Chapter 19 #3
When Mom passed, I was still young—too young to really understand the weight of what death does to a person, but not so young that I didn’t notice the changes in him.
The grief carved out pieces of my dad I don’t think ever fully grew back.
There were days I saw him broken—eyes dull, face drawn, shoulders carrying more than they should.
And then there were days he stood tall, steadied his voice, and did everything in his power to make sure we had some version of normal. That we had enough.
He did it alone. No partner to fall into. No one else to share the silence of the house when I went to sleep at night.
I think about that now—how he managed. And how much more support I have, even if I don’t always admit it. Even if I still feel like I’m failing sometimes.
His parents—my grandparents—helped where they could.
They came by to check in, to give me hugs, and bring over meals.
But my grandma—Mom’s mom—she was already deep into the fog of dementia by then.
There were visits where she smiled at me like she knew me, then five minutes later asked who I was.
And others where she cried and got overwhelmed just by being somewhere unfamiliar.
Dad tried to keep her close anyway, tried to make it work, but I could see how it crushed him trying to keep it all together.
And yet…he kept going.
I never understood the weight of that kind of quiet resilience until now. Until I found myself in his shoes—widowed, navigating single parenthood, trying to be everything to someone small while still figuring out how to be anything to yourself.
“Dad,” I say softly, just above the sound of clinking of the mugs being placed on the counter. “How did you do it? All of it. After Mom.”
He pauses, milk in his hand, and looks up at me.
His face softens—gentle, worn, kind. “I didn’t, not really.
I just did what I could each day. Some days that meant making dinner and keeping the house clean.
Some days it meant crying in the garage so you wouldn’t see.
But I had you, Viv. And you gave me a reason to get up every morning. ”
I blink quickly, a lump forming in my throat.
“I didn’t always get it right,” he adds. “But I tried. That’s all you can do. Show up. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”
I nod, feeling those words settle somewhere deep.
He turns back to continue making the hot cocoa, like the moment doesn’t need anything else. Like it was enough to say it and let it be.
And maybe it is.
“I hope I make her feel as safe as you made me,” I murmur.
“You already do,” he says without turning around. “She’s got your strength and your heart.”
I smile to myself.
He pours the milk into the saucepan, stirring it gently before adding cocoa powder and a pinch of sugar. Without looking up, he slides me a side glance. “You got whipped cream and marshmallows?”
I smirk as I open the cabinet, pulling out the half-used bag of tiny marshmallows Riley insists on having for every cup. “Dad, as if I wouldn’t have them. It’s basically a crime to serve hot cocoa without the full works in this house.”
He chuckles under his breath, grabs the cream from the fridge, and starts working his magic—layering the mugs with cream, marshmallows, and a final dusting of cocoa powder like some kind of small-town barista. When he hands me mine, it’s still steaming. I lift it to my lips and take a slow sip.
“Mmm.” I sigh, closing my eyes as the taste takes me back to a hundred winter nights just like this. “Still tastes like childhood.”
He gives me a proud little grin, like he’s been waiting to hear me say that. “Let’s take it out to the porch. It’s a good night for it.”
I follow him outside. The air is cooler now, the stars peeking through the clouds, and the old porch swing creaks under my weight as I curl up, tucking my knees into my chest. The wooden rocker creaks a second later when he lowers himself into it-the same one he always ends up in, unless Riley beats him to it.
I sip again, licking whipped cream from the edge of the mug. He takes a few sips in silence, then rests his mug on the small wooden side table-the one we use for card games and leftover popcorn bowls.
Then he hits me with it.
“So…” he starts, way too casual. “Tell me about this cowboy the girls can’t stop talking about.”
I nearly choke on my drink.
“It’s nothing,” I manage to say, waving a hand. “Don’t listen to them.”
He raises a brow like he’s been waiting for that exact answer. “Vivian.”
I groan. “Dad, come on.”
