Chapter Twenty-Six
Kayden
The house is quiet when I enter, and it isn’t until I walk out on the back deck that Spirit notices me, looking up from digging a hole she could easily fit herself into.
She takes off from the back of the yard where Dad is mowing the lawn, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
I jog down the steps and just manage to hold out my arms and catch her mid-air.
I squat while she covers my face in sloppy doggy kisses, whining against me like I haven’t seen her in years.
Her paws are covered in dirt, and soon my shorts are too.
I brush at my shorts while trying to dodge more kisses from Spirit.
When I’ve gotten the worst of it, I look up and find Dad staring at me, his posture hesitant and unsure.
“Hey, Dad.” I wave at him, and he smiles carefully, then shuts off the lawnmower as I walk toward him, Spirit bouncing up and down beside me.
“Kayden,” he says, rubbing his hands along his worn jeans. “I didn’t know you were coming by.” He holds up his hand, sheltering his face from the early afternoon sun.
I shrug, bending down to rub Spirit behind her ear. She leans into me, grunting like a content little pig. “I just thought I’d see how you guys were doing.”
Dad’s gaze flickers nervously, and I hate how awkward things suddenly are between us. “Ahhh, yeah, your mom’s at work.”
“Okay. I thought she might be.” I nod at the lawnmower. “Need any help?”
Dad wipes at his sweaty forehead. “Nah, I was just gonna take a break anyway. Too damn hot out.”
“Yeah, brutal.” The air between us is thick with tension, like neither of us knows where we go next.
Dad and I have always had an open and pretty straightforward relationship, but now it just feels strained and…
forced somehow, like we’re both fumbling in the dark, searching for our next step, afraid of making a wrong move.
“It’s nice at the beach, though,” Dad eventually says. “Windier.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I hate this and how loving Caleb has caused a rift between Dad and me. It shouldn’t be so fucking complicated. They’re best friends, and I love them both.
Dad clears his throat, then nods at Spirit. “I was gonna take Ms. Bouncy Pants here for a walk later, but we could do it now if—”
“I have time!” I blurt.
“Yeah? You don’t have plans…” Dad’s shoulders tense up, and I know what he’s asking. Dad can’t even say Caleb’s name, like he’s afraid his best friend will materialize if he speaks it. So I speak it for him.
“No, Caleb had a ton of e-mails. He fell a little behind when…”
“Sure, sure,” Dad says, and I hear the relief. “You need a drink first?”
“No, Dad, I’m good. We can get one after.”
His face lights up slightly, a small smile moving across his face. “Alright. Let’s go then.”
Spirit starts spinning around frantically at the word go, and Dad and I both burst into laughter. Dad looks at me like he wants to say something, an unspoken question in his eyes, but then he seems to catch himself, the smile fading.
“C’mon, girl,” he pats his thigh, then starts walking back toward the house, Spirit jumping up and down next to him.
I watch Dad for a few seconds, his broad shoulders and the well-worn checkered shirt he always wears when he does gardening work.
Strands of gray flicker in his hair when the sun catches it, but aside from that, he looks like I’ve always known him.
We head down a narrow trail that runs behind the settlement of houses, which my parents’ place is part of.
They’re old fishermen’s cottages that were modernized over the years.
Dad inherited the place from his great-aunt Henrietta when I was about two years old.
She didn’t have any children of her own, and Dad and she had always been close.
It was a nice upgrade from the small apartment my parents lived in when I was born.
The mortgage had been paid off on the house, allowing Dad to renovate the place, and I know he and Caleb spent most of their weekends working on it together while Mom took extra shifts at the hospital, and I played in the yard.
When I lived in Boston and was going through a tough time during my transition, I’d often come home for the weekend, and as soon as I crossed the threshold of the front door to my parents’ house, I’d feel this lightness and sense of comfort.
The smells, the sounds, the way the light changed at different hours of the day, bathing the walls in sunlight, then later, evening shadows.
No matter where I go or how old I get, this house will always be the first place I called home, and mostly that has to do with Mom and Dad.
Spirit sprints ahead of us, and soon silence fills the space around us again.
We walk side by side, and I feel the tension rolling off Dad’s body as he stares straight ahead, his gaze fixed on something only he knows.
