“Nothing.” He clenched his fists together. “She just reminded me of something I already knew. That I’m leaving.”
“Do you want to leave?”
The question caught him off guard. That had been his plan.
Grandma studied him, tapping her long red nails against her floral dress. “Pretend your dad was still alive; what would you want to do with your life?”
He shrugged. “My dad wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer. Something like that.”
“But what doyouwant to be?”
“I don’t know.” That wasn’t something he’d allowed himself to consider after his dad had died. But lately, the thought had been crossing his mind nonstop.
“It seems like your dad wanted you to be successful. But success looks different to everyone.”
His eyes stung, and he stared at the rug.
“What did you want to be before your dad died?”
He laughed. “A pro basketball player.” He’d loved the sport so much he’d stay after practice every day just to perfect his three-pointers. For a while after his dad had died, he’d resented that he’d stayed away from home so much and missed out on so many of the last moments with him. And basketball had lost its appeal. But that was something else he’d found on the farm. A renewed love for the game. “I want to coach.”
When he said it out loud, it felt right. He wanted to teach kids the game his dad had taught him. Because his dad hadn’t just taught him how to shoot and dribble. He’d used basketball to teach Christian about life.
Now that he thought about it. His dad had even given him the birds and the bees talk on the basketball court.
Christian cringed just remembering it. He’d have to skip that lesson.
Grandma patted his leg. “You would make an excellent coach.”
“Thanks, Grandma.” He said and gave her a hug. He’d missed having a grandmother's wisdom in his life.
Grandma patted his back. “Don’t worry about that granddaughter of mine. She’ll come around. She’s just more stubborn than all these cows combined.”
That she was.
* * *
Maizie hated herself.All night she had bounced between thinking she’d done the right thing and fearing she’d screwed up. She’d slept so little her eyes were puffy, and she looked sick.
Her parents must have known something had happened because for the first time in her life, she’d been relieved from doing chores without having to ask.
“You’re staying with me today,” her mom had said. “You need to learn how to make bread so you at least have one thing you know how to cook in college.”
“I know how to cook,” Maizie said. And then both of her parents had laughed. As long as it meant staying home and avoiding Christian, she wouldn’t argue.
“So what should we start with?” Her mom asked once her dad and brothers were out the door.
“I thought you told dad we were making bread.”
“We will,” her mom said, wiping the last invisible crumb from off the counter. “But let’s start with something you actually want to make.”
Maizie thought. “Lemon squares.”
Her mom’s hands froze. “I haven’t made those since. . .”
Since Mack had died. Mack had never been a fan of desserts, but he’d loved lemon squares and requested them every year for their birthday. Maizie had grown to love them as well.
“We can make something else,” Maizie said.