“Riley’s been chewing my ear off about how much fun you had out at the ranch.
Says you’ve been laughing and smiling a lot more.
That’s not nothing. I just want to know what’s on your mind and how you feel.
You’re my daughter, and if your mother was here, she’d be the one trying to get it out of you, but I’m here. ”
I set my mug down carefully, wrapping my arms tighter around my knees. “Fine,” I breathe. “His name is Miles.”
His eyes narrow a bit. “Miles?”
I wince. “Miles Sanchez.”
He sits forward, slow and deliberate. “The bull rider?”
I nod, waiting. Bracing. Here it comes—the lecture, the judgment, the list of all the reasons why this is reckless and emotional and asking for trouble.
I mean, I agree.
This is reckless.
But he surprises me.
“Beans,” he says, quiet and thoughtful. “I’m happy you’re letting yourself live again. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that spark in you.”
I stare at him, thrown off. “But…”
“There’s always a but.” He cracks a small smile. “But I also know who Miles is. Not personally, but I’ve heard the stories about him. I don’t want to judge the guy, but you and Riley are my world so it’s only normal I feel protective.”
I let out a long breath. “Yeah, I know it’s a little reckless…” I fidget with my nails.
He grabs my hands and holds them in his, “I’m not telling you to avoid these feelings,” he continues, leaning back again. “Whatever feels right is what’s meant to happen, Viv.”
I nod, too overwhelmed to speak.
He pauses, looking into the distance in front of the house.
“Tell you what,” he adds, grabbing his mug again. “Family barbecue’s next weekend. Invite him.”
I blink. “Wait, what?”
He sips. “You heard me. If he’s going to be hanging around you and Riley, I want to see the man for myself. Preferably while I’m holding tongs over a grill and he’s sweating in the sun.”
“I’ll think about it” I tell my dad. “Mindy will obviously be joining us.” I laugh as I grab the mug.
He rolls his eyes, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “You two have been attached at the hip for years. As much of a pain in the ass as she is half the time, she’s the best second daughter I could’ve asked for.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Love you, Dad, thank you for everything.”
“I love you more, sweetheart. Always.”
And just like that, the moment shifts—warmth wrapping around us like the night air.
I glance out at the darkened yard, stars blinking above.
We sit there on the porch a little while longer, the quiet wrapping around us like a well-worn blanket. The breeze is cool, rustling through the trees in that soft, sleepy way the night always seems to do out here.
Our mugs are empty, cream and marshmallow residue clinging to the sides like memories that refuse to be rinsed away. Eventually, we say our good nights, and I head inside while Dad lingers behind, probably taking one last look at the stars before turning in.
Up in my room, the house feels still. Safe.
I grab my phone and crawl under the covers, flipping it open and staring at the empty screen for a moment before I type.
Vivian: I know it’s late but I have another question for you…
I hit send and bite my lip. That flutter in my stomach kicks up again. God, I feel like a teenager. His reply comes almost instantly.
Miles: Never too late to talk to you, Bambi. Shoot.
I hesitate for a second, then type.
Vivian: Would you like to come to a family bbq next weekend? Greg and Mindy will be there too…
I stare at the message, then quickly follow up before he misreads the invite.
Vivian: My dad and Riley will be there too… If it’s a problem, don’t worry…I get it.
The typing bubbles pop up immediately.
Miles: Definitely not a problem. I’ll see you there for sure. Goodnight, Bambi
Am I blushing?
Oh god, I’m blushing.
Vivian: Great. I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Miles
I set my phone down on the nightstand, right beside the photo frame of Trevor and me on our wedding day. We were sun-kissed and glowing, both of us smiling like we had the world at our feet. In that moment, we did.
I reach for the necklace that still carries his wedding ring and press a kiss to the cool metal.
“Good night, Trev,” I whisper into the stillness.
Then I lie back on my pillow, my heart heavy but not hollow.
Not tonight.