Chapter Twenty-Five
I’d forgotten to worry about Flynn, and my dad, and the fact that I’d left them alone together, but my brain helpfully obliged by dumping all the dread and anxiety on me in the time it took to walk down the hallway.
Half-expecting to walk into the living room and find my father stone-faced and foreboding, and Flynn a cowed huddle on the sofa.
I strained to listen as I neared the doorway.
“...and that’s why, though I know it sounds counterintuitive, the controlled burn is so important. Because some of these plants, they’re biologically wired to only release their seeds when faced with high heat. Very high heat, really. Oh, hello Oliver.”
My dad looked up at me, with a smile.
I glanced at Flynn, my jaw clenched, expecting - fearing - the expression I might see on his face. Then blinked, confused, at the easy grin he flashed back.
“Your dad was just telling me about the burn he’s going to do, on his wildflower meadow.”
They were English words, assembled into a sentence that had all the hallmarks of being intelligible, but my brain simply wasn’t holding up its end of the bargain.
“The burn?”
Dad gave Flynn an ‘oh, this silly son of mine’ look. “It’s been a few years since the last one, remember? We had to skip it last year, because of the drought.”
It’d been so dry, the whole world had seemed brittle and always on the cusp of flames. We’d mowed the meadow down instead; my dad on the ride-on mower, me standing nearby with buckets of water, alert for a rogue spark.
My head felt like I was rising from deep water. Pressures so strange, I could almost hear my skull creak.
“You can help with this year’s,” my dad said. “Assuming you’re both back in town, I mean.”
I shot a look at Flynn. Wishing we were telepathic, like we’d discussed when we were little kids. Able to share secrets without the grown-ups overhearing.
“I mentioned to your dad, that I asked you to move in with me,” Flynn supplied.
I nodded, slowly. Insides clenched, as I looked at my father.
He stared back, face unreadable, then chuckled. “It’s a three, four hour drive, Oliver. You’ll hardly be on the other side of the planet.”
“You want me to...”
“I want you to be happy,” he interrupted, firmly. “That’s all your mom and I ever wanted. A happy, healthy son, who finds someone that appreciates him the way we know he deserves to be appreciated. Right, honey?”
I wasn’t sure when my mom had appeared at my side. It felt like my vision had narrowed to deep, inky tunnels: useful only for seeing what was right in front of me.
And even that, I couldn’t be guaranteed of really seeing.
Mom put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Of course. I was just telling him much the same thing.”
Flynn gave me an encouraging smile, that widened when I nodded back at him.
“It’s been so long since Oliver’s father and I have visited the city.” My mom sounded amused. “Do you have a spare room in this fancy apartment, Flynn?”
I spoke over his nod. “Yes, but that’ll be my room.”
Flynn frowned. “What?”
“Moving out, moving to the city, starting dating someone. It’s a lot, y’know? All at once?” I stared at him, worried he’d hear my caution as rejection, as second-thoughts. “I just think...”
“One step at a time,” he supplied.
“Right,” I agreed, gratefully. “If that’s okay with you, I mean.”
Flynn laughed. “Despite what my mom likes to tell people, it’s not exactly a huge apartment. Even if you’re sleeping in the spare room, I think I’ll see plenty of you.”
My father pushed himself up, grinning. “I think that’s our cue to leave, honey.”
It was impressive just how red, how rapidly, Flynn’s face could blush. His horrified expression burned brighter than a fire truck.
“That’s not what... I didn’t mean...”
Mom giggled, and gave my shoulder a final squeeze before releasing me. I bit my lip, to keep from smiling at my dad’s wink.
“Will you be staying for dinner, Flynn?”
I wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to process, and respond to, my mom’s question. Watched, as he sat more upright, and tried not to look like he’d just been utterly mortified.
“That would be nice, thank you, Mrs Carter.”
She snorted, as my father took her by the hand to draw her out of the living room. “I think, given everything, you can probably afford to be a little less formal, no?”
Flynn nodded, mute, his eyes still wide.
“I’ll call when it’s ready, then,” my mom declared, from the hallway. “I think there should be just time to put in some garlic bread.”
And then the door closed, and it was just me and Flynn. Me and my boyfriend.