“I’ll do my best to be nice to him, Willow.” Dad chuckles as I raise my coffee to my lips. “You’re being safe, right?”
I scoff, shooting him a look of disbelief over my mug. “Are you asking if I’m using condoms?”
“I’m asking if you aresafe. With your body. Your mind. Every piece of yourself.”
That pulls a soft smile from me. “He makes me feel safer than anyone else ever has.”
Dad chews on his inner cheek, glancing toward my mom in the kitchen before his eyes find mine again. “I don’t want to tell you what to do... but I think you should take things slow.”
“Oh, we are,” I murmur.
I dip my head to hide my blush when I remember that Weston went out of his way to ask Allie for a list of my favorite books, ventured into my aunt’s store, and bought them. I was ready to beg for him at that moment, but he doesn’t seem ready to take the next step yet, and deep down, I know I’m not either.
“I just want to make sure you’re being mindful about what you’ve gone through,” Dad says gently, reaching across the table to take my hand. “And considering how things are going to change at the end of the summer...” He pauses, and I lift my head to find him biting his lip, as if he’s considering what to say next. As if I’m fragile—glass—and he’s afraid to shatter me. “I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
I offer him a closed-lip smile that I hope portrays reassurance. “We’re taking it slow. Friendship first. Mostly. I promise.”
“I get the feeling Weston is a little inexperienced,” Mom chimes from inside the kitchen. “I think that’s good for you, though.”
“What gives you that feeling?” Dad mutters.
She shrugs, mixing a bowl at the counter with a smirk on her face. “Mother’s intuition.”
“Yeah, well...” I laugh beneath my breath. “His natural born talents extend beyond surfing.”
“Willow, don’t traumatize your father before nine a.m., please.”
I grin broadly, knowing my dimples pop when I smile like this. The ones my parents say I inherited from him.
He frowns, eyes narrowing in a crestfallen expression. “That is heathen behavior, Willow Maeve.”
I shrug, blowing them both dramatic kisses.
“I’m actually glad you’re eating with us this morning.” My mom laughs, floating into the dining room and taking a seat next to Dad. “I wanted to see if you have made a decision on schools yet?” she asks, mixing up her bowl of oatmeal—blueberries and peanut butter. The same way she’s eaten it my entire life. My favorite way to have it too. “No pressure if not, but I thought it was a good time for a family check-in.”
Dad reaches across the table, grasping my hand again. “We’re so proud of you for not giving up on yourself, Willow.”
“Thanks.” I squeeze back. “I... I haven’t made a decision yet, but I’m figuring it out, and I’ll make sure to respond before the deadline.”
Mom nods, smiling softly. “If you wanted to take another semester off and stay home, we’d support that too. Whatever you need.”
“If you wanted to live with us and be my baby forever, that would be more than okay with me.” My dad grins, dimples popping.
A laugh bursts from me, and I slide out of my chair to stand behind his, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him hard. “I’m definitely not doing that, but I love you. I’m going back to school. I want to go back to school, I won’t let my education be taken from me.” I sigh. “I just haven’t figured out where yet.”
Dad tilts his head, kissing my cheek as Mom extends her arm to brush her hand along mine in a tender caress. “How are you feeling? About... everything?”
My parents have done a phenomenal job giving me the space I’ve needed to process things on my own. When it happened, there was no question in my mind about where I’d run to. I wanted to be home with them, but as the memories settled over me, it became harder to voice my feelings to them.
We don’t talk about it outside the reminders that they’re here for me, they’ll support any decision I make, and the somewhat vexing yet gentle nudge to seek therapy.
“I’m feeling better.” I grin. “I promise.”
“And . . .” Dad clears his throat, shuffling in his seat. “Does Weston know about . . .”
I shake my head, lifting off him and stepping into the doorway that leads toward the stairs. “Not about the pregnancy. I... I’m going to tell him. I just...”
“For what it's worth, I think he’ll understand, and I don’t think he’ll judge you in the slightest,” my dad says softly, my mother nodding in agreement. “I also think it’s okay to take your time, and wait until you’re ready.”
