9. Micah
Micah
Igrip the steering wheel tighter as we approach the airport, stealing glances at Mom in the passenger seat.
She’s been unusually quiet this morning, staring out the window at the Montana landscape as if committing it to memory.
The car feels too small suddenly, filled with words neither of us seems ready to say.
“Should be there in about ten minutes,” I say, breaking the silence.
Mom turns to me, a soft smile on her face. “Thank you for having me, sweetheart. It’s been... illuminating.”
I can’t help but laugh at her choice of words. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I’m sorry if I made things difficult,” she says, surprising me with her directness. “With Aria, I mean.”
“You were just being protective,” I say, the familiar excuse sounding hollow even to my own ears.
She shakes her head. “No, I was being selfish. And judgmental.” Her hand reaches over to rest on my arm. “I’ve spent so many years trying to protect you that I forgot you’re not that little boy anymore. You’re a man who knows his own mind.”
The admission catches me off guard. I signal for the airport exit, buying myself time to process her words.
“What changed?” I ask finally.
Mom looks thoughtful. “Watching you with her. With Dean. You light up around them in a way I haven’t seen before.” She pauses. “And talking with Aria last night. She reminds me of myself at that age—fierce, independent, putting her child first no matter what.”
“She’s pretty amazing,” I agree, my chest tightening with thoughts of how we left things last night.
“I told her about your father,” Mom continues. “How I was the one who told him to leave.”
This revelation startles me. Mom rarely speaks about my father, and when she does, it’s always been with careful neutrality. “You’ve never told me that.”
“I didn’t want you to think I’d pushed away someone who might have loved you,” she explains, her voice growing quieter. “But the truth is, he wasn’t ready to be a father. And I wasn’t going to waste my life waiting for him to change.”
The parallel to Aria’s situation isn’t lost on me. “Like Aria with Dean’s father.”
Mom nods. “Exactly like that. It takes courage to choose the harder path because you know it’s right.”
We pull into the airport drop-off lane, and I find a spot near the departures entrance. I turn off the engine but make no move to get out.
“I really care about her, Mom,” I confess. “But she’s scared. Last night she said she needs space.”
Mom’s expression softens. “Of course she’s scared. She has more than just her heart to protect.” She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “But I saw how she looks at you, Micah. That’s not the face of a woman who wants to be just friends.”
“So what do I do?” I ask, feeling oddly like a teenager seeking dating advice.
“You show her she can trust you,” Mom says simply. “Not with grand gestures, but by being steady. Reliable. Present.” She smiles. “The very things I taught you to be.”
I lean across the console to hug her. “When did you get so wise about relationships?”
“I’ve always been wise,” she replies with a laugh. “You just haven’t been ready to listen until now.”
We get out of the car, and I help her with her suitcase. At the entrance, she turns to face me, framing my face with her hands the way she has since I was a child.
“I like her, Micah. I really do. And I want to see you happy.” Her eyes are suspiciously bright. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I know, Mom.”
She kisses my cheek. “Don’t let her push you away because she’s afraid. The best things in life are worth fighting for.”
“I’ll try,” I promise.
“Do more than try,” she insists. “And bring them to visit me in Nebraska sometime. Dean should know future grandma.”
I laugh, loving her optimism. “That might be getting ahead of ourselves.”
“A mother can dream,” she says with a wink. “Now go. You have more important things to do than watch me go through security.”
I kiss her goodbye, watching as she wheels her suitcase through the sliding doors, turning once to wave before disappearing into the crowd.
In the car, I sit for a long moment, considering my options. I could respect Aria’s request for space, give her time to sort through her feelings. That would be the sensible approach.
But my mother’s words echo in my mind: The best things in life are worth fighting for.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I start the car and head back toward Birch Springs.
The drive back feels endless. I rehearse what I want to say to Aria, the words forming and reforming in my mind, never quite feeling right. How do you tell someone that in just a few days, they’ve completely upended your carefully ordered world?
By the time I pull into my driveway, I still don’t have the perfect speech prepared. But I know I need to try. I check my watch—almost eleven. Aria doesn’t work on Tuesdays; she should be home with Dean.
I cross our yards, my heart hammering against my ribs as I approach her door. Before I can knock, I hear laughter from the backyard—Aria’s musical laugh accompanied by Dean’s delighted squeals.
Following the sound, I find them in the garden. Dean is seated on a blanket, surrounded by toys, while Aria kneels nearby, planting something in a ceramic pot.
For a moment, I just watch them. Dean notices me first, his face lighting up with recognition. He bounces excitedly, pointing in my direction.
