Page 14 of Rhett (The Swift Brothers #3)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Rhett

“I ’m picking up Meadow from school today, then having dinner with them,” I tell Talia. It’s sad that my therapist is the only person I have to talk to about things. That’s the point of therapy, I get that, but I figure some things are what someone else might talk to a friend about. So…what are you up to today? Just picking up a friend’s daughter from school, then having dinner with her and her father…oh… oh.

“I’m curious what you were thinking about just now. You looked like you were having an epiphany.”

Wow. She’s good. Are therapists psychic? “I was…acknowledging, I suppose, that Tripp is my friend now.” It feels like such a small thing…such a small, silly, stupid, incredible thing. “I’ve had acquaintances, of course, and people I could consider a friend of sorts. Dusty, for one, but that always felt a little one-sided because of his feelings for Morgan. I always knew Morgan was everything to Dusty, and if it came down to it, he would always choose Morgan, but the situation with Tripp feels different.”

“The friendship with Tripp?” Talia asks.

I smile. “Yes. That.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you have him. Friendships are important. Connection is important.”

And I do have a connection with Tripp. I don’t pretend it means as much to him as it does to me, but I know it means something. He likes me. He’s told me. “So yeah…I’m picking up Meadow today.”

“How do you feel about that?”

I shrug, but really, I know. It’s just embarrassing to have so much going on inside my head about something that shouldn’t be a big deal. “Helpful,” is the first word I let out. “Which feels good. I like to do things for people, but not in the ways I used to. Happy, I guess. Ridiculous.”

“Why ridiculous?”

“For being happy.”

“It’s okay to be happy about stuff like this, Rhett. That’s a good thing.”

“Not if you’re Gregory Swift’s oldest son.”

“You’re living your own life now, not for your father.”

I’ve been opening up to her a lot more about situations from my past, the things Dad drilled into me and how it shaped who I am…was? “That’s true. I’m also nervous. I don’t want to mess anything up. I don’t want to let Tripp down.” Jesus, how fucking ridiculous do I sound? How can I let someone down by driving their kid home and then eating dinner with them? But I feel like if there’s a way, I’ll find it.

“I imagine it’s difficult feeling that way, and the fact that you do says a lot about who you are as a person. You’re kind and caring. And you put a lot of pressure on yourself. Give yourself a little grace. It’s got to be hard living under that much weight all the time.”

It is. She has no idea how hard it is. I nod, and we continue the rest of our session. When I’m done, I pick up lunch at a drive-through, then head back to Birchbark.

What if Meadow is hungry or thirsty when I pick her up?

Once I’m back in town, I make a second stop at the store to grab a bag of chips, granola bars, and a bottle of water, then head to the middle school. I already got the wine, beer, and sparkling cider last night.

I get there an hour before school lets out and pull up in front to wait.

This feels weird. Is this weird? Should I not be here this early? Are they going to kick me out because I look like a creepy man parked outside the school? My leg bounces, hands squeezing the steering wheel. Maybe I should go and come back? But then, I don’t want to wind up being late either.

I glance up when I notice something move in my rearview. It’s another car, and I wonder if they’re going to ask me what I’m doing, or if I’m in the way, but then they park behind me. Oh, parents come early. I remember that. I’ve driven by schools a hundred times and seen the cars.

That helps me relax a little.

The time rushes by, and before I know it, the school bell is ringing and kids are starting to scatter like the wind. Teachers and school officials come out to help guide traffic and…did Tripp tell them I’m picking up Meadow? Am I going to get a hard time? Tripp knows what he’s doing, and I figure he has that part under control.

Less than a minute later Meadow walks out with the two girls who were at her birthday party. When she spots me, she waves, tells them goodbye, then jogs over and gets in.

“Hey! Thanks for picking me up!”

“No problem. I got you water, chips, and granola bars. I didn’t know what you like.” I pull away from the school, feeling like a child in front of a thirteen-year-old. Not my best moment.

“Thank you. That was nice of you, but you didn’t have to do that. I can just eat at home.”

Which is a very good point, and one I probably should have considered. She’s a teenager. I doubt Tripp or his mom bring her food in the car.

I shrug off her comment because I’m not sure what to say. “How was your day?”

“It was okay. I have a math test tomorrow I need to study for. I hate math. It’s not my best subject.”

“I’m good at math. I can help you if you want,” I offer. See? I can do this. I can pick Meadow up and hang out with her until Tripp comes home. Forget the fact that she’s at the age where she can be home alone and doesn’t need a babysitter. Maybe I should have just told Tripp that I could come back later for dinner…

“Really? That would be great. Dad tries, and while he’s good at certain things because of his job, he’s hopeless with other stuff.” She chuckles.

“I can’t imagine your dad being hopeless at anything.”

