Thirty-One
Gavin
The long-overdue drive out to the tree farm gives me too much time to think. I replay the argument with Mia at Joe and Sera’s.
Is this how it’s going to be between us? Bitter and tense?
I promised I wouldn’t do this to us, but what was always enough feels like crumbs after what we shared. I can’t put my feelings
back in the box, and what’s awful is I don’t even want to. Loving her hurts, but it also feels like freedom after denying
my feelings for so long. Like I can finally think clearly because I’m not wasting energy lying to myself.
The front yard is full of people, but my nephews spot me before anyone else does and I treat them each to a spin on the tire
swing, grateful for the chance to get my bearings. The hostas circling the base of the tree look healthy, their variegated
leaves full and glossy, a fresh coat of mulch around them.
I’m surprised Dad found the time. Then again, maybe it was Scott. My brother walks up, two plates in hand. “See you’ve found
the boys,” he says. “Who were supposed to be eating.” He fixes them with a look.
“No one else is yet,” Paxton says.
“That’s because all that’s done are hot dogs.” He holds up the full plates. “Which you love.”
“You’d better listen to your dad.” I take hold of the tire to slow it. “I’ll push you on the swing afterward.”
After a few more protests, they clamber down, taking the plates of baked beans and hot dogs from Scott, who calls after them,
“Don’t drop them. Two hands!” To me, he says, “Might want to wait a couple hours to make good on that swing promise. Last
night they came out after dessert and Brett threw up from the spinning.”
I check the ground reflexively and Scott chuckles. “Birds probably got to it.”
“Parenthood has changed you, man.” This is a guy who used to make me do all the worst chores, and now he’s talking about puke
like it’s nothing.
“In more ways than one,” he says. “I think spending the summer here with the boys just gets me nostalgic. I shouldn’t have
told you to take this on, but it hit me that with Dad retiring, they wouldn’t be spending lazy days swimming at the lake or
eating ice cream on the porch.”
“I’ve thought of all those things, too.” And it hasn’t helped my decision one bit.
“But I owe you an apology,” he says, catching my attention. “Mia, too. I was so sure she was your reason for staying. And
then I caught you two, holding hands, when all along you said there was nothing going on. But I talked to Amber, and she asked
why I thought I had the right to judge your reasons.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, thin arms tanned under the freckles.
“She told me that whether it was Mia, or yourself, you want to stay. That’s all I need to know,” he says.
“And she was right. I thought you should be the one to quit your job, leave your friends behind, sell your house... All to keep this place in the family just because you happen to like trees more than I do.” He lets out a laugh that startles the group near us, and I watch him, speechless. “Seriously, how messed up is that?”
“Pretty messed up,” I agree, smirking, and he narrows his eyes. There’s the cranky brother I know and love. “Besides, I like
more than trees. Don’t get me started on shrubs, perennials—”
“Yeah, yeah. You got Dad’s green thumb, we all know.”
Realization dawns. “You’re jealous.”
“How could I not be? You two were always so close. But Dad and I’ve talked a lot recently. You should...” He trails off.
“Sorry, no more advice.”
“Talk to him? I’m going to.” Looking out past the house, I take in the rows of saplings and spruce trees. “But I get what
you were saying earlier, about not wanting to say goodbye to this place for good,” I admit. “That’s part of why I’ve put off
coming out here. There’s so much good here, and I knew if I came back, I’d do the same as you. Start thinking of our wheelbarrow
races and riding in the tractor instead of invoices and sales calls.”
“Not the sales calls.” Scott hangs his head in disgust. “Remember how Dad used to make us wear ties even though we were on
the phone. Said, ‘Dress professional...’”
“‘Act professional,’” I finish, repeating the phrase Dad drilled into us during our high school years. “From a man who showed
up to work every day in a flannel shirt.”
“Yeah, but he wanted us to learn every part of the business.”
“Worked out well for me. I have a hand in most things at Hill and Dale.” I bump him with my shoulder. “Not like you, planning
to work remotely in your pajamas once both kids start school.”
“Hey, I’ll dress halfway professionally.” He flips a nonexistent collar. “Like a mullet, business up top, party on the bottom.”
“What are we talking about, boys?” Amber walks up, holding a beer. Her straight black hair is pulled into a low ponytail,
and she looks relaxed in jean shorts and a tank top.
“How lucky we are to have a dad who believed in being well rounded,” I say, sharing a knowing look with my brother. “Speaking of, I better find him before he finds out how long I’ve been here without saying hello. Mom, too. Can we catch up later, Amber?”
