“I guess where your story is going to be set depends on your travel habits and if you’re willing to move.” He wipes his hands, but his eyes never leave mine. “Are you open to moving?”
Am I?
“You know, I tend to tell people that I live a fairly nomadic life. You know, nomads travel light and have a minimalist mindset, and they consume experiences instead of accumulating stuff. Like that’s a loose definition. I don’t travel often, but I have a minimalistic mindset. I never considered Alaska or Washington home.”
“Where do you consider home?”
“It used to be Raleigh. That’s where I grew up and where my family was.”
“Was?”
“My parents are both orthopedic surgeons, and they decided a few years ago that they wanted a change of scenery and decided to move to Arizona and open their own practice.”
“Wow! They’re both surgeons? That’s impressive!”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes because while I think it’s a noble profession, I don’t have the best memories associated with it.
“My brother followed in their footsteps, but he works for a major hospital up in Baltimore.”
“Three surgeons in the family? Did you ever consider going into medicine?”
I pick up my glass and swirl what’s left of my wine. “As a child of two orthopedic surgeons, it was naturally assumed that I would follow in their footsteps. Unfortunately, I’m squeamish and prone to fainting at the sight of blood, so we compromised, and I originally went to college to study to be an orthopedic technician.” I pause and finish my wine. “I caved and instantly had regrets.”
“How did they take it when you told them you couldn’t do it?”
“Let’s just say they’re still not over it. Remember on the plane when I told you about how my parents were being absolute nightmares because they don’t understand why I’m struggling with writer’s block, and if I could, I would move to another country, change my phone number, and leave no forwarding address?”
“Vividly.” He raises his glass to me before taking a sip.
That makes me smile. “They have never understood my passion for writing and are convinced if I just tried a little harder, I could have gone into medicine. Apparently, I just didn’t want it enough.” Rolling my eyes, I go on. “For a while, they treated it like it was a hobby. They’ve never celebrated any of my books’ successes.” I sigh just thinking about it.
“For what it's worth, I get it. I know what it's like to not be accepted. Not by my family, but by my peers. I know it's hard to believe, but Matt really was the one who made it possible for me to make friends. Before that, no one even saw me.”
I try to envision the two of them hanging out, but it still seems bizarre.
Reaching across the table, he gives my hand a gentle squeeze before he goes on. “It doesn't matter really who accepts us. I get why it's harder when you want your parents’ love and approval, but what I'm saying is that as long as we like who we are, that's really all that matters. And for what it's worth, I think you're freaking amazing. I am blown away by your talent and everything about you. And if anyone else doesn't see it, then it's their loss.”
“Thanks. I know you’re right, but sometimes I just wish they would see what I do and…they don’t have to love it, but if they could respect it—respect me—it would go a long way in healing things.”
He nods; his soft gaze never leaves me.
“So, where’s home? Honestly, I don’t know. It’s why I’m okay with just moving around because I don’t have a home to go back to. What about you?”
“I live in Raleigh now but grew up in Cary. I travel a lot for work, but my parents still live in the same house I grew up in, so…this will probably always be home base for me.”
“I bet that’s nice, though. There’s a little bit of security there. When I visit my folks, it’s just weird. I’m like an acquaintance who they let stay with them. All of their friends are in the medical field, so they don’t really invite them over when I’m around in case I get woozy over all the blood talk.”
“Come on,” he says with a laugh. “That can’t be true.”
“Oh, but it is. So…yeah. That’s my life.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything for a moment. He turns the conversation toward our dinner, and we realize we ordered a little too much food, but I still kind of want dessert, which is what I tell him.
“I don’t see a problem with that. I’m not so full that I can’t have either some ice cream or brownies or whatever’s inside. But we should probably wrap up what’s left here and put it in the fridge.”
“Sounds like a plan.” The only thing that’s left is half a platter of fish and chips and two shrimp tacos, so it doesn’t take long to clean up. In the kitchen, we don’t turn on all the lights—there’s plenty shining in from the deck lighting along with the moonlight. We efficiently put everything away and then go in search of what to have for dessert. “We baked cupcakes earlier today. You know, before everything blew up. They’re not frosted yet, but we can do that now if you’d like. There are also brownies—Vanessa’s idea—and there’s frosting for those too, if you’re interested.”
“We had brownies last night, so let’s go with cupcakes tonight.”
