Page 57 of Always Meant for You
I open the back door, and the hinges let out a familiar squeal—part protest, part welcome. The air smells different. Not bad, just not how I remember. There’s something new layered into the dish soap and old wood.
Rosemary? Thyme?
It’s some herb.
It throws me for a second. The rest is unchanged. Same dented fridge. Same sun-bleached curtains fluttering above the sink. Same chip in the porcelain lip of the farmhouse basin.
It’s exactly how it was, and somehow nothing like it used to be.
“Hungry?” Dad asks without looking up, scooping casserole onto two plates.
My stomach answers with a growl.
For casserole.
What is going on with me?
I hang my hat and purse on a hook and head for the fridge. “Sure. I’ll grab a diet soda. You want anything?”
“Don’t have any soda,” he says. “Tea, milk, or water.”
His house. His rules. His very limited beverage selection.
“Tea it is. Can I pour one for you?”
I catch his eye, and he nods.
The tension hangs in the air.
I don’t know what to say.
I guess that’s not new.
We’ve been dancing around each other for the last decade, and I haven’t seen him in four years.
We sit at the table, and I study the plate in front of me. It smells good. Suspiciously good. I glance around for Duke. That big, shaggy boy is my go-to for covert food disposal, but he’s nowhere in sight.
I take a bite, and it’s delicious. Creamy, sun-warmed squash laced with the sweetness of roasted peppers and a faint, nutty crunch from the golden top. I let out a satisfied hum, then wipe the dreamy look off my face.
I can’t remember ever tasting a casserole like it. And I’ve had a lot of casseroles in this town—most of them forgettable.
But this one tastes like it was made with intention. Every ingredient seems chosen, not tossed in. The kind of care that starts long before the oven.
I sense my father watching me.
I keep my gaze on the plate.
I pause before taking another bite.
I’m here for answers, not to fall in love with a casserole.
“Why is Cal running the farm, Dad?”
“Why?” he answers and takes a bite.
“Yes. Why?” Each word sits heavy between us. Getting a straight answer from him has never come easy.
He shrugs. “I needed the help.”
