Chapter 19 #2
Dominic was always better at this part. Effortlessly charming and finding all the right words. But I realize as I watch my parents that maybe I don’t have to carry it all myself.
My parents mean well. They always have…but they’ve never quite mastered the art of looking closer. Dominic and Elijah fill that space smoothly, the space reserved for being understood, being loved not just for who you appear to be, but for who you actually are.
Because as messy and complicated as life can get, as much as my parents might miss, there are people who see me.
And somehow, that’s enough.
· · ·
Dinner with my parents requires emotional armor. Mom charges into conversations like a tank, and Dad sidesteps them by rambling about binocular specs and which RV campsite has the best bathrooms.
It’s in Traverse City, by the way.
But tonight is different.
Because tonight, Hayden will be waiting at the restaurant, meeting my parents officially as someone I’m…what, seeing? Dating? I still haven’t decided on the proper label for whatever this is, but I’ve spent the entire day with my stomach twisted in a nervous knot.
Stonevale Tavern glows when we walk in. Hayden outglows it, waiting at our table in a sharp black suit, holding a bouquet of white roses and peonies.
His posture is perfectly composed, but there’s a subtle tension in the way he adjusts the bouquet like it’s a shield.
For a heartbeat, the sight cracks something open in my chest. Whatever lingering questions I had about city hall or folders dissolve instantly.
Because Hayden Harlow, poised funeral director, former god of the underworld, master of control, is anxious about meeting my parents.
And somehow, that’s the most mortal thing I’ve seen him feel.
Mom practically vibrates, leaning in so dramatically she might as well whisper through a megaphone. “Oh, honey…he’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“Mom,” I snap, barely containing my cringe. “Please behave.”
Hayden spots us before I can warn him of the oncoming parental storm.
He straightens the collar of his shirt, eyes finding mine in that quiet, anchoring way.
Slowly, he steps forward and offers the bouquet to my mother with a charming smile that makes my stomach do that thing it does whenever I’m around him.
“Mrs. Wilder, it’s lovely to finally meet you,” Hayden says smoothly. “Levi speaks of you often.”
My mom’s cheeks glow a pleased pink as she graciously accepts the flowers. “Only good things, I hope. Thank you, Hayden. These are beautiful.”
Dad gives me the world’s least subtle thumbs-up.
Hayden extends a hand toward him. “Mr. Wilder, good to meet you.”
My dad shakes his hand enthusiastically. “Call me Bryan, son,” he says warmly, and the notion of him referring to an immortal god as son makes me laugh. Hayden elbows me. “Anyone who brings my Junebug flowers deserves first-name privileges.”
Hayden smiles, shoulders visibly relaxing. “Bryan it is.”
“That bouquet looks…familiar,” I whisper when he finally pulls me into a hug.
“Naomi is a dangerously effective saleswoman,” he murmurs against my temple. “And you’re always preaching about shopping local. I was just following instructions.”
It’s not just the gesture, it’s the effort. He remembered, he listened, and he wanted to make a good impression. Leave it to Hayden Harlow to turn showing up for me into an art form.
As we settle into our seats, Hayden slides into place next to me, his leg brushing mine briefly under the table. The simple contact calms me.
My mother immediately shifts into interrogation mode, elbows braced on the table as if she’s conducting a high-stakes interview. “So, Hayden, Levi’s been very tight-lipped. Tell us, have you lived in Stonevale long?”
Hayden’s fingers twitch slightly against his wineglass, but his voice stays calm, steady. “Just over a decade, actually. Long enough to put down roots.”
It’s a perfectly ordinary answer. Too ordinary. I catch the tightness in his jaw, the way he swallows like the word roots tastes strange to him. Of course it does. He’s lived forever, but here he is pretending a decade is an eternity.
“Roots are good,” Dad says earnestly. “Though I’m guessing funeral directing isn’t exactly…typical. What drew you to it?”
My throat tightens, and I watch Hayden carefully. His shadows ripple beneath the table, brushing gently along my ankle like they can sense the tension in Hayden before he can himself.
“It gives me a way to be there for people,” Hayden says softly, his eyes settling on mine. “At their hardest moments. When it feels like the world has forgotten them. It’s work that means something, even when it’s difficult.”
Mom looks impressed. “That’s beautiful, Hayden.”
Dad nods approvingly. “Sounds heavy, though. Ever consider something lighter?”
Hayden gives a genuine smile. “I think your son’s providing enough ‘lightness’ in my life at the moment.”
My heart skips, heat climbing the back of my neck. Mom catches my eye, looking dangerously pleased.
“Well,” my mom continues, her expression thoughtful. “Stonevale must agree with you. Although, forgive me for staring, but…have we met before? You look so familiar.”
My breath catches. For a fragile second, Mom studies Hayden’s face a little too closely, her eyes narrowing as if she’s sorting through faded photographs or half-forgotten memories.
Something like recognition settles, for a moment, but unmistakable enough to send a pulse of panic through my chest. Of course she might recognize him, even subconsciously.
Hayden would have carried our family’s grief before, tending to the loss my parents still can’t bear to speak aloud.
Hayden meets her eyes, his expression carefully neutral even as his shadows circle my ankle. “It’s possible,” he answers smoothly. “I’ve been in Stonevale awhile. Maybe we crossed paths.” He offers a polite smile, easing gracefully out of his seat. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
Hayden leaves, and I’m adrift with years of things we still don’t know how to say.
I clear my throat, fingers drumming against my wineglass.
Mom gestures toward the waiter for another round of bread as if brokering an international negotiation. “It’s been ages,” she says, glancing around the restaurant like she’s seeing Stonevale for the very first time. “Doesn’t it all feel different?”
