16. Rick
Chapter sixteen
Rick
M eeting Aspen’s parents is the most nerve-inducing thing I’ve ever faced. I’m pretty much a wreck, and I don’t know if I’m doing much to hide it.
We flew first class back to Atlanta. It wasn’t my first experience with the upgraded service, but it was Aspen’s, and it was charming to see how excited she was. The entire time, she acted like everything was going to be okay, and it almost made me believe it would be. She told me all about her parents, and she shared memories of growing up. She talked non-stop the whole flight, which was fine. I wasn’t going to sleep, and somehow, her filling the time with all those memories made me feel a little bit more like this wasn’t a colossal mistake. It made me feel like I belonged—at least slightly—now that I was privy to her childhood and teenage years.
When we landed, we got a cab straight to Aspen’s parents’ house.
I expected something a little bit bigger, made of stone or maybe brick, so I was half surprised to find a smaller seventies-style split level. It’s yellow and cheerful. There are flowerbeds here, but they don’t bother me. Truthfully, I have no beef with gardens. I just hated the one my grandfather was so proud of. It was one-of-a-kind, and now it’s gone-of-a-kind, but the rest? They’re okay. They can remain, and they can be beautiful. It doesn’t make me angry or give me bad vibes.
The fence that surrounds most of the house is brown and peeling. It’s a little bit lopsided along the left, heading into the backyard. I’m shit at construction, but part of me wants to get at that fence and make it straight and proud again.
I could pay to have it done, but I’d rather learn how to do it myself.
“Are you going to throw up?” Aspen asks as we walk up the driveway.
There’s no sidewalk that cuts through the front door. It comes off the top of the asphalt driveway and winds to the front door. Now that I’m close, I can see the old siding is pretty weathered. The paint is cracked and ready to flake in spots. But it seems so normal. Somehow, this house radiates kindness.
“No,” I reply as I test the air. It’s sweet. Hot. Floral scented.
She looks at me with concern. “Are you sure? You look kind of pale.”
“I’m sure. I’ve had lots of training on how to not vomit or eject other bodily fluids in tense situations.”
Her eyes sweep over me. She’s a little bit tense, too, and I’m not kidding about what I just said, but she grins and grabs my hand like I’ve just made the funniest joke. She strokes my fingers, and I resist the urge to jerk them back and tuck them into my pockets so her dad doesn’t come out, see her fondling any part of me, and chop it off with a meat cleaver.
It would hurt so much more than a shotgun blast. Or any bullet, for that matter.
I’d get inventive if I were a father, and my little girl went across the country and did everything Aspen did. I’d make me pay, and I’d do it slowly and excruciatingly.
“You are going to throw up,” Aspen comments.
I’m just starting to register how hot it is out here. It’s astonishing that after a lifetime of blocking things out, I’m starting to be so very bad at becoming numb and impartial. I’m losing my masks, my armor, and my general impenetrability. I’m starting to feel the temperature, notice the weather, and take note of the sky and the world around me. I’m starting to smell flowers and appreciate good cooking. I even slept the past two nights with Aspen curled up beside me in the one bed left in the house. She waited for me to fall asleep, and she was awake when I woke up in the morning. It was like she was keeping guard just in case I woke up. In case I had a nightmare.
I sometimes wish I did. But I never have. I’ve never had a single nightmare or even a dream about anything I’ve done or anything that’s happened. I never relive the good or the bad. All I have are memories when I’m awake, and I became so good at shoving them down that, for the most part, I didn’t even have those.
“I’m not.”
“If you have to, no one will mind. But I promise it’s not necessary. My parents aren’t going to—”
Just then, the front door opens, and Aspen’s mom and dad hurtle out. Her dad, as I suspected, has the same sandy hair. Same as Jace’s hair too. Her mom, on the other hand, is a strawberry blonde. And both their hair is shot through with more than a small amount of grey. Her dad is tall and athletically built like Jace, while her mom is on the smaller side. Shorter and more petite.
They rush at their daughter, but they stop themselves from being too rough and frantic. If I had lost a son and a stepson already, and this was my one remaining child, I’d be frantic too. Then I’d reach for the knife set and my torture implements. A rake or a pitchfork would be nice. I’d make it uncomfortable, throwing it back in historically awful ways.
Aspen’s mom caresses her hair while her dad sets a hand on her shoulder.
“Honey,” he says, his eyes misting over. “We’re so glad you’re home.”
