Page 26 of Reeve

My father and I have a very unique relationship. He’s the only parent I ever knew, and I know he loves me, but he shared a lot of my rearing with his parents and my siblings. On one hand, we’re very close—we live on the same piece of land, work together for most of the year, and eat dinner together at least three times a week—but on the other, my dad never reallygot over the loss of my mom, and that omnipresent sadness became a part of him, overshadowing everything else in his life. Sometimes I wonder what he was like before the accident. My older siblings say he was more of a talker, more of a laugher, more of a hugger and a kisser. I believe it, but I can’t picture it. With me, he’s always been quiet and gentle—a good listener, a good friend. But he’s sparing in his affection, both verbally and physically, like loving anyone else as much as he loved my mom will only lead to heartbreak.

He takes a sip of his cocoa, then places his mug on the coffee table in front of us. While he’s leaning up, he takes a letter out of his back pocket and hands it to me. It’s from the University of Alaska—Anchorage, and though it’s addressed to me, it’s been opened. My heart speeds up as I look at my dad.

“I thought it was for me,” he says.

“My name’s on it,” I point out.

“It was a mistake, Reeve. I swear.”

“But you read it.”

He nods, sitting back on the couch. “Confused the hell out of me at first with all that talk about assigned dorm rooms and orientation events. That’s when I realized it wasn’t for me.”

“I can explain…”

“Classes start on January sixth, huh?”

“Yeah,” I whisper.

“When were you planning to say something?”

“Soon.”

“How soon? Because by my count, that’s two weeks away, more or less.”

“Yeah, I—”

“Reeve, I got no problem with you going to college. Your mama and I both went to college. So did Hunter, Harper, and Parker. It’s great that you’re going, and I’m proud of you forgetting in. But this had to be in the works for a while…I don’t understand why you kept it a secret.”

“I applied over the summer,” I tell him. “They contacted me in September about the scholarship. I filled out the paperwork in October and finalized everything.”

“But here we are in mid-December,” he points out.

“Remember when Hunter said he was moving to Seattle? Remember how mad we all got?”

“As I recall,” says my father, stroking his chin, “you and Parker were the most out-of-joint about it. Rest of us took it in stride.”

“Sure. But Hunter’s the oldest. I’m the youngest. Everyone’s so damned protective of me! I just…I dreaded telling you all.”

“So no one knows.”

“Sawyer knows.”

“And how’d be take it?”

“Fine,” I have to grudgingly admit.

“Maybe you’re underestimating us a little,” he suggests. “We love you, baby. We want what’s best for you.”

“Right there!” I slap my hands on my knees as I sit up. “Right there, you just called me ‘baby.’ But, Dad, I’m not a baby. I’m so sick of—”

“Reeve, youarethe baby. Like it or not, someone had to be first, and someone had to be last. You were last. Weren’t named Piper or Archer like the rest.” He takes another sip of cocoa. “It doesn’t matter if you’re eight or eighteen or eighty. You’ll always be the last Stewart kid, the baby of the family.”

“I hate it,” I say, sitting back with a huff.

“Seems stupid and selfish to me.”

“Wow! Thanks, Dad.”

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