Page 69 of Wishing Hearts

“We know,” my dad shoots back, deadpan. “Believe me. We understand how you feel. We’ve been watching our son suffer for years now.”

It hits me in the gut, those words.

“You can’t use your daughter as a reason to pause your own life,” my mom says softly. “You need to find a balance. Give Sammy your time, too. It’ll be good for you.”

“I…I am. I do,” I tell her, realizing it’s the truth. I have been making time for Sam, even when, before, that felt impossible. But we’ve already had more dates in the past few weeks than Hank and I did in our entire first few months together. It hasn’t been hard, finding that time with Sam. Prioritizing it.

“Good,” my mom says. “We just want you to be happy, dear. Sammy seems like the ticket.”

I bark a strained laugh, walking into the hallway and looking out the back door. Sam is hard at work, the entire bottom frame of the treehouse now in place. He’s looking over the design I printed out, nodding occasionally at Winnie, who’s sitting about ten feet away, gabbing incessantly. Tigger is at her side, one paw swiping at a butterfly beside her in the grass. The butterfly flits away, and I head back into the laundry room.

“I need to go,” I tell them. “Sam’s here to finish the treehouse.”

My dad makes an approving sound at that.

“Tell that boy we said hello,” my mom says.

With a little huff, I toss the rest of Winnie’s clothes into the wash and shut the lid. “Will do. See you guys on Monday. Love you.”

“Love you, too, dear,” my mom says before my dad chimes his own goodbye.

When I hang up, I stand in the laundry room for a moment, my head reeling.

Have I been using my responsibilities as an excuse? Have I been hiding away, putting my love life on hold because I was—what, afraid of trying again?

I don’t even know that I can refute it. I had a similar thought earlier, didn’t I? When I was thinking about why I was waiting to tell Winnie about Sam.

And then there’s the other thing they said. Was I—am I—depressed? That I’m unsure of. I have felt hopeless a lot these past few years. I felt stuck, in a way. And yes, a little joyless at times.

But I don’t… I don’t feel like that right now. Sam has made everything a little brighter, even inside my own head.

Shaking it off for now—I have other things to do—I step back into my boots, grab my hat, and head outside. As I approach the oak tree, I can make out Winnie’s ongoing ramblings.

“…but I don’t think that’s fair, do you, Sam? Why should Penny be able to have a snack during quiet time if nobody else can? It’s totally fudged.”

“Well, Winifred,” Sam returns seriously, even as he lays another board onto the developing floor of the treehouse. He doesn’t comment on Winnie’s pseudo-swear, the one she knows she’s not supposed to be saying. “If Penny is diabetic, that means her body needs a li’l extra help. You can prob’ly go from lunch to the end of school without hurtin’, right?”

I stop a good ways away, not wanting to interrupt the conversation.

Winnie is quiet for a moment as Sam hammers in a board. “Sometimes I get a little hungry,” she finally answers. “But it’s just an ache.”

“Right,” Sam says, notching his hammer in his belt and climbing down the ladder he was on. “But for Penny, she might get really sick if she doesn’t eat somethin’. She could end up in the hospital. That’s more serious, don’tcha think? Mrs. Turner just wants to make sure Penny stays healthy. It’s not meant to be unfair to the rest of you.” He pauses, catching sight of me. “Oh. Hey, Harrison.”

My heart patters away as Sam gives me a grin.

“Daddy says you’re his boyfriend now,” Winnie interjects.

My eyes shoot to her before landing back on Sam. He never stops smiling.

“That’s right,” Sam says, grabbing another board. “That okay with you, li’l miss?”

Winnie picks at a few blades of grass before answering. Sam doesn’t seem perturbed by the silence. He just climbs back up the ladder and continues working.

“Guess so,” Winnie says before hopping to her feet. “I like that you make him smile more.”

With that, she’s off, leaving my head swimming. I grab my knees, my breath coming short as spots dance suddenly in my vision.

“Hey, hey,” Sam says gently, right in front of me now. His hands are on my shoulders, and he’s bent down, eyes wide as he looks at me.

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