing the tears that have been collecting to fall once more.After a moment, I crack the book open again and flip through, skimming passages without stopping to read anything in particular.There’s a mix of everyday life, with Dad waxing poetic about his love for Mum, and details about his writing.It’s surreal to see what’s essentially my parents’ origin story, especially since I know what will happen over the next four decades…and how it will end.
Does their story count as a happily ever after?They did all the things Dad talked about, and then some—got married, bought a house, owned a business, had a kid, travelled, loved each other fiercely.They chose each other again and again, every single day of their lives together.I don’t remember ever seeing or hearing them fight.I know they must have because no relationship is perfect, but all I ever witnessed was love, respect, and admiration.
In a perfect world, their story would have ended with a fairy tale flair, the way it began.Dad would have lived another two or three decades—Mum too—and they would have died in each other’s arms, surrounded by family.But that wasn’t meant to be.
What Dad wrote about having wings and roots makes me think of Nathan.Despite my best efforts and our promises to keep things casual, I love him.I can’t even say I’ve fallenbackin love with him because I see now that I never stopped.I’m certain Nathan loves me too and always has, even when he resented me and couldn’t stand the sight of me.
Part of me wishes more than anything that Iwantedto stay in Honeywell.That I could settle down the way Dad did, build a life with Nathan, and be content here.That I could let love be enough, letthatbe the adventure.While the thought of being with Nathan makes my heart soar, the idea of staying makes me shrink.How can both be simultaneously true?
It should be simple, and yet it’s not.I wish it were.I feel like the stupidest, most selfish person alive, knowing I could have the love of an incredible man and the happily ever after, and yet feeling like it’s…not enough.Nathan would be my best friend, my lover, my protector, myeverything.And it’s not thathe’snot enough or that the life we could have wouldn’t be enough, but I’dknowsomething was missing.
I could stay in Honeywell and build a business planning trips for other people, ignore my itchy feet and the call of wanderlust, and let those roots sink deep into the earth, all while feeling as if my wings had been clipped.
Dad was content with occasional travel, but he also had a purpose in his writing.He got to inhabit countless worlds in his own imagination, all while inspiring and entertaining people around the world.Some people would think it was ridiculous to consider travelling a purpose, but I know it’s part of mine.I feel it down to my bones.Exploring the world and inspiring others to get out of their comfort zones, to experience all the wonders of the world, is what I love to do.
So what do I do?The only thing I’m sure of is that I love Nathan, but that’s not an answer or a solution.Is there some way I could have it all the way my parents did?Can I find a way to have both rootsandwings?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ~ NATHAN
