Chapter Two
Blake
L eaning back in the chair with a furrowed brow, I try to focus on my knitting project in front of me. Technically, I should be focusing on my actual job—a receptionist at my dad’s vet clinic.
Really, it’s an animal hospital by this point. But when we moved to Amada Beach, it started as a much smaller facility and has grown exponentially over a decade and a half.
One of the perks of working for a parent is he doesn’t usually mind when I bring in things like this. Having something to focus on helps my anxiety stay at bay, so these quiet days can be hard if I don’t have tasks or a form of distraction.
The only good piece of advice I got from one of my former therapists was finding hobbies that will help with restlessness and overthinking. It was my mom’s suggestion to try crocheting. I picked up sewing in school quickly and she had learned from her mom, so she was able to teach me.
I have now surpassed her skills and there are more blankets, and other random items, than anyone knows what to do with.
With my brother’s first child being born in about four months, I’ve been focusing my crafts on her. I’ve finished a baby blanket and a variety of peluches —so far, she has plushies of a dog, a cat, a rabbit and a cow.
For the last few days, I’ve been working on a onesie design I found on Pinterest. It’s my first time knitting. Everything online said it’s easier than crocheting, but I’m not picking it up nearly as quickly.
And maybe I would if I hadn’t chosen a pattern that switches colors and designs repeatedly. But it is freaking cute.
I’m determined by this point though, and I’m almost done with the back piece.
My goal was to finish the little leg sections by the end of the day, but I’ve gotten to the point where I have to be honest with myself—it’s not happening.
Feeling frustrated, I pull on the yarn harder than necessary to undo the small mistake I just made. It’s not only that, though. One of the worst parts of having anxiety is how little it makes sense.
Ever since I had to say bye to my friends while they jetted off to New York City together for college, I’ve felt off.
Like I’ve lost my security blanket, just as Catalina suspected.
But from the moment I woke up today, the reality of the situation has weighed me down with insecurities and overthinking.
I have faith in my friendships, and I’m so excited for both of them. These are the goals they’ve had as long as I’ve known them, and I’ve learned to be inspired by them rather than envious.
Selfishly, I wish they could’ve stayed.
I wish I had a plan for my life, so I could’ve gone far away with them.
Except, I don’t think I’d want to leave Amada Beach, or my family. Which brings me back to wishing they didn’t have to leave for their dreams.
I’m adjusting to this new feeling of loneliness since I left them at the security gates. And as much as Catalina has insisted that this will be good for all of us, I’m just not seeing how when it comes to me.
But I’ve learned to trust her, and the signs from the universe—like the group of monarch butterflies that were flying over my car as I was leaving the airport.
I’m so absorbed in my project that I don’t even notice my dad leaning against the front desk until he starts talking.
“Hello.” I look up at the sound of his voice, wondering why he’s greeting me so formally, when I realize he’s making a call. A few calls, if the list of names and numbers he just set down means anything. “This is Dr. Timothy Miller, from Amada Beach Animal Clinic.”
My gaze moves back to the pattern that’s pulled up on the computer, but for some reason, I can’t pull my attention away from my dad and whoever’s on the other side of that call. He has an office only three feet away from us, although he hates ‘being locked in there,’ as he puts it. So, depending on the call and how busy the lobby is, he often takes them out here.
I’ve learned to tune him out, but there’s just something about this particular call that holds my interest. I can’t put my finger on it though.
“Adrian, great to talk to you again. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday afternoon,” he continues. Assuming that this Adrian says something back, my dad easily responds, “I’m doing well, thanks for asking. How’s the beginning of your semester going?”
They talk for a couple of minutes about Adrian’s coursework. I pick up that he’s a veterinary student at the University of California, Aurora Hills, and he’s in a course taught by a good friend of my dad’s.
“I know it’s only been a couple of weeks since the semester started, but I wanted to check in and gauge how it’s going?” From the corner of my eye, I watch him nod along to whatever the guy’s saying. “Amazing to hear. That’s actually why I’m calling a few weeks later than probably expected. I wanted to make sure you had time to get a realistic idea of what this semester is going to look like for you.”
