Page 83 of The Dating Coach
"I vote we make a pact," Karen announced. "Mandatory visits at least once a semester. Both ways."
"Deal," we said in unison.
As the evening wound down, we found ourselves on the back deck, reluctant to let the night end. Tomorrow everything would change, but tonight we were still all together, still family in every way that mattered.
"Ready for the adventure?" Liam asked.
"With all of them supporting us?" I smiled, looking around at these people who'd become my chosen family. "Always."
Mia's school graduation came two months after our move to Montreal, perfectly timed between Liam's hockey season and my exam period. We drove back to Pinewood, car loaded with Montreal treats and apartment photos to share.
The gymnasium was packed with proud families, and we were no exception. Karen had made signs. Frank and Henrywore matching "Mia's Brothers" t-shirts they'd designed. Aunt Penelope and Uncle Mark flew in from Philadelphia.
"Look at our family," Liam murmured, gesturing to our chaotic, beautiful group. "Blood couldn't make us closer."
He was right. Watching Mia walk across that stage, seeing her joy at having us all there cheering, felt like victory over everyone who'd tried to make her small. She'd survived our parents' rejection, conversion therapy threats, and homelessness. Now she was heading to college with a full scholarship and more love than she knew what to do with.
"I'm so proud of you," I whispered when Mia found us after, clutching her diploma.
"We survived," she whispered back. "Both of us. Despite everything."
"Because of everything," I corrected. "It made us who we are. Led us to the people who actually matter."
That night, at the hockey house that had sheltered us through so much, I watched our chosen family celebrate. Henry was teaching Mia's girlfriend Sophia to play poker. Frank was in the kitchen creating chaos. Karen held court with stories of her university journalism program. Aunt Penelope and Uncle Mark looked on with the satisfaction of people who'd helped raise survivors.
And Liam was beside me, always beside me, hand in mine as we watched the life we'd built.
Behind us, our family's laughter echoed through the house. Ahead of us, Montreal waited with new dreams to chase.
Chapter 36: Liam
Six months in Montreal, and our tiny apartment near McGill had become everything I'd dreamed. Medical textbooks competed for space with architectural drawings. Gemma's study schedule synced with my practice times. Two lives intertwining without losing individual identity.
"Can you move your hip bone?" Gemma muttered from where she was using my stomach as a desk. "It's digging into my stomach."
"Can you not use me as furniture?" I countered, but shifted obligingly. "There's a perfectly good desk right there."
"Too far," she said, highlighting something in her anatomy textbook. "Besides, you're warm."
I smiled at the ceiling, one hand playing with her hair while the other held my tablet with building codes. This had become our Sunday routine – tangled together while studying separately, comfortable in shared silence.
My phone buzzed with a text from my mother. Over the months since the break with my father, she'd quietly maintained contact. Small messages of support, careful check-ins, proof that not all parental love came with conditions.
"Mom wants to know if we're coming for Thanksgiving," I said.
Gemma tensed slightly. "Both of us?"
"'Please bring Gemma,'" I read. "'I'd like to properly meet the woman who makes my son so happy.'"
"Your father—"
"Won't be there," I finished. "They're separated. Have been for two months."
She stood up, textbook forgotten. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I'm still processing it," I admitted. "She says she's tired of living his dreams. Sound familiar?"
"Like mother, like son," she said softly. "She's choosing you over him. That deserves recognition."