Her mom can’t blink back her tears as she hugs Aspen hard. Aspen leans into it, not stiff in the least. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m back, and I’m fine. I also brought Rick with me.” She pats her mom’s back.
Her dad’s eyes track to mine, and I expect to find murderous fire in them. I expect him to be contemplating a garage full of tools and which one he’d like to use on me first. Grinder, skill saw, drill and bits, hammer, chainsaw, bolt cutters…
But his eyes are warm as he holds out a hand to me. “Patrick, it’s good to meet you.”
I’m sure it could be better. I’m sure he’s wired up some kind of taser to the inside of his hand, and somehow, it will only get me and not him. Maybe there’s a tripwire setup. If I take a step forward to shake that hand, I’ll be obliterated by a low-hung flying axe.
Regardless, I shake his hand anyway. It’s the right thing to do.
No tasers. No axes. No flaming arrows or hidden torches. There’s no pit full of spikes that I fall into. Just a warm, firm hand shaking mine.
“Why don’t we sit out in the back? It’s shady there this time of day, and we have new patio furniture. I also made lemonade. You can help me, Aspen. We’ll bring snacks,” her mom says.
Aspen looks both her parents over. “That’s code for my dad wants to grill you about your intentions while my mom takes forever putting together cheese and crackers or cutting up a watermelon.”
“Gentle grilling,” her dad corrects. He’s got a kind face. He doesn’t look at me like he hates me, and that’s more than I could manage if I were him. He doesn’t look at his daughter like she’s reckless, like she’s lost her mind, or like she’s not an adult who can make her own choices.
I can tell they’re relieved she’s back. That she’s safe. They were worried, which makes sense. They’re not jumping all over her, though. They’re not chastising her, embarrassing her, or being rude. Either they’re holding back, or they respect Aspen. She might be their child, but she’s her own person as well.
“Okay,” Aspen agrees reluctantly. She steps away from her parents and squeezes my hand in front of them. I gulp hard, but no one flies at me to throttle me. “But five minutes.” The look she gives her parents is stern. “I mean it.”
“You’re welcome here,” her dad says to me as he nods at Aspen. “If my son wanted you to be a part of our family, then you will be. That’s a promise.”
“It is,” her mom adds softly. She’s crying again—quiet, gentle tears. Her tears seem like an echo of her personality. I can see where Aspen got her gentle spirit from, as well as all the hidden steel inside her.
These people lost a child, and it was only a year ago, but grief didn’t destroy them. They’re still able to stand here and welcome me with genuine sentiment, not because they feel forced or guilted into doing it. I thought the house radiated kindness when I walked up the drive, but if it does, it’s because it’s been permeated over the years with the goodness of this family.
Aspen pats my hand and reluctantly releases it. Then, I do what I wanted to do earlier and jam it into my pocket. We each have a suitcase, and Aspen and her mom grab the handles and pull them into the house. I don’t get a chance to protest about them not lifting it because they do it easily. I’m used to packing light. I think my carry-on-sized bag probably weighs ten pounds, if that.
The door shuts quietly behind them, leaving me alone with Aspen’s dad.
Jace’s dad.
“We’ll go around back,” he says. He’s got the kind of soft-spoken voice that is still so commanding. I bet he’s just like Jace. Used to leading without ever giving orders or bossing people around. Jace was the kind of man people instantly liked, trusted, and followed. He was the kind of person who would have stepped in front of a bullet for a total stranger, what more the men he considered his brothers. He would have done so much more for any of us.
I swallow thickly as I follow Aspen’s dad through the gate he unlatches in the fence. Then, we walk past the crooked section to a deck that appears new. The boards look so newly stained that I can practically smell the chemicals.
“The fence has to go next.” So her dad has obviously noticed the lean. “It’s been a work in progress. I only get so many days off every summer, but I’m taking a week off next month, and I’ll get her done and done right. Not to knock the old girl. She’s been standing for a good thirty years, so I guess she doesn’t owe us anything. We’ll pile up the boards that are still salvageable and donate them to someone who might need them for a project. That way, she can have a second shot at being useful.”
We sit down on a brand-new outdoor sectional. The cushions are a bright cherry red.
“This is Margaret’s pride and joy, this sectional. We saved up for it. Five hundred dollars seems like a splurge, but we’ll take care of it, and hopefully, it lasts. She takes the cushions in and out at least ten times a day.”
