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I wait for Spencer in the lobby. I’m nervous. I’m afraid of what he’ll say when I tell him I’m staying. The fear of disappointing him is a weight in my gut, cold and heavy. Without him, these last eight years would’ve been unbearable. He loved me, even when I didn’t really understand what that meant.
What it felt like.
Now that I do, I’m grateful.
When walks through the door and sees me, he smiles. He always smiles when he sees me. No matter what I’m wearing. No matter what I look like. Spencer loves me.
“Ready to go, Sparkplug?” he says, stopping in front of me. “Your mother’s been in my ear all day about so dinn—”
I throw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. “I love you, Spencer.”
We’ve never hugged. It’s always been small, the affection between us. Proper. Appropriate. A pat on the cheek. A hand on the shoulder. This is none of those things. It feels big and messy and I’m suddenly terrified that I’ve crossed a line. That he’ll set me away from him and tell me I’m being ridiculous. That I’ve embarrassed him.
And then I feel his arms around me and he holds me to him. “I love you too, Sparkplug.” He presses his lips to the top of my head before. “You’re not coming home, are you?”
I pull away, just enough to find him smiling down at me, an odd mixture of pride and heartache on his face. I shake my head. “I am home.”
He smiles at me, smoothing my hair out of face. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too.” I give him a watery smile, when he presses his lips to my forehead before he lets me go.
“I met that young man of yours.”
My heart fluttering in my throat. “How did—”
He gives me another smile, this one laced with amused exasperation. “You really think I’d let my daughter run off and join the circus without checking out the Big Top first?”
My daughter.
“I like him.” He gives me a nod. “Good taste in beer. Great taste in cars.”
Spencer met Conner. Sought him out so he could take his measure. Make sure he was worthy of me.
It shouldn’t matter to me. It should probably make me angry, but it doesn’t.
“Thank you.” I don’t know what I’m thanking him for. For loving me. For being a safe harbor all these years. For letting me go.
“Loving you is something you never have to thank me for.” Stooping down, he picks up my backpack and slings the strap over his shoulder. “Come on, Sparkplug. Let your old man take you home.”
“Actually, I need to go to Cambridge first.” I smile up at him, looping my arm through his. “Think you can give me a lift?”