Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,71

relaxing at Dev’s place. Sun was setting over a gorgeous afternoon, meat was slow-roasting on the grill and he and Shea were relaxing. It was very likely this would be one of summer’s last warm days. Fall came early in the mountains and Labor Day was around the corner. The water rushed faster than it normally did at this time of summer owing to yesterday’s overnight storm. Dev could feel the healthfulness of negative ions from its flows revitalizing him.

“You’re usually snoring by now…” he began, then enjoyed when her lips formed a tiny smile, one of the few he’d seen from her that day. Her hand was on his chest and she was tucked under his arm. Her eyes were closed and she was still as they swayed.

“You know I don’t snore,” she came back with mock indignance.

“I know every time you climb in this hammock, you can’t stay awake.” His voice got serious. “I know something’s bothering you. This is a stress-free zone, but I can tell something’s eating you up. You want to tell me why you’re stewing?”

Shea opened her eyes to look up at him. It was the other thing he loved about lying with her in his arms: she took off her glasses whenever she put her head on his chest. It meant that he could look into her eyes, unencumbered. There was something he adored about how they were slightly unfocused as she looked back up at him. It was a dumb thing to adore, but that’s how being in love worked.

“Regrets,” she said simply. “I’m thinking about my dad. I’m just having one of those days. You know how things are between me and him.”

Dev knew some of it. It wasn’t good.

“What do you regret?”

Shea pinned him with a lazy smile and a sidelong glance. “Apart from everything?”

“C’mon,” Dev coaxed.

“Rebelling,” Shea said finally. “Resisting every good choice my parents tried to get me to make because I wouldn’t let them just care about me. And respect,” Shea continued. “I never showed them enough of that. I regret getting married without my father’s blessing. But, other stuff, too—talking back when I was young.”

“Every good kid regrets that kind of stuff,” Dev protested. “If you sucked, you wouldn’t feel remorse for anything you put your parents through.”

When Shea seemed unswayed, he tried a different tack.

“My mom used to tell me it wasn’t her job to be my friend. It was her job to raise a good man. And that she’d rather I grow up into a decent person who hated her than a son with crooked values who loved her but did wrong.”

“Sounds like she would’ve been proud,” Shea murmured, still looking miserable.

“Maybe,” Dev said. “But that’s not my point in saying it—it’s that, maybe a parent’s only true goal is peace of mind.”

“Trust me…” Shea scoffed a little. “That ship already sailed. I’ve been a constant source of disappointment.”

“That’s only true if you were right about what they wanted for you. You look at your dad and all you see is that he wanted you to run the restaurant. Maybe his peace of mind was all wrapped up in you having stability.”

Shea stiffened a bit. “I would’ve been more stable if he’d accepted me for who I wanted to be.”

“And I would’ve been more stable if my mom was straight with me about my dad. Both of us were half-right and both of us were half-wrong. At some point, you have to see your parents as human, and fallible.”

Dev quieted then, reflecting that he, too, had spent time of late thinking about his father. He’d hardly had time to reconsider the opportunity to go meet the man. Maybe it wasn’t just Shea who needed to pick up the phone and give his father a call. Maybe Dev ought to be brave enough to practice what he preached, because the same advice ought to apply to him.

“Think about it like this.” Dev sat up a little and angled himself to rearrange Shea in his hold. “How old were your mom and dad when they got pregnant with you?”

“Late twenties,” Shea said, doing the mental math.

“My mom was eighteen.” Dev let out a little laugh. “I can’t even imagine raising a teenager right now and not fucking it up. I have a lot more going for myself than my mom ever did and I’ve barely got my own shit figured out.

Shea appeared to consider this. “My dad turned fifty the week before I left the house,”