Despite the serious topic, my dad lets out a rough chuckle.
“Ah, kids, they'll always rebel in ways you didn't think of when rebelling against your own parents,” he says and reaches up to ruffle my hair.
“You rebelled against Grandpa?”
“I’m not going to give you any ideas.”
For several minutes, we walk along in silence until Dad speaks up again. “It won't always be about helping as a vet. You know that, right?”
I can't fault my dad for pointing that out. It's his way of looking out for me and making sure I'm not going into my choices with rose-tinted glasses.“I know.”
“And it won't only be kittens and puppies.”
I chuckle at that. “I actually want to specialize in livestock animals. So no kittens and puppies at all, and”—I duck my head, pulling up my shoulders—“I could also check in at home.”
For a moment, my dad doesn’t say anything; then his hand squeezes my shoulder. He clears his throat.“Well, son, you got it all figured out, hm?”
I snort. “I try.”
The air between us feels settled, allowing more of the forest’s atmosphere to break through. Under the trees, it’s cool, the dappled light throwing bright spots here and there, highlighting the small flowers that are hiding in patches of moss at the base of the trees.
Mom stops to take some pictures that I'm sure will pop up in her status this evening. Dad watches her with a quiet smile, taking a picture of her taking a picture, before he turns to walk along again, though I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eyes.
“So, how’s Micah?”
I can’t help but smile, heat climbing into my cheeks as if it only waited for that moment. My dad laughs, prompting a soft huff as I try to rub the pink from my cheeks.
“Ah, I see.” He chuckles, veering to the side to nudge me. For a moment, we’re both quiet, only the birds chirping overhead.
“And you’re sure that this is what you want? I mean”—he scratches his neck—“I could’ve been more tactful about it, andhe’s a good egg, but…he will get a lot of attention in the NFL.Andnot have a whole lot of time.”
“There’s still some time until his graduation and the combine,” I say, then take a deep breath. “And I still have to do my residency and certification. Until then, I won’t have much time either. But yeah, we talked about that. He’s worried too, and we know it’ll be hard, but until then, we want to take the time together. And after that…who knows?” I chew on my bottom lip, my ears warming up.
I’m glad I haven’t had to have the boyfriend talk with my parents before, because heaven knows how I’d have lived through this at fifteen when the mere mention of it makes my whole face flush and burn with embarrassment even at twenty-three. At least now I feel certain about my own feelings.
“We want to try. I trust him. And…” I pull up my shoulders, clearing my throat again. “I love him.”
“Oh, I'm so glad!” Mom smiles and gives me a hug. “I knew it. He was so smitten.”
“Don't count your chickens before they're hatched, Kells.” Dad's still frowning, tilting his head until I nod.
“He…yeah. Too.” It's all I manage, hoping it explains it all.
“See, you old grump, I told you so,” Mom says, clearly satisfied, linking her arm through mine.
“Hmpf…sounds like I should have a chat with that boy.”
“Dad!” I groan, looking at him over my shoulder, horrified. I thought when I came out that automatically excluded me from those awkward conversations I caught only glimpses of: Dad sitting each of my sisters’ boyfriends down before they went to prom or other such occasions.
“What? Have to make sure he treats you right! Mr. Hot-Shot-Tight-End doesn't get a pass just because he helped out with the harvest.”
“You know his actual position? Dad!” I laugh, shaking my head. Clearly, I didn't pay enough attention to just how fond my father grew of my…my boyfriend.
The word sinks through my chest into my core. Not like a shocking revelation, more like a comfortable chair to settle into. Comforting and familiar.
“Now, let's see that shelter, and then maybe we could make dinner for you, Micah, and your roommates? Can't have you all living off of pizza and takeaway,” Mom chatters, her other arm now also hooked into Dad's, keeping us together like a linked chain.
“Micah makes sure we don’t, but I bet he’d love a break from cooking,” I hum, tilting my face into the sunbeams falling through the leaves.