I think he’s serious. I sit carefully, not wanting to wreck anything, even if that’s illogical.
I think I might have ruined their daughter.
And I didn’t keep their son safe.
I’ve done enough damage already.
I expect the usual what are your intentions with my daughter interrogation, but Aspen’s dad just sets one knee on top of the other and lets his leather sandal waggle off the front of his foot. He jiggles it until it slips back to where it’s supposed to be.
“I think Aspen was serious about being in there for just a few minutes. If you want to ask me what kind of person I am, what I’ve done with your daughter, and what I’m planning on doing with her in the future, you should start before they get back,” I say, trying to keep any nerves from my voice.
Her dad raises an amused brow at me. “It’s alright, son. She already explained all of that on the phone.”
Son. I know that word is commonplace, but to me, it’s jarring. I’ve never been anyone’s son. Not really.
Aspen stepped out of the house yesterday. She went into the backyard, and I gave her privacy. I knew she was talking to her parents. I knew she was probably telling them everything and trying to do damage control, but I didn’t ask her about it, and she didn’t explain anything to me after. She just asked if I was okay checking in online since our flight was leaving early.
It’s still early enough now. It’s not even noon, and we’ve flown halfway across the country, gotten our bags, caught a cab, and had the first introduction that I was not-so-secretly dreading.
I wonder if Aspen told them about Jace. About how I left and abandoned him. I wonder if she told them we’re married. That we’ve consummated said marriage and are still planning on annulling it. I wonder if she told them that she wants to move to San Jose if I don’t want to live in Atlanta or somewhere else if I should decide to go elsewhere.
“I’m not going to lie. We’re worried. We want the best life for Aspen. We want her to be happy. We want her to be safe and loved. We are really trying not to smother her.” His eyes grow sad, and so, so tired. “We’re trying not to make her feel like she has to take Jace’s place because he’s not here. I know some parents want to hold their only remaining child tightly, but that’s not fair to her. She knows her mind, and she should be free to make her own choices. She told us that you have enough money to make all her dreams come true, but she also said she didn’t want it. She said the one thing she wants is for us to get to know you and love you, not like you’re Jace, because you aren’t, but like you’re a man who needs it. Even if Jace hadn’t asked us to do this, we still would have because she asked. Everyone should have a family. Everyone should know what it is like to be loved. Hopefully, you don’t mind us fumbling around while trying at it. Wherever you are, and wherever Aspen is, you’re a part of our family if you want to be.”
I know it’s not the money. If I were broke and seven times more troubled, these kind, amazing people would still be here, offering this to me. I know they’re doing it for Aspen because they love her, and obviously, they’re doing it for Jace, but it’s already more than I deserve.
My throat is so thick that, for a moment, I can’t say anything. Yes, mine.
“I’m…if Aspen has told you anything at all about me—” Duh, she’s told them everything. Weren’t you listening just now? “She probably understated my not-so-fine points. She has a tendency to see past that.”
“I don’t think so. She’s quite a realist, in my experience. She doesn’t walk around with rose-colored googly eyes on. If she chooses to see the good in a person, it’s because it’s there.”
“I think she might be straining her eyes if she sees good in me,” I mutter.
“Hmm.” Her dad’s foot jiggles again, and his sandal nearly slides off. But the big leather strap across the top keeps it on. “I suppose we’ll see.”
“What if she moves because she has some wild notion that she wants to be close to me?” What if she doesn’t, and I can’t stand it? What the hell is happening to me that I can’t imagine being alone anymore? That I can’t imagine Aspen not being close by, even just as a friend.
Fuck, I don’t want her to be just a friend.
I would take her as a friend and count myself so fucking lucky and then some, but is that what I truly want? No, it isn’t. It isn’t, and I can admit that to myself. If I couldn’t admit it, I wouldn’t have come here with her. I would have sent her on her way, given her the annulment, and even made a big production of doing postcards because I said I would.
“Then that’s her choice. I know she’ll stay in touch as best she can. Her going off to explore different options and be who she was always meant to be doesn’t mean she doesn’t love us.” His eyes narrow, taking me in. “And I know she’ll be safe if she does move out because you would never let anything happen to her.”
Fucking right, I wouldn’t. Thinking about that even being a possibility and Aspen coming to some kind of harm or pain makes me want to die. It hurts so badly that I can’t even think about it. I just can’t go there. I will do everything in my power to keep her safe. I will do everything in my power to keep from hurting her, even if it means that I stop pushing her away and learn how to not be an asshole.