I tear into the roll harder than necessary, voice sharper than intended. “Not different. You just haven’t been here.”
She pauses, her smile faltering before snapping neatly back into place. “Well, your father and I like to keep moving these days. Change is good.”
“We’re spontaneous now,” Dad chimes in, unaware how ironic it sounds coming from people who schedule spontaneity around bird migrations and RV hookups.
I try to smile but it feels forced.
My mother waves a hand, brushing the subject along. “After retirement, we decided life’s too short to stay stuck.”
Stuck.
The word lodges painfully in my chest. Because what she means is they were stuck here. With me and the grief they tried to outrun.
I set my bread down carefully, fingertips pressing hard against the table.
“Stuck,” I echo, my voice splintering on the word, suddenly too fragile.
Mom freezes mid-reach for her wineglass, realization settling across her face a moment too late. “Levi, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—”
“You know what? Forget it,” I course correct. The old script finds me, my voice brightening on command.
My dad shakes his head gently. “No, Levi. That’s fair…”
“Seriously, Dad…Mom, please. It’s okay, really.” I force a smile. I lift my glass swiftly. “Anyway, new base camp? Tell me everything. Still over at Pine Brook Trail?”
Dad’s gaze flickers uncertainly between my mother and me, and I can see the moment it lands. That look of recognition when he realizes I’m doing it again. Playing the sunshine son. The one who smooths edges, redirects conversations, makes sure nothing gets messy.
Mom’s eyes narrow slightly, but not in anger. Something softer. A quiet ache behind her carefully arranged smile.
“Oh, Levi, you should see the herons out there,” my mom says, pivoting once again to safer territory. “I think they’re nesting!”
“Thrilling,” I manage.
She leans in closer as she shifts from one subject to the next. “Hayden seems…lovely.”
“Yeah. Fascinating fellow, son,” Dad echoes, nodding eagerly.
As if summoned by his name, Hayden reappears, and my pulse steadies as he slips into the booth beside me.
Mom clears her throat, her fingertips smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the tablecloth. When she finally looks up again, her smile is back in place, like fine china glued hastily back together. “And this wine,” she says, taking another sip. “Absolutely delicious, right?”
Dad visibly relaxes, grasping at the lifeline she’s thrown. “It really is. Good choice, Junebug.”
I recognize their careful retreat.
“I’ll say,” I say, leaning forward with a smile that feels only half true. “I’m just glad Hayden finally has proof that I can appreciate a good red when I taste one.”
Hayden’s eyes linger on mine. “I never doubted you for a second.”
My mom laughs a little too brightly, relieved. “Good to know someone shares my faith in him.”
Beneath the table, Hayden’s shadows drift across my fingertips as if seeking permission to hold on. They wrap reassuringly around my palm, and I lean into them, grateful for their tenderness. I keep my hand there, thankful for something to hold on to.
“Well, Hayden, if you ever decide to take a break from funerals, June and I can offer a riveting alternative: bird-watching,” my dad says, raising his wineglass.
Hayden’s lips twitch into a subtle smile. “I’ll consider it.”
My mom pats Hayden’s hand fondly. “You’d be surprised how quickly it grows on you.”
The tension eases and my parents chatter about trails and their favorite birds. Hayden listens patiently, occasionally glancing at me as if to make sure I haven’t floated away.
It does feel good to have him see my parents, flaws and quirks and grief-stained hearts, and not flinch away.
After dinner, we walk them back to The Nest, which they’ve parked in a designated RV spot near the edge of a birding preserve.
You’d think Hayden had been asked to register for a campground membership based on the way he’s staring at it.
Mom unzips the side panel. “Isn’t it perfect?”
Dad is already holding up binoculars to the night sky. “You’re gonna love the dawn chorus,” he tells Hayden. “It’s a real treat. Real symphonic.”
“Looking forward to it,” Hayden says, overly cheerful.
Mom kisses my cheek, then holds me tightly. “He’s handsome,” she whispers, eyeing Hayden. “And funny, in that bleak, smoldering way. Good choice.”
“Okay,” I mutter, mortified. “Good night, Mom.”
Hayden shakes their hands, polite and patient. He even thanks my mom for the wine recommendation she absolutely didn’t let him ignore.
And then they disappear inside, probably unpacking bird guides and fiddling with an alarm clock guaranteed to go off at an hour even birds would protest. I watch their silhouettes through the glowing RV windows, moving about easily, comfortable in their tight little orbit of routine.
Walking back to town, Hayden breaks the silence first, his voice careful. “Your parents are…”
“Deranged?”
He chuckles. “Admirably energetic.”
“That’s an awfully generous way to put it,” I murmur.
“They love you,” he adds, sincerity softening his tone.
“They mean well.” Which has always been my code for: They try, in the only ways they know how.
He glances sideways at me, his pale eyes searching. “And you mean to protect them.”
I stop walking, the certainty in his words catching me off guard. “Is it really that obvious?”
Hayden doesn’t hesitate this time. His eyes lock with mine, unwavering and warm. “Levi, you shine brighter so they never have to face the dark.”
My breath catches painfully between my heart and throat. It’s the kind of truth that slips out, naming something I didn’t even know was exposed.
“No one’s ever said what I’ve always felt out loud before,” I whisper.
“Maybe no one’s ever taken the time to really see you,” he replies matter-of-factly.
I blink against the sudden sting behind my eyes, feeling bare yet strangely safe under his attention.
Hayden pulls one hand from his pocket and brushes his fingertips lightly against my cheek. He pauses, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”
“Come home with me,” I whisper.
His eyes are laced with understanding. “Of course.”
And this time, it’s my hand that reaches out first. I thread my fingers through his, holding tight as we walk home beneath the comforting glow of streetlights and stars.