He’s quiet again, listening intently as Adrian says something. There’s a different level of interest my dad has with this person. It’d probably look normal to any of his other employees, but I’m his daughter. I recognized that faint furrow in his brows and that tiny hint of pride when he said, ‘Amazing to hear.’
It’s almost the same way he’d say he was proud of my brother and I after we aced a test or won in either of our respective sports.
But that’s not what I can’t figure out.
It’s why he’s taken this type of interest in, what I can only assume, is a virtual stranger.
“Well then,” he says with his normal calm contentment, “I’d love to extend a formal job offer to you, Adrian. If you’re intereste—” He’s cut off, but rather than being put off by it, he chuckles and continues on. “In that case, if the same schedule works for you that was included in your application, you can come in for orientation on Tuesday night. Let’s say four p.m.? That’ll probably be your normal start time anyway, but it’ll allow you some time to finish the paperwork before the lead vet assistant and I come in for the evening.”
After a few more details and instructions, they say their goodbyes, and my dad turns to put the phone back on its stand.
“Who was that?” I ask when he’s done making a few notes and leaning toward the phone for his next call.
He lets his hand drop to the desk and gives me an easy smile. When you meet the two of us at first, you’d assume that I look like him out of my two parents. And I do have a lot of his features—raven black hair with a natural beach wave to it, porcelain skin, and the raspy note to both of our voices. But that’s where the physical similarities end.
He has dark brown eyes like my brother, but I got my mom’s light gray ones. And just about everything else from her. To be fair, it’s the same for my brother. He looks more like our dad, even though he has my mom’s golden tan skin and mocha brown hair.
“Adrian,” my dad says as if it should be obvious.
I roll my eyes playfully. “No shit, Sherlock.” Unlike my mom who scolds me for cursing, my dad just chuckles in that easy-going way of his. “ Who is Adrian?”
“A new vet assistant. He interviewed a few weeks ago but he’s currently earning his DVM, so I wanted to give him time to adjust before offering him the job.”
“I would assume since you interviewed him, he needs the job? Especially if he’s looking?”
“That’s what you’d think,” he replies as he starts looking for a chart. He’s the best multitasker I’ve ever seen, so I’m sure he just remembered something about a patient without missing a beat in our conversation. “But he just wants to work here.”
“Do you like, know him or something?”
Now he looks at me curiously, probably because of my own growing interest. “Other than when we met in the interview, no. Why, Blake?”
“I don’t know. You just seemed like you knew him.” I shrug and start to pack my yarn and knitting needles into my bag. Margo, Meera and I have a weekly call that was pushed back so I could cover this shift, and they’ll be calling in about ten minutes.
“Oh, no. I just… have a feeling about him,” he says in a thoughtful tone.
Now I can’t help but huff out a dry laugh and actually roll my eyes. “I’d love to hear more about that,” I sarcastically mutter.
He always has ‘feelings’ about things—sometimes it’s as simple as knowing what my mom will want for dinner that night or as extreme as declaring to know who his son’s soulmate is when he’s only like twelve. He’s right about fifty percent of the time, and I’m sure it’s obvious which way it goes with the given example.
“It’s been a while since I’ve met someone this young who’s this motivated for the career. Obviously, graduate programs and teaching hospitals are full of them, but I’m neither of those things.” He’s quiet for a second, always thinking through his words before vocalizing them. “There’s not a lot of chances for me to share my experience and passion for this field with someone in a mentorship kind of way.”
Not fighting the small smile that pulls at my lips, I tell my dad, “That makes sense.”
And it does. He’s never pressured my brother, Grady, or I to follow in his footsteps. And even though he’s told us he wasn’t a particularly athletic kid himself, he made it his mission to be the best baseball and swim dad out there.
To learn how much he’d enjoy having that mentor-mentee relationship with someone makes me want it for him, and weirdly appreciative for this Adrian person.
Before he goes back to grab the phone, he looks down at his watch. “You better get going, honey. I know you have your own phone call to make.”
I jump up and give him a quick side hug. “Thanks, Dad. And I’m really happy that you’re excited about this new employee.”
With a kiss to my head and a smile, he gestures for me to head out at the same moment that the evening receptionist is walking inside.