“We’d like it if both of you would stay here for a while, or at least as long as you can before you’re off on other adventures, but we hope that even if you do go off, singly or together, you’ll check in with us. You’re welcome to call or text, but know that you’re always welcome in this house.”
I don’t ask what happens if Aspen and I don’t work out. That might happen, but I know she’ll never cut me out of her life, even if it does. She’s so tough and smart and emotionally capable that she’ll teach me how to get there with her. I might be the opposite and be quite…emotionally fucking stunted in comparison. I know I won’t ever have half her internal strength, but I do know she’s made me a promise. She promised me a family, and she’d never go back on it, no matter what happened between us.
I don’t want to give her a reason to go back on it.
“Thank you, sir.” I shouldn’t have tacked on the sir part. I feel ridiculous doing it, but maybe it’s right. Either way, her dad doesn’t look annoyed. He just looks as peaceful as Aspen often does. He looks like he always has a good joke up his sleeve, like Jace. Also, he looks like he’ll be tough when he has to be, kind the rest of the time, and good to people even if he has to be firm. Above all, he seems like a fair man. A truly good man. Truly good people are hard to come by.
I’m far from truly good.
“I’ve never had a family before,” I squeeze out. “I don’t know if I’ll get it right.”
“There’s no right or wrong. Just be who you are,” Aspen’s dad says.
I wonder if Aspen has mentioned the dirt thing. Maybe. Who knows what she’s told her parents? When her dad said everything, he probably did know everything. She maybe even told her parents that we’re romantically involved. I think she did keep the married part to herself, at least for now. Maybe that will just be between us since we plan to undo it. I said before that the brick factory might get out of control if certain things are mentioned, and I stick by that.
“Aspen suggested that I study some kind of biology. Or ecology. Something to do with soils. I didn’t like the idea at first, but after giving it a slight bit of consideration, I think it might be something I’d enjoy.”
“Everyone has to start somewhere. Maybe you can get some books first to see if it’s something you enjoy. I think that would be fascinating. I’ve always wanted to have an ant or worm farm.”
“Goodness! Talking about ant farms again! It’s becoming an obsession. You should probably just do it.” Aspen’s mom steps out through the patio door with Aspen close behind her. They have a plate of watermelon, a pitcher of juice, a stack of cups, and another plate of sandwiches, and they’re carrying it all effortlessly.
I leap up to help. There’s a coffee table out here made of the same wicker as the patio furniture. I set the plate of watermelon down, and the rest of the food joins.
“I think you’d be a great ant owner, Dad. Or worms. Worms are fun too.”
Aspen takes the seat next to me, smiling away. She’s not at all worried that her parents might still change their minds and produce medieval-style torture implements out of nowhere.
But no. They just all sit and stare at me without glowering. They’re so cheerful, inviting, open, and warm. All the things Jace was. And all the things I’m not.
Aspen’s mom is the first one to break the silence after we all have a tall, sweaty glass of lemonade in our hands. Homemade lemonade with freshly squeezed lemons and so much pulp floating around in there that it’s thick.
“Rick, why don’t you tell us about yourself?” Aspen’s mom starts.
Aspen groans. “Mom, you already know everything. We’re not doing this. You can get to know him the regular way, not have him eject all the answers you want when I’ve already given you half of them.” She stands and walks behind my chair. Then, she puts one hand on my shoulder. Her touch. Her touch is so fucking powerful.
Right from the start, I think Aspen might have known we’d end up here. Okay, so she probably didn’t. It was never part of her plan—not that there was much of one—but maybe it was in her head all along that I wouldn’t be okay until I was feeling again. Until I was learning to feel everything I’d blocked out for so long and all the stuff I never had half a chance to learn at all. Anyway, here we are now. It feels like a road that extends across the whole country, and we’ve traveled the road in such a short time. We made each other promises, and as soon as we did, there was no going back.
There’s no going back now.
“The only thing you need to know about Rick that I haven’t told you both yet is that he’s mine.”
Gah! I watch her parents tense, and they share glances with each other. Now it starts. The trapdoor opens, and I’m slid into the basement for a few nights of epic questioning that isn’t going to be gentle. This is where all the shotguns finally make an appearance. And knives. Those too. Maybe even swords. If not, I’m sure a broom could be made to do some real damage. It’s very likely an angry mother trying to protect her daughter could whip that up in no time.
