“What?” I gasp. My dad is definitely not perfect, but admitting it, especially so crudely, is shattering so many images I have of him that I’m having a hard time keeping up with this upside-down, tilty-turny version of him. I don’t like the unpredictability of his reaction, but I do appreciate his unexpected acceptance.
“We’re all doing the best we can, moment to moment, to create a life we can enjoy and family we can be proud of. I’m a lucky bastard who somehow managed to get that.” He points meaningfully at Mom, giving her the credit. “So it would be cruel of me to not want that for my children, however they may find it.”
“Thank you, Dad,” I say, getting up to give him a hug. I honestly can’t remember the last time I hugged him, but this definitely warrants it.
I turn to Mom, not sure what to think. I fully expected her support and Dad’s opposition.
There are tears in her eyes too. “Well, of course I want you to be happy,” she sputters, making it sound like that’s completely obvious as she holds her arms open again.
I hug her too, letting her hold on to me an extra-long time. Not because she needs it, but maybe because I do. “Are you sure you’re okay with this, Mom?”
She lets out a teary laugh, shrugging. “I have no idea what’s going on. But I love you, so it only makes sense that both of these boys would too. How could they not?” she asks, smiling. But then her brows knit together. She’s clearly still confused by a lot of this. “How does that work, though? Like who do you marry? Are they both going to be my son-in-laws? Wait, sons-in-law?”
“Whoa.” I hold my hands out, slowing that runaway train down. “We’re not there yet. Like I said, we’re still figuring it all out.”
“The sex, you mean?” Mom whispers, nodding sagely.
A blush instantly heat my cheeks. “No, we’ve got that down. The relationship part, I mean. None of us are particularly experienced in that department, but we’re pretty good at communicating what we’re thinking and feeling.”
I’m proud of us for that. We’re not rushing headfirst into this wildly… well, at least not anymore, but rather, we are trying to be adults about the whole thing, communicating and being open and honest with each other.
It seems life is the thing that keeps tossing us to the mat, either with Kyle’s sudden appearance or this video’s exposure. But even with that, we’re doing okay.
“Maybe we can have a family dinner this weekend?” I hesitantly suggest.
Mom claps her hands in excitement. “Yes! That’d be perfect. Now, do they have any allergies the chef should know about? And how do we do the seating, because that’ll put one too many chairs on the left side of the table?”
Mom is the quintessential hostess, and I’ve presented a new and interestingsocial conundrum. She’ll probably be on the Miss Manners website this afternoon, searching up how to properly address this.
“I think it’ll work out because Grace makes Cameron’s crew an odd number too,” I remind her.
“You’re right.” She points a finger at me, proud of my hostess capabilities too.
Dad clears his throat. “What are we doing about this?” He waves at my phone, meaning the video.
I frown, my mood dampening instantly. “I’m not sure there’s anything we can do. I don’t know if you recognize them, but Riggs and Maddox are sort of famous, so the video has gone viral because of them.” I don’t want to explain the whole backstory of Mad-Tricks to my parents, especially when they’re doing so amazingly well with accepting this, but it’s a reality of our life and they’re going to find out eventually.
“They’re professional athletes?” Dad guesses. He’s never been a hockey fan, so he likely doesn’t recognize them, but it’s a fair assumption to make based on Riggs’s and Maddox’s size.
“Hockey players. For the Devils,” I explain.
Dad is genius-level smart and more strategic than the rest of us put together. He’s where and how we learned our skills, so he’s right when he says, “It’s too salacious to stop it then. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take your lumps.”
“I know,” I admit.
Dad hums, tilting his head. “Though Mom used to have a saying that’s relevant.”
Dad’s mother is my Grandmom Beth, and she’s the embodiment of the term ‘spitfire’. She’s one of my first and best role models of female power and how it doesn’talways have to be a loud, dramatic showing but can be quietly masterful.
“What’s that?”
He smirks, though there’s a thread of evil to the lift of his lips. “Sometimes, you have to hug your enemy to find out how big to make the hole in the ground. Maybe you don’t fight the publicity. You embrace it. Fully, loudly, and proudly.”
Shocked again, I stare at him. “That could have consequences for Blue Lake, the foundation, and just the Harringtons in general,” I counter, but I’m playing that idea out in my mind.
“And?” he says, seeming completely unconcerned about any potential ramifications. “I don’t think we’re going to run out of money any time soon, you know.”
I realize that it’s his way of doing exactly what he’s suggesting I do—being loud and proud in his support. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll think about it.”