When we reach the beach, we both stop, taking in the vast expanse of the ocean before us.
I inhale, filling my lungs with the cool, salty ocean air, closing my eyes against the sun briefly.
I feel Dad’s warm presence next to me, and I can sense him relaxing too now that we are out in the open.
I open my eyes, then laugh as I notice Spirit trying to drag a piece of driftwood twice her size with her down the beach.
“Crazy dog,” Dad chuckles, shaking his head, before he bends to take off his shoes.
I mirror him and groan with pleasure the minute my bare feet meet the warm sand.
We walk side by side toward the shore, holding our shoes, our shoulders brushing against each other from time to time.
There are a few other people at the beach: a family with two children building sandcastles, and one of our neighbors walking his dog, too.
He waves at Dad and me, then unleashes his dog, who immediately sprints toward Spirit to assist her on her driftwood endeavor.
Dad and I both laugh, then drop our shoes on the dry part of the beach before walking out into the water.
We sigh simultaneously as the cool water washes over our feet and laps at our ankles.
“Damn, that’s nice,” Dad says, squinting at the horizon.
I don’t say anything, just savoring the way the water feels against my skin as a lifetime of memories wash over me.
This is the beach where Dad taught me to swim and where we went looking for seashells after a storm.
This is where we carried home the large piece of driftwood that now lies all sun-bleached and weathered on the front porch, the word welcome carved into it.
This is where Dad carried me on his shoulders when I was wiped out from a long day in the sun, my fingers buried in his hair.
Everything about this place reminds me of Dad and the hours upon hours we spent together, while Mom was working or with us, soaking up the sun with a book in her lap, her huge yellow sunhat perched on her head.
“I love this place,” I say, and Dad turns, looking at me. My mouth has gone awfully dry. I know that if we’re going to have this conversation, then it’s up to me to start it. “Only good things happened here, on this beach, most of them with you, Dad.”
Dad’s gaze softens instantly, but his shoulders stay tense. “It’s a good beach,” he says. “Safe for kids.” It’s not really. The current can be quite unpredictable, and the weather can change within minutes, stirring up the ocean, but Dad always made me feel safe.
“You made it safe, Dad.”
His eyes widen, his mouth falling open like he wants to protest.
“You did. You and Mom have always made me feel safe, like I could just be myself. Even long before I knew what that even meant.” I look out at the waves as they move endlessly and purposefully toward the shore.
In the distance, a sailboat surges across the water, its sails billowing in the wind, and I wonder if it’s one of Dad’s and Caleb’s.
“Like Caleb. He makes me feel safe, too, Dad. Like I can be my true self.”
Dad exhales an outdrawn sigh.
“I love him, Dad.” Like always, the feeling of how much I love Caleb overwhelms me. I turn, facing Dad, and he turns too, like my movement sets off his. “I love him, and it won’t go away.”
Dad nods, his face solemn, his mouth tensing.
“I want to spend my life with him, and I really want you and Mom to be okay with it.”
In a matter of seconds, Dad’s eyes grow wet, his expression softening, his voice tinged with heaviness when he speaks. “You don’t need my approval, Kayden.”
“I know. I know I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.” I exhale shakily. “I really want it, Dad. I really want you to be okay with me and Caleb. It matters to me. I don’t want the two most important men in my life to be at each other’s throats.”
Dad’s silence is deafening. The wet sand pulls at my feet, but I refuse to be swayed. “You need to let me find my own way in life. I’m not a little kid anymore. I haven’t been for a while.”
“You’re my damn kid,” Dad counters. “You’ll always be.”
“Of course I will. That’ll never change. But I’m also more than that. I’m a grown man, and I think I deserve everything life has to offer.”
“Of course you do, Kayden!” Dad reaches for me and wraps his hands around my upper arms, squeezing me to the point of pain. “You deserve everything! You deserve it more than anyone.”
My eyes sting as I look into Dad’s eyes.
I see it, like I’ve always seen it. His love for me is boundless, all-encompassing.
It’s what makes him hurt just as much as I’m hurting right now.
It’s what makes us equally stubborn and determined.
It’s what carried us through the tough times and brought us to the other side, out into the light.
“There was a time when I didn’t believe that. When I didn’t believe I deserved or could have everything.”