What does she mean by I’m hers? We haven’t…we haven’t gotten to that part yet.
“He’s my friend,” Aspen clarifies, but her hand tightens on my shoulder. “He’s the man Jace wanted me to look after, and he’s the man Jace picked out for me to look after me. We’re always going to be connected through him and our memories of him. I want him to be a part of all of us, but he’s always going to be in my life now. Whatever we decide that looks like. Maybe as friends, maybe as something more one day when we’re ready to put a title on it. But I want to say it. I want to say it so he can hear it because he feels like he’s never belonged anywhere or to anyone. He belongs to me.” She circles around and drops down to her knees on the deck.
I’m going to die. I’m going to die in all the ways.
“To this family,” her dad adds softly. “I’ve already welcomed him.”
“Yes.” Her mom blinks back more tears. “You’re always welcome with us. We’d like it if you would stay.”
“We might have things to deal with in San Jose,” Aspen whispers. “But we’ll do what we can.”
I never would have imagined that I’d be publicly claimed. Her parents have done what my own flesh and blood couldn’t do. They’ve welcomed me. They want me. There might be a great deal to sort out, but they’ve made it easy. No, they made it look easy. Opening their hearts like this isn’t easy. It costs a person to do this. It’s painful. It’s so damn real.
Right now, my throat is so damn thick and closed up.
Aspen sets her cup down and puts both hands on her knees. She looks me right in the eyes, and hers are so deep and gentle. They’re always full. Full of all the emotions she feels and welcomes and lives. She’s not afraid of life. There was a time when I wasn’t afraid of anything life could throw at me either because the worst was already behind me. I knew there was never going to be this in front of me, so what did I have to lose?
“You’re always welcome back here, even if you have to go or wherever you choose to go. We hope you’ll stay in touch. Daily. Aspen .”
She laughs, launches herself onto my lap, and kisses my forehead. “Yes, Mom. We will.”
Jesus, this woman. She’s so bold and so unafraid. She’s got courage the likes I’ve never seen before and I’ve known men who have faced down bullets and hostile situations on the daily. It’s not just her parents that she has to face. It’s the weight of life and the expectations of a brother who isn’t here with us, who we loved so much. She has to stare down life while attached to me, and what does she do? She doesn’t just handle it like a darned champ. She out and out claims me.
Rick is mine.
“We will,” I echo, finally feeling brave enough to look her parents in the eyes. “I’ll take care of her. You have my word. I’ll do everything I can to be the man Jace wanted me to be.”
Aspen presses her hands on my shoulders. “We’ll take you just the way you are, but we’d be happy to grow with you. And don’t go off on me about how self-helpish that sounds.”
“Never,” I say.
Aspen’s mom and dad reach for each other and hold hands. They share a meaningful look.
“We didn’t get a chance to have a celebration of life for Jace. We just had his regular funeral, and by regular, I mean it was an honorable funeral for a man who served his country. But I’d like to do something that’s just for family and close friends. Just for all of us who knew him and loved him as more than that,” Aspen’s mom says.
I didn’t go to the funeral. I just couldn’t. Not when I was eaten alive by guilt, but also because if I didn’t, then I could imagine Jace as he was the last time I saw him. I knew the funeral would be formal, stiff, and painful. I knew it would be layered in grief. I knew it wouldn’t be anything even close to what he would have wanted.
“Yes!” Aspen’s cheeks are wet when she looks back at me. Soaking wet. Her tears are flowing, soaking her face, but still, she gives me the smallest smile. “I’ve wanted that, Mom. He would like that so much. His mom would approve, and I know there will be a huge turnout. We can show all the funny videos from when he was younger, talk about the books he loved and the sports he played, and tell the jokes he could never get enough of. And all his friends can share what he meant to them. You’re right. He was so much more than just a soldier.”
She’s been trying to get me to believe the same thing.
But I wasn’t. For the longest time, I was just living a lost life as a civilian, but on the inside, I was still every bit of the soldier I’d always been.
“Are you coming, Rick?”
I loop my arms around Aspen’s tiny frame and lock my fingers behind her back. Yes, I can let this happen. I can let it happen slowly. I can let it seep into me. This hope, these people, the goodness and the love. I can do this. It’s not going to kill me. Rather, it’s going to save me.
“I’ll be there,” I promise. And then, because that’s still not enough, I add, “I’ll be right here .”