Aria turns, shading her eyes against the morning sun. She looks beautiful in simple denim shorts and a faded t-shirt, smudges of dirt on her hands and a streak of potting soil across one cheek.
“Micah,” she says, surprise evident in her voice. “I thought you’d be at the airport.”
“I was,” I reply, approaching the fence. “Mom’s flight just took off.” I hesitate, then ask, “Can we talk?”
She glances at Dean, then back at me. “Now isn’t really a good time. I’ve got my hands full with gardening and?—”
“Please, Aria,” I interrupt gently. “Just five minutes.”
She sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear with the back of her wrist to avoid getting dirt on her face. “Five minutes,” she agrees reluctantly.
I let myself through the gate as she wipes her hands on a towel and comes to stand near me, keeping a careful distance between us.
“I thought we agreed to take some space,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
“You suggested space,” I correct her. “I never agreed it was what I wanted.”
Her eyes flash with a mixture of emotion—frustration, uncertainty, and something else I can’t quite name. “Micah?—”
“I know you’re scared,” I continue. “And you have every right to be. But I need you to know that what’s happened between us—what’s still happening—it matters to me. You matter to me. Both of you,” I add, looking at Dean, who’s watching us curiously from his blanket.
Aria crosses her arms, a defensive posture that makes my heart sink. “How can you know that? We’ve been playacting for days. The lines have gotten blurred.”
“No,” I say firmly. “They haven’t. What I feel when I look at you has nothing to do with pretending for my mother. What I feel when Dean reaches for me, when he falls asleep against my chest—that’s real, Aria. All of it.”
Her expression softens slightly, but I can see she’s still holding back, still protecting herself.
“My mother likes you, by the way,” I tell her, changing tactics. “She told me so at the airport. Said we should bring Dean to visit her in Nebraska sometime.”
A small smile touches her lips. “She did?”
I nod. “She also told me not to let you push me away because you’re afraid.”
The smile vanishes. “That’s not fair, Micah.”
“No, what’s not fair is pretending there’s nothing between us when we both know that’s not true,” I counter. “You told me yourself, that kiss in the park wasn’t pretend. Not for you.”
“It wasn’t,” she admits. “But feelings aren’t enough. Not when there’s so much at stake.”
I step closer, relieved when she doesn’t back away. “Look, I’m not asking for promises. I’m just asking for a chance. A real chance, not something we’re putting on for someone else’s benefit.”
Her eyes meet mine, vulnerable and uncertain.
“And if it doesn’t work out? If we try and fail?
I live right next door, Micah. There would be no clean break, no way to avoid seeing each other every day.
And Dean—” Her voice catches. “He already lights up when he sees you. What happens to him if things go wrong?”
The question hits me hard. I haven’t allowed myself to think that far ahead, to consider the possibility of failure. But she’s right—the stakes are impossibly high.
“I can’t promise we won’t hit rough patches,” I tell her honestly. “I can’t guarantee a happily ever after. No one can. But I can promise you that I would never, ever hurt Dean intentionally. Or you.”
She shakes her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “Intentions don’t matter if the result is the same. I’ve been here before, Micah. I trusted someone who swore he loved me, and the minute things got complicated, everything changed.”
“I’m not him,” I say, the words coming out more forcefully than I intended.
“I know that,” she whispers. “But I can’t risk Dean getting attached to someone who might not stay. I won’t do that to him.”
“So that’s it?” I ask, my chest tight with disappointment. “We don’t even try because you’re afraid it might not work out?”
“I’m trying to be responsible,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “For both of us.”
Dean makes a distressed sound, sensing the tension between us. Aria immediately turns to him, wiping her eyes as she kneels beside him.
“It’s okay, little man,” she soothes, her voice steady despite the tears. “Everything’s fine.”
I watch them together, this small family unit that has somehow become so important to me in such a short time. The urge to be part of their world, to protect them and care for them, is overwhelming.
But I can’t force my way in. Aria has to invite me, and right now, she’s made her decision clear.
“I should go,” I say quietly.
She looks up at me, her green eyes swimming with tears. “I’m sorry, Micah. I just need?—”
“Space,” I finish for her. “I know. And I’ll respect that.” I take a deep breath. “But I’m not going anywhere, Aria. I’ll be right next door when you’re ready to talk.”
Before she can respond, I turn and walk away, my vision blurring as I make my way back to my empty house. I pause at my back door, looking over at Aria’s yard one last time. She’s holding Dean now, her face buried in his small shoulder, and even from this distance, I can see she’s crying.
It takes everything in me not to go back, to gather them both in my arms and promise that everything will be okay. But I know that’s not what she needs right now.
So instead, I go inside alone, close the door behind me, and wait for Aria to find her way back to me—however long that might take.