“Absolutely. I think you owe me some news,” she says, a twinkle in her dark eyes that has my gut twisting. She’s talking about
me and Mia, except there is no Mia and me. Not anymore.
But I promise to find her after I make the rounds, then head off in search of Dad. This would be a lot easier with Mia by
my side.
Dad is busy flipping burgers and Mom isn’t outside anymore, so I head in through the back door. The windows are open, a gentle
breeze stirring the curtains. Passing through the hall, I find her filling a vase at the sink.
“Gavin,” she says, giving me a one-armed squeeze, her rose perfume familiar and comforting. “I’m glad you came. Scott says
you haven’t been out much this summer. Makes me feel a little better that you haven’t paid me a visit.”
“There’s been a lot going on.” The same reason I’d given my dad for not visiting, but this time it feels true because I did
want to see her. But I’ve avoided coming here because I didn’t want to get into the truth of why I moved away. Isn’t that
what I did with Mia, too? Buried my feelings instead of facing the reality that I’m in love with someone who might not ever
love me back?
“Does that have anything to do with why Mia’s not here?” She sets the vase on the counter next to a bunch of hollyhocks laid
out on a dish towel.
“I don’t always bring her.”
“Don’t you?” Mom’s ash-gray hair falls along her cheek, concealing her face, but I’d bet she’s wearing the carefully innocent look she perfected during my childhood to get me to confess to my misdeeds.
“Could you hand me those shears so I can get these in water? Or better yet, you do it while I make us coffee.”
I pick up the pruning shears and set to snipping the stems. “Scott told you.”
“He did, but I told him we’d better wait and hear it from you.” She dumps out the morning’s leftover coffee with a grumble.
Dad doesn’t mind stale coffee, but I’m with Mom on that one.
The screen door bangs open and Dad steps inside with a foil-wrapped tray, saving me from answering. “Thought I’d find you
two in here,” he says. I take the tray from him, and he gives me a hug, tall and lean in the flannel he wears year-round,
sleeves rolled in concession to the summer heat. “Missed you, Gavin.”
“You, too,” I say, surprising myself. I haven’t had much chance to miss him over the years. “Been too long.”
“Yeah?” he asks, a smile tugging at his suntanned cheeks. “You’ve been busy, though.” The twinkle in his blue eyes is as obvious
as Mom’s hints.
Guess I’ll have to get it over with. “I know what Scott told you, but Mia and I aren’t together.”
Dad’s face falls so fast it’s like a cartoon. Mia would have a better way to describe it, but all I can think is how it looks
like he’ll have to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Well, okay,” he says, blinking. “Scott must’ve got it wrong.”
“Nope. We were, for a short time.” I keep it brief, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me. “Turns out it was a
mistake.”
“Better off friends?” Mom prompts.
But Dad shakes his head, watching me. “I don’t think so. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
If he’d asked me any other roundabout way, I could’ve denied it.
But it’s so unexpected I answer him honestly.
“Yeah.” The word lingers in the quiet kitchen, conversation and laughter flowing in through the open windows.
I put a flower in the vase, not knowing what to do with my hands. “She’s not in love with me, though.”
“How do you know?” Dad, again.
“Because I told her how I felt, and she said she wasn’t ready.” I keep my head down, focusing on arranging the long-stemmed
flowers.
“You told her you loved her?” Mom, this time. She shoots a quelling look at Dad when he starts to answer for me.
I start to nod, then think back. Did I? “She wanted to go back to being just friends and I told her I couldn’t because my
feelings were bigger than that. I think that’s pretty clear.”
He shakes his head. “Nothing is obvious in relationships. You might think it is, but unless you’ve said it once, twice—” he
shoots a glance at my mom “—a thousand times, you can’t take for granted she heard it. And I think I love you is something worth saying.”
“I wasn’t about to toss out the word love like a Hail Mary,” I say. “I’m not putting that on her. Not when she’s made her choice already.”
“A choice without all the facts.” Dad removes the foil from the pan of burgers and breaks off a bite, offering it to me.
I take it; maybe it will settle the nerves this conversation has stirred up. “As much as I love you two giving me relationship
advice, I didn’t come here to talk about that.” Another unspoken look passes between my parents that I can’t quite interpret,
so I keep going. “You know I love it here, Dad. But after Scott left and the...”
I glance at Mom, feeling guilty, but she says, “Our divorce?”