Chapter 5 #2
He was fucking awkward as he explained it; of course he was.
It was kind of a strange situation in the first place, not even considering the pressure of finally saying the words to his dad that he’d thought about saying for over a decade.
Maybe even longer than a decade. Maybe his whole life.
Even as a kid, as a teenager, he’d viewed his future of joining the family fishing business with a weird kind of distance.
Like it was something he knew was going to happen, so he couldn’t articulate his own thoughts about it.
Why fight it? What was so bad about it, anyway?
Better than working a nine to five, probably.
Kjell had gone to college on scholarships, Dagny too.
But Luca had known since middle school that he wasn’t smart enough for those and that the family savings weren’t deep enough otherwise.
So, fishing. His entire adulthood, a passive experience.
The only time he’d ever felt like he was making an active choice about something, doing something he wanted, was when he sat down with his journal and his pen. When he sat down at his laptop to transcribe and edit.
But fanciful hobbies did not a career make.
Even now, though, he never said the actual words.
I’m leaving the family business, Dad. I don’t want to be a fisherman.
I don’t think I ever did. Maybe because he wasn’t an asshole, and he didn’t actually want to hurt his dad.
Maybe because he was a coward who could never be as forthright and honest as Dagny.
“I’ve been…wanting to try something different, for a while,” he said instead.
“And the farm is really beautiful, and the owner pretty desperate for help. I could be around more, for anything you need help with, Mom—” And here was the only time Leah’s previously neutral face changed, with an eyeroll and a barely restrained sigh. Luca changed course quickly.
“I know it’s extremely short notice. And I’m really sorry about that. If you needed me for the upcoming run, Dad, I could maybe—”
“Luca.” The first word his dad had spoken, accompanied by a raised hand, palm flat. “It’s fine. We’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Luca said when his dad didn’t say anything more. Not that Luca was expecting he would, but still. He shifted on his feet, licked his lips. Wished he didn’t feel like such a child in front of his parents, even at thirty-three years old. “I’m sorry, though.”
“You already said that.” Adrian stepped forward, placed a thick, rough hand on Luca’s shoulder. Gave a small squeeze. “Farming’s good work. Can’t wait to hear about it.”
And then he turned and walked away.
Luca watched him disappear around the side of the house before he turned to his mom, mouth parted.
“Was that—is he mad?”
He had said it’s fine, we’ll be fine but with practically no inflection. The squeeze on the shoulder had been nice, but—
Luca had expected some questions, at least. He had no idea what had just happened.
Leah stepped forward and cupped his face in her hands.
“I think he’s processing. Give him a few hours, and we’ll know for sure. But my instinct is no.”
“Okay.” Luca put his hands on his hips. Let them drop. “Are you mad?”
“Me? Ever since you told me earlier that you wanted to talk, I’ve been imagining all the terminal illnesses you might have been diagnosed with, all the faraway countries you were going to tell us you were moving to.
So no, baby, I’m not mad that you’re going to be working on a farm here in Greyfin Bay. ”
Her hands fell away. Luca couldn’t express to her how much he wanted her to keep them there.
“I’m proud of you, Luca.”
“Well.” His hands shifted to his hips once more. “I could be horrible at it, so.”
She finally smiled. “No,” she said. “You won’t be.”
And she too walked away.
Luca stood there a minute more, looking toward the Pacific.
Waiting for the relief to come. Because he should be relieved, right?
Maybe he couldn’t read his dad’s reaction, but the hard part was over.
He’d told him, and Adrian hadn’t forbidden it.
He was free to go now. Free to show up at Short King Farms tomorrow and start his new life.
Part of him wanted to do just that: go. There was certainly enough waiting for him to do at home.
He had already started packing the things he wanted to take to the farm, but he needed to sort everything else into things that could stay for the rental and things he needed to lock away in the shed. There was a shit ton of cleaning to do.
But he stayed. Because of that melancholy Dagny mentioned, because of that fear.
He might not be finishing college, but his world was suddenly changing, too, and he wanted to rest inside the way it was for a little while longer.
Because he was gonna miss Dags when she went back to California.
He was going to miss Kjell and Summer when they were gone too.
He was probably going to miss Daniel and Jacob and his dad and the whole crew on the boats, too. Even if you got so close, so constantly in each other’s faces on a fishing trip that some distance when you got back on land felt more essential than oxygen.
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 at Luca, 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 he was angry. At worst, indifferent. He didn’t—he truly hadn’t thought Adrian would be sad.
“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.
“All right,” Adrian said.
And he turned and walked back into the house.
After a moment, Luca followed him. Said his goodbyes.
He gave Dagny a particularly hard hug; his mom gave him a particularly hard one at the door.
He drove back to his house, blasting his favorite album of his favorite metal band and repeating the line to himself the whole time—promise me you’ll be a farmer who’s still a storyteller—until he walked through the door and right to the nightstand beside his bed.
He got out one of his journals, wrote it down so he wouldn’t forget.
Even if he had known ever since his dad said it—even if it was the only thing his father, mercifully, had asked of him—that it was a promise Luca wouldn’t be able to keep.