He didn’t think he’d miss the boats themselves, at least not for a while. Maybe one day he’d miss that, too: the smells, the guts, the rhythm of the sea, the constant roar of your senses.
Maybe not, though. Maybe he was just being weird and dramatic. It was weird, finally getting what you wanted.
Or at least—close enough to what you wanted.
Luca stayed through more stories, more gossip, through dishes and cleanup and the petering out of guests. He knew he should sit down and talk with Daniel and Jacob, too, but he was too preoccupied puzzling over what his dad was actually thinking. They probably wouldn’t be that surprised, anyway, when Adrian inevitably shared the news. They might even be relieved that the quiet, moody brother would finally be off the boats.
He was just about ready to make his own goodbyes, throwing a trash bag into the bin at the side of the house, when Adrian approached him.
“Luca.”
Luca almost jumped. He turned, taking in his father’s grave face.
“Uh. Hey, Dad.”
His dad looked at him for a beat before wiping a hand over his face. He held it there for a second before dropping it. When he finally looked back up at Luca—Luca had been taller than his dad for a good ten years now, but it never ceased to be strange—his eyes were damp.
Luca blinked.
He wasn’t necessarily surprised to see it. His dad was one of the most emotional people he knew, in that way that the most stoic person in the room was often the one most in tune with all the shit boiling inside him.
The fact that this emotion was aimed atLuca, though—this, he didn’t know how to deal with.
“Dad?”
“Sorry. It’s just, I’ve been waiting for this day a long time now. The day when you would leave us.”
Luca swallowed.
Guess his discontent had been more obvious than he’d thought.
Still, he had thought his dad would be angry. Had thought, for the last few hours, that maybe hewasangry. At worst, indifferent. He didn’t—he truly hadn’t thought Adrian would besad.
“I’m not—I’ll still be right here.”
“I know, I know. And that’s good.” His dad shook his head, sniffled. “But you won’t be out there.” He nodded his chin, a gesture toward the ocean. “I think it’s been a long time since you’ve truly wanted to be out there. If you ever wanted it at all.”
Luca hung his head. Didn’t know what to say. He and his dad had never talked about this shit. Ever.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said again.
“Please, Luca, don’t be sorry. It’s just?—”
Adrian stood a little taller. When Luca met his eyes again, his father’s gaze was steely, his voice clear and certain.
“Promise me you’ll be a farmer who’s still a storyteller.”
Luca’s mouth parted.
“Promise me,” Adrian said again.
They never talked about this, either. Luca’s stories.
A boat was a place for storytellers, it was true, and theirs had their fair share. Joe was particularly good at spinning a yarn. But Luca had never been one to speak of his stories out loud. He wouldn’t dare share even the hint of a plot outside his own head.
But he supposed his dad had witnessed him scribbling in his journals during the down times, during the nights. Before the boats, too, when Luca was just a kid, when they were only father and son, not co-workers.
“Okay,” he managed.
