Page 70 of Befriending the Bear
The call with my parents was easier. I’d told my mom I’d FaceTime her, and when I did, she was ready, wearing a red-and-green blouse and her hair all done despite a blistering ninety-degree heat down there. I’d take the rain any day.
“M-Mom and D-Dad, this is F-fraser,” I said.
I heard the waver in my voice, even through the screen. Fraser gave that charmingly awkward wave he reserved for moments of vulnerability, and I felt myself fall a little more in love with him. His fingers brushed along the edge of my knee under the table, grounding me.
My parents, appearing in their Florida living room, blinked in perfect synchronization. My mother had her holiday earrings on—gold bells that distracted me to no end—and my father sat beside her in his recliner, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his face. His mouth twitched, somewhere between a polite smile and a grimace.
I watched them both carefully, heart hammering.
“Well,” my mother said after a long beat. “You’re taller than I imagined.”
Fraser blinked. “Uh…thank you?”
Realizing how that might’ve landed, she laughed, a bit breathless. “I only meant… You’re very handsome. A good, sturdy, kind of handsome. The sort of man who knows how to fix things.”
Fraser chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I do own several toolboxes.”
My father shifted in his seat. “Firefighter, right?”
“Yes, sir. Thirty years of being a hotshot. Smokejumper.”
“Dangerous business,” my dad mumbled. “Takes guts.”
Fraser nodded, his tone easy. “It does. But I was lucky.”
The silence that followed wasn’t tense, but it was weighted. My mother filled it the way she always did, by skimming over the discomfort like it was a puddle. “Calloway tells us you’re going to Montana in January.”
My hand tightened slightly on my mug. Fraser didn’t hesitate. “I am. I’ve been invited to teach new recruits. Four weeks. Fewer if they’re slow learners.”
A smile tugged at my father’s mouth. “That kind of teaching, you don’t want slow learners.”
“No, sir. They’ll be booted out faster than a blowup.”
“And you’re taking Calloway with you?” my mother asked, her tone light, but there was a tightness under it, like she was measuring every word.
“Yes, ma’am. He agreed to come with me, and I’m grateful to have him by my side for this. He makes me happy.”
That seemed to knock the air out of the room for a strange, sweet moment. My mother fidgeted with a corner of her blouse. “Well. That’s good. I wasn’t… That’s good.” She sniffed. “I’m just glad he’s smiling again.”
My father cleared his throat. “You’ve got a good kind of stillness about you, son. Don’t see that much anymore.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fraser said. “You raised a good man.”
And that was it. Something shifted. It wasn’t a blessing. Not yet. But it wasn’t a wall either. More like a door opening wide.
“Will you send a picture from Montana?” my mother asked. “With the snow?”
I blinked. “Sure. W-we can do that.”
“And maybe,” she added hesitantly, “a few pictures of the food too. I hear Montana’s big on stews.”
Fraser nodded beside me. “Oh, the best. Elk stew, if you’re lucky. And the Wild Creek Diner makes a mean bison chili.”
Her eyes brightened. “Really? I didn’t even know that was safe to eat.”
Fraser grinned. “I’ll bring you a recipe.”
Another pause. And then, “Thank you,” my mother said. Not just to him. To me too. “Both of you.”
