Page 125 of When We Were Young

“The dad stuff... When did you become so... so self-aware?”

Her words surprise me. Mostly because, as I think about them for a few seconds, I see she’s right.

“Uh, I didn’t realize I had until right now.”

Neither of us smiles or laughs—because it’s not funny. I’m thirty-three, and I’ve carried the hurt from my father for almost twenty years.

“I think maybe I just understand now that family isn’t always about blood.”

She doesn’t say anything, but nods. I swallow past the lump that forms in my throat.

“Sometimes the people who are supposed to love you the most, the ones you’re related to, they’re the ones who hurt you the worst. Like… like our father. And then there are people you never expected who come into your life and bring the good things. Like peace and security and love.”

“Have you found those people?” Lindsay’s words are barely above a whisper.

I have.

“Yeah, I think I so. I’ve got you, Mom, and Simon, but then I also have this group of people in Aron Falls who have totally embraced me and Simon. I don’t want to waste any more time pining after a father who didn’t want me.”

“It sounds like the move to Aron Falls has been really good for you.”

I lean my head back on the headrest and smile. “It has. It might sound weird, but I feel like I’ve found the rest of my family.”

Lindsay reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It doesn’t sound weird at all. It actually sounds beautiful.”

I pull my phone from the console. As I stare at my lock screen, a candid photo of Simon and Holden sitting together on my couch watching a spider documentary, my heart skips a few beats.

I touch the screen. I miss them. Both of them. And God, I can’t wait to get home.

“It is, Linds,” I whisper. “It’s really beautiful.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Holden

“You’re sure the worms are pretend, and we don’t have to use real worms?” Simon asks. The concern in his eyes is endearing.

We’re at the lake having a guys’ fishing day.

“I promise these aren’t real worms. See? Look.” I squeeze the rubber worm between my fingers.

Lizette had warned me that having real worms as bait would be upsetting to Simon. He’s the kid who scoops a spider or an ant into a cup and takes it outside rather than letting someone kill it.

Simon squeezes the worm and twists his features.

“It feels weird.” His smile stretches wide across his face.

We take a few minutes and unpack everything. Then, I set a timer on my watch for an hour and a half. I promised Lizette I would reapply Simon’s sunscreen regularly, and I can’t mess up something this simple, or she’ll never trust me to do more with him.

Frankie, Mrs. Smith’s younger foster son, is quiet. He watches as everyone chooses a spot to sit, as if he doesn’t know where to go.

“Hey, Frankie, why don’t you come sit over here by Simon and me? That way, if one of us catches a fish, the other two can help,” I say.

“Okay,” he answers.

He takes a seat next to Simon, and I smile when I hear Simon reassuring him that he doesn’t need to worry because it’s not a real worm.

Hayden and Lester got here well before us, beating us by at least an hour and a half. In all fairness, though, I had two young boys and a moody teenager with me.