Page 22 of Project: FU (Longwood U #3)

TAVIS

“Then Margaret’s brother got a dog,” Hannah says, rolling her eyes. “Not just any dog, but a big beast of a thing. It’s like a hundred and twenty pounds. We’re not talking fat but muscle. It’s not a pittie. A mastiff, I think Margo said.”

“Margo?” I ask.

“Margaret. Sorry. Same person.”

“Got it. Continue.”

Hannah doesn’t need further encouragement.

“This thing has caught chipmunks and gophers and birds straight from the sky. And Margaret’s brother brings him home to where her baby kitten is!

Lets the thing loose in the house. The dog might be big but it’s fast and they couldn’t catch him as he ran around because he thought it was a game, especially since the brother is laughing. ”

“Did he catch the kitten?”

“No, though I have no doubt he smelled the kitten, he immediately thought he was playing some fun game and just ran around while Margo and her parents tried to catch him to get him back on the leash and outside while her brother just rolled around laughing.”

She pauses long enough to take a bite of her French toast. I admire her while she does. Of all my kids, Hannah looks just like her mother at seventeen. If it weren’t for the different hairstyles and clothing trends, I bet I could put the two beside each other and you’d never see the difference.

When she finishes chewing, she lays a card down on the table and then continues her story, although… This one has different names. Oh. She’s moved on from Margaret and the Giant Dog Chase.

When the kids were little, I think Rachel and I realized the girls tended to do things with Mom and the boys tended to do things with Dad.

We made a conscious effort to make sure we bonded with the opposite gender children, too, once we realized.

Once a week, Rachel would take the boys to a game or the arcade, and I’d take the girls to breakfast and then walk around the park behind the diner.

My breakfasts continue, but we’re lucky if we manage once a month now. And usually, it’s just me and Hannah. Rachel still tries to find interests she can share with our sons, and like me, I think it’s moved to monthly parent-child dates, too.

Hannah always orders the French toast with loaded scramble, and sausage links. Not patties. I order a Southwest or whatever they’re calling it this year. Home fries topped with three sunny-side eggs and then smothered in sausage breakfast gravy.

While Hannah unloads about the things I’ve missed in her life, we munch on our breakfast and play cards. To be honest, I don’t think we’re actually playing a game. We tend to just put down cards, and sometimes one of us pulls the discard pile toward ourselves like we won a round.

Breakfast usually takes an hour or so. We eat until we’re full and the remnants are cold, then load up the to-go boxes to leave in the truck while we go for a walk. We rarely eat the leftovers, but that’s what we have two growing boys in the house for. They never go to waste.

Hannah continues to catch me up with the girls at school.

Somehow, we’ve circled back to Margaret, though I don’t think this story is about the giant dog.

Now we’re talking about a dress mishap when Margaret was on a date.

Apparently, the strap snapped. As a side note, I’m informed that Margaret is big-busted, and she was already spilling out.

I’m smiling as we slowly walk around the pond, listening to my daughter tell me all about her friends.

Many times over the years, I’ve noted that she almost always has good things to say.

She’s quick to laugh. Passionate about and loyal to a whole host of names, leading me to believe that she has a lot of friends.

This doesn’t surprise me. She’s friendly and outgoing, always with a big smile.

This little girl was ready to take on the world when she was ten, and I told her that there’d never been a female president.

She’d endeavored to change that. She was going to be the first female president in every country.

Needless to say, I didn’t dial back my comment to make it relevant to the country I was actually referring to. I encouraged her. Because I wanted her to reach for the stars. That drive would carry her far in life.

Her chatter pauses, and I glance at her.

“I’m listening. Betty Ann wants you to join her for her cousin’s wedding, and you’re unsure whether it’s a date since you’ve both only dated men—though we’re going to revisit this comment since I was unaware you’ve gone on dates—but you’re both excited for it, anyway. ”

Hannah grins. She slides her hand in mine and for a minute, she’s six again. “You used to hold my hand all the time when we walked around the pond,” Hannah says.

“Darling, I was making sure you didn’t run off the embankment into the water. You were a wild child, constantly full of energy.”

She laughs. “I was.”

I squeeze her hand and lean toward her to kiss the side of her head. “You still are, but I’m always happy to hold your hand, baby doll.”

When she was little, her mother used to dress her in these frilly dresses that were, admittedly, fucking adorable. She looked like a little doll, which is when I began calling her my baby doll.

Hannah continues talking for a while as we follow the perimeter of the pond and then veer off when the path leads away.

The park behind the diner is filled with winding paths that lead to a host of different areas.

There’s the pond and then a swampy area where you’re walking on an elevated wooden plank path over the water.

There’s a forest walk and then through a small botanical garden.

It’s rounded out with a bit of a rocky slope that opens onto an expansive green area where there are always families playing.

“Dad?” Hannah asks in the middle of a story.

“Mm?”

“What if I don’t want to go to college?”

I look at her, shrugging. “Then you don’t go to college.”

She’s not expecting that answer. “Really?”

“Of course.”

“What if I don’t ever want to go to college?”

“Okay. Then don’t go.”

Hannah chews her bottom lip. “What if I want to be a hooker?”

I raise a brow. “I believe the modern term is sex worker, and if that’s the case, I’m just going to pretend you’re a movie star and advise you to be careful.”

She laughs, making me smile. “Seriously? Going to support me if I want to be a hoo—sex worker?”

“Darling, I’m going to support you no matter what you do. My love isn’t conditional on your career.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re not even going to ask if I really want to be a sex worker?”

“I’m not going to pressure you at all to make a decision on what you want to do with your life. Your only job right now is finishing high school.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” she admits, which I kind of assumed was where this conversation was leading.

“All my friends seem to have goals, and I just… I don’t know.

Nothing sounds exciting. Nothing even sounds interesting.

I’m going to be in this profession for like sixty years, so I’d really like to at least like my job, but everything makes me crazy afraid that I’m going to hate it. ”

“First, you’re not committed to any career for your entire working life.

There’s no reason at all that you can’t change in ten, twenty, or even forty years if you have a change of heart or want something different.

That’s okay. Second, the first two years of college aren’t about mastering a career path.

They’re getting your core credits out of the way—the same courses that you’ll be taking regardless of your field of study.

College is about furthering your education, but it’s also about exploring your options.

You should talk to your brothers about the electives they take.

I promise you, they rarely go along with their degree paths.

Orion changed his degree halfway through his third year when he took a couple of electives and decided a new path was far more fulfilling than the previous one he’d been on.

And he’s still taking classes because he’s not sure that even this job that he changed to is the one for him.

It’s not permanent. You’re always allowed to change your mind. ”

Hannah leans her head against my shoulder. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Feel better?”

“A lot better. The school keeps talking about getting ready for college applications, and my friends have a list of schools they’re interested in.

Anthony already has an early interview this summer, and a tour lined up.

He still has his senior year of high school left, and they want to talk to him!

I guess I was feeling like I’m falling behind. ”

“You’re not. You’re only seventeen. You have six decades to worry about falling behind. No need to begin early.”

She snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

I squeeze her hand, which is still firmly in mine.

I’ve loved watching my kids grow up, but I miss when they were little and more readily wanted to hold hands on walks or hug their parents.

I hate that we live in a world where affection between parents and children wanes as they get older because that’s what society says is normal.