“Something wrong?” I stand from my bed and tuck my phone between my shoulder and my ear, using both hands to twist my hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head. I feel my forehead wrinkle as I pull my eyebrows together.
“It’s Carter,” he says after a beat. “He’s still acting weird. Sometimes he’s his normal, happy-go-lucky, goofy self and other times it’s like he’s trying to piss people off or cause trouble.”
“That doesn’t sound like him at all. Knowing you, I’m sure you’ve tried talking to him about it?”
We’ve talked about Carter a few times over the last few weeks so I know how concerning his behavior is. The last time they all got together for family breakfast, he told me that Carter stormed out and left after Coop said Willow wasn’t coming. I’ve had half a mind to try and ask Miles whether or not something was going on between them but I don’t want to cause any more conflict than there already is.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve tried talking to him; Coop’s tried talking to him. We even tried talking to him together one night when he agreed to grab a drink with us. That didn’t end well,” he mutters.
“Have you asked Willow if she has any ideas?”
“That’s another weird thing. Anytime either of us tries to ask her about Carter, she gets all flaky. I don’t get it.”
I think I do.
“Well maybe this weekend you can take some time to hang out with him when you aren’t on a call. Maybe showing him that you’re there will help him open up,” I offer, trying to not sound too much like atherapist. I don’t care how cute he tells me it is, I don’t want to psychoanalyze my boyfriend and his family if I can avoid it.
“That’s not a bad idea, doc. I’ll try that.” When he sighs again, I feel my lips press together into a tight line. Family is everything to Miles. Knowing he and Carter are in a riff doesn’t make me feel good for either of them.
“Alright, well, I’m here. I need to go in and get my shift started,” he says after a beat of silence. I know that this is going to weigh on his heart and I hate that there’s only so much I can do for him.
“Okay, be safe this weekend. Text me if you go out on any calls, even the two in the morning ones. And text me when you’re back.”
“I will, beautiful.”
“Promise?”
A warm chuckle comes over the line. “I promise, Hanna.”
I smile when I hear him say my name because the sound of it on his tongue is almost too perfect to survive. “I love you, fireman.”
“I love you, too, doc.”
“Come back to me.”
“I always will. As long as you’ll have me.”
“So how’s the boyfriend?”my dad asks as we walk down the sidewalk. After hanging up with Miles and getting ready for the day, I did a little crocheting until he came and met me at my place like he always does for our weekend walks.
“Richie,” I groan, tipping my head to one side and glaring at him out of the corner of my eye. I only ever callhim by his name when he annoys me. He loops his arm around mine and laughs.
“Oh, honey, you don’t need to be so private about it. Your mom and I are happy for you. George too.”
While he was the first person to know that I had someone special in my life by pure observation, George was also the one who seemed to carethe leastthat I’m finally dating someone. I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t care, more so that he wants me to be able to talk about it in my own time. He knows how my parents can get when they’re excited about something and gives me the personal boundaries I wish they would when it comes to my dating life.
“I wish you and Mom gave me the same space he does when it comes to Miles and I,” I say, externalizing the thought with a squeeze of his arm.
“Baby girl, he didn’t raise you nor did he take part in bringing you into this world. He has no right to butt into your private life like your mom and I do.”
“Hmm, I’d argue that you actually don’t have that right seeing as how I’m a grown adult,” I say with a touch more annoyance in my voice than I mean.
He drops my arm and gives me a quintessential dad look. The one where he’s half-smirking and half-sizing me up with his eyebrows pushed together. The one that tells me he knows he touched a nerve but is trying to remind me he’s just teasing.
“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m sorry if I upset you, I’m just happy to see you so happy, that’s all. You’re a good kid, even though you’re not a kid anymore. But no matter how old you are you’ll always bemy kid. And it makes me happy seeing my kid so happy, that’s all. That’s all I’ll say.” He raises his hands up and flashes me his palms with a closed-lipped smile.
When we cover another block and cross the street, I take his arm back into mine and pull him close. I’m lucky to have this kind of relationship with him—not many people do and I know that. I talk to plenty of clients every week who struggle with the relationships they have with their families. And while I honor their decision to have whatever kind of relationship with their parents they want, I also love the relationship I have with mine. And part of that relationship is letting my parents be excited for me—even if it means they butt in where they don’t really belong.
“I love him, Daddy,” I say quietly. As if anyone else hearing me say it would result in some big celebration or parade I’d rather avoid.
