21. Tarryn
Tarryn
A pink-gold sunrise spills through my parents' kitchen window, bathing everything in a dreamy radiance that matches my mood.
I cradle my coffee mug between my palms, the warmth seeping into my skin as I watch light dance across the diamond on my finger.
The daisy pattern catches the morning rays, scattering tiny rainbows across the familiar wooden table of my childhood home.
"Is that what I think it is?"
My mother's voice startles me. I look up to find her frozen in the doorway, eyes fixed on my hand. Her expression transforms from sleepy confusion to excitement.
"Surprise," I say softly, extending my hand toward her. "We were going to tell everyone at breakfast."
She crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, gathering me into her arms with such force that coffee sloshes over the rim of my mug. "Oh, Tarryn!" Her voice breaks with emotion. "My beautiful girl."
When she pulls back, tears glisten in her eyes. She cradles my hand in hers, examining the ring with wonder. "It's perfect. Absolutely perfect."
"It was his grandmother's diamond," I explain, watching her trace the intricate daisy design with gentle fingers. "He had it reset."
"He proposed in the daisy field, didn't he?" She smiles knowingly.
"How did you?—?"
"Some things a mother just knows." She squeezes my hand. "That boy has loved you since you were sixteen. I always knew he'd find his way back to you."
“Darlin’, what's all the commotion?" My father appears in the doorway, still in his flannel pajamas, hair mussed from sleep. His eyes immediately lock on my mother's tear-streaked face, then follow her gaze to my hand.
"Well, I'll be damned," he says, voice gruff with emotion. "He finally did it."
"You knew?" I ask, shocked by his lack of surprise.
Dad chuckles, moving to pour himself coffee. "He called me last week to let me know. I told him you better not be asking me for no damn permission; she’s her own person."
"And you said yes when he still asked, didn’t you?"
"Course I did." He drops a kiss on top of my head. "He's the only one who ever saw all of you, honeybee. The fire and the softness both."
Ellie appears next, squealing so loudly when she sees the ring that our youngest sister Janette tumbles down the stairs in alarm, thinking someone's being murdered.
“What the hell?" she shouts, broom in hand like she’s going to be able to use it to defend herself.
Within minutes, the kitchen fills with excited voices and laughter as everyone examines the ring and demands details. Jackson approaches a few minutes later, his hair mussed and eyes half-closed as my sisters surround him in a bear hug.
I tell them about the daisy field at sunrise, about the house we'll someday build there, about our plans for New York in the meantime.
After breakfast, Dad motions me toward the back porch. "Take a walk with your old man?"
I follow him outside, where morning dew still clings to the grass and birds chirp. We settle into the weathered rocking chairs that have witnessed countless family conversations.
"I'm proud of you, Tar," he says after a comfortable silence. "Not just for the fancy law degree or the big New York job. But for finding your way back to what matters."
I glance at him, surprised by the unexpected direction. "What do you mean?"
He rocks gently, gaze fixed in the distance where mist clings to the horizon. "After Henderson Industries crushed our business, I watched you change. That carefree girl who believed in possibilities became so… careful. So determined to control everything."
“Dad, it’s okay, I turned out alright.”
"I know you did, honey." His weathered hand covers mine. "But that's what I've regretted most all these years. Not losing the business—losing the chance to show you how to get back up after being knocked down."
I blink back unexpected tears. "Dad?—"
"Let me finish," he says gently. "When you left for Northwestern, so determined to build an unshakable career, I worried you'd forgotten how to let yourself be vulnerable. That you'd close yourself off from the messy, beautiful parts of life to stay safe."
"I was afraid," I admit, the confession easier here on this porch, with the man who was my first protector. "Of being hurt. Of losing control."
"I know, honeybee." His smile is tender. "But fear's a poor compass for living. It'll keep you safe, but it won't lead you to joy."
I think of Jackson, of the daisy field, of the future we're building—not cautiously, but with open hearts. "I'm learning that."
"I always hoped you'd find your way back to each other," Dad says, his gaze direct now. "That boy saw the real you, not just the brilliant mind or the pretty face, but the fierce heart underneath it all. The part you try to hide."
"When did you get so wise?" I ask, leaning my head against his shoulder like I used to as a little girl.
He chuckles. "Getting your heart broken teaches you a thing or two. So does watching your daughter rediscover her courage."
We rock in companionable silence as the morning brightens around us, each lost in our own thoughts.
"He makes me happy, Dad," I say finally. "Happier than I thought I was allowed to be."
"That's all I've ever wanted for you." He squeezes my hand. "And Tarryn? You deserve every bit of it."
The restaurant glows with warmth as our families gather around a long table for our impromptu engagement celebration. Laughter fills the air as Jackson's mom recounts embarrassing childhood stories and his father and mine fall into comfortable conversation like old friends.
I sit beside Jackson, his thigh pressed against mine beneath the table. His hand finds mine periodically, thumb brushing over my ring as if to reassure himself this is real.
"Speech!" Ellie calls, tapping her knife against her water glass. "We need a proper toast!"
Jackson's father, Paul, rises slowly, his movements deliberate but stronger than the last time I saw him years ago. The heart procedure has clearly improved his quality of life, just as Jackson had hoped.
"When Jackson was a boy," he begins, voice carrying across the room, "he'd bring home broken things, birds with damaged wings, discarded toys from the neighbor's trash, a watch I'd given up on fixing. He'd work on them for hours, sometimes days, determined to make them whole again."
He looks at us, his eyes softening. "I always thought it was just boyish curiosity. It wasn't until much later I realized it was something deeper—an instinct to mend what others might abandon, to see value where others saw only damage."
His gaze settles on me, warm and accepting. "Tarryn, I've watched my son rebuild himself after losing you. I've seen him pour that same patience and determination into becoming a man worthy of a second chance."
I blink back tears, feeling Jackson's grip tighten around my hand.
"The two of you remind me of something I learned when we had to reinvent the family business," Paul continues. "Sometimes we have to let beloved things grow beyond our original vision for them."
He raises his glass. "To Jackson and Tarryn. May your love continue to evolve beyond what either of you first imagined, surprising you both with its strength and beauty."
Glasses clink as everyone echoes the toast, but I barely notice. I'm lost in the way Jackson's father embraces me when I stand to thank him, in the words he whispers just for me. "Thank you—not just for loving my son, but for being the dream he fought to pursue."
Later, as dessert plates are cleared and coffee served, I find myself beside Paul again. "Your toast was beautiful," I tell him. "Thank you."
"I meant every word." He studies me with eyes much like his son's. "You know, when he told me about New York, about this new beginning you're building together, I recognized something in him I've rarely seen."
"What's that?"
"Peace." Paul smiles. "The kind that comes from knowing exactly where you belong."
I glance across the table where Jackson is laughing with my sisters, his head thrown back, true happiness radiating from him. "I know exactly what you mean," I reply softly.