She doesn’t respond right away, and I wonder if I said something wrong.

“That’s nice of you to say. He’s basically the best.”

“He is,” I agree. The way he loves and takes care of her, his friendship with Archer and how he treats East, the way he gave me a job and the way he makes me feel…important. I’m not sure there’s anything Tripp Cassidy can’t do.

“I’m glad you two are friends.”

I’m feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden, unsure how to reply, but Meadow keeps the conversation going, telling me more about her day, and about her dance class, and the new clothes she’s made for East and Archer’s dogs. She talks the whole way home, and I can’t help wondering how she does it. I’ve never been so chatty in my life, but listening to her makes me smile. It fills me with this lightness I’ve never experienced before.

She’s…what it’s supposed to be like to be young. What Ella was like despite growing up without a mom, and with a mostly absent dad, and brothers who were kids themselves trying to raise her. Somehow, Ella was all light and happiness, just like Meadow.

And now Meadow’s munching on a granola bar as she rambles, which means more to me than it probably should.

When we get to their place, I grab the bag with our drinks for tonight, and Meadow unlocks the door to the small two-story house. They live on about two acres of land. Tripp’s shop is out back, and it’s a lot bigger than mine, which makes sense, considering he does this for his career. The back of my neck tingles with the desire to go inside and look around, but I would never do that without Tripp.

“Do you want to sit at the table to work on math?” she asks.

“I always did my schoolwork as soon as I got home too.” I don’t know if that’s a rule Tripp set or if it’s her choice. “It was a rule at my house. Sometimes it was harder than others, but I’ve always done well with that kind of structure, so it worked for me.”

“Dad mostly trusts me to make the decision that’s best for me. Sometimes I like to get it done right away, others I’m tired and my brain needs a break.”

“That’s probably a good way for the two of you to deal with it. I…put a lot of pressure on myself, which wasn’t always a good thing.” And now I’m telling a thirteen-year-old my life story, when I’m sure that’s the last thing she wants to hear.

But she cocks her head, taking me in. “Are you better about it now?”

“I’m trying to be,” I admit.

“Good.” Meadow smiles. “Oh! Let me show you my sewing room first!” She takes off for the stairs. “Dad’s room is downstairs. We have two rooms up here—one is mine, and the other is my sewing room. It used to be the spare room, but I have too much stuff and, well, Dad spoils me.”

I chuckle. “Good of you to acknowledge.”

“I try and do my part,” she teases back, then opens one of the doors.

Two mannequins are standing against one wall, displaying outfits she’s working on. She’s got racks of clothes and tons of material and other supplies. One table looks like it’s for cutting and measuring, and on another sits her sewing machine.

“Are you sure you’re only thirteen?” I ask, stepping inside.

“Dad and Uncle Archer say I’m an old soul.”

“I tend to agree.” I walk over and look at the fabric she has out on the table.

“When you were my age, did you know what you wanted to be when you grew up?” she asks.

My first impulse is not wanting to tell her, but I’m trying to get better about that. Plus, this is Meadow. I can’t imagine letting her down.

Tripp either.

Why am I thinking about him?

“That’s difficult to answer. I was interested in doing work like your dad does, but I never saw that as a possibility for myself.”

“Why not?”

“Because of my father. He…put a lot of pressure on me to follow in his footsteps. He was extremely hard on me. He knew exactly whom he wanted me to be and wouldn’t accept anything else.”

“Did you tell him how you felt?”

“No. He wouldn’t have understood or cared. That’s not him. And in his defense, I wanted to be just like him too. I can’t only blame him. I did everything in my power to make him proud. That was more important to me than anything else, so I told myself my interests didn’t matter and that my interests were his.” It sounds so pathetic. I don’t understand how I lived that way for so long.

She walks over and stands beside me. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard. He should have let you be who you are.”

“I didn’t realize who I was or what I really wanted.”

“But you do now?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

Her small hand reaches out and touches my arm. “I know it’s scary to be who you really are, but life is so much better this way.”

I look down at her, this strong, inspiring child, and I feel so fucking lucky to be in this moment. And strangely, I want to make her proud. “It is. I’m glad you figured that out at a much younger age than me.” It’s not even close to the same situation, of course. A job and walking away from my father, compared to being trans, are worlds apart, but I think we both know that a job isn’t the only thing we’re talking about here. It’s that I’ve never allowed myself to consider who I really am, what I want or what I like, until now.

“It’s never too late.” Her smile grows. “Plus, I kinda have the best dad. That helped.”

“You really do.”

We stand there for a moment. I don’t know what else to say. I look out the window, my thoughts going to Tripp, the man who made all this possible. Who would take on the world for his child, and who would maybe go into battle for someone like me too.