Page 82 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Dad takes a deep breath. “Why don’t we start at the beginning?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kate
I take Dad allthe way back to my last writing gig in Ireland—to the itchiness I felt there and how it made me more willing to say yes when Mom told me she was selling Grandma Nora’s house and needed my help sorting through everything in it. I tell him about how untethered I feel whenever I think about traveling, and how much it’s made me question whether I want to keep doing what I’m doing.
Then I tell him about Brody.Everythingabout Brody. Including our kisses and how confusing it is to feel things I’ve never felt before.
He looks on with kind, patient eyes, nodding in all the right places, not saying a word until I’ve said everything I could possibly say on the subject.
When dad finally speaks, his tone is gentle. “You’ve always been a woman to go after what you want. If this man is it, go be with him.”
I shake my head. “But it isn’t that simple. His life is in Silver Creek.”
He winces. “I did always think you were meant for bigger things than that small town. But men have done less for love. If you’re supposed to be together, maybe he’ll move to London with you.”
The wrongness of the idea is as potent as it is immediate. I would never ask Brody to leave Silver Creek. I can’t imagine him living anywhere else, with or without me. “I don’t even know if I want the London job, Dad. The only reason I considered it is because I loved the idea of having a steady paycheck. I’m tired of the grind, you know? And freelancing is nevernota grind.”
“So find a different steady paycheck,” he says. “Do you want to work for me? I could find a place for you, I’m sure.”
I can’t keep my face from scrunching up at the thought. There’s no way I would ever fit in Dad’s business suit world. That’s not the life for me anymore than London is the life for Brody.
Dad chuckles. “Okay, let’s strike that option from the list.”
“Sorry. I promise it isn’t personal.”
“What about another editing job?” he says. “There are other magazines just likeExpedition.And they aren’t all based in London.”
“Dad, I have zero qualifications. I can’t just apply to be an editor when I don’t even have a bachelor’s degree.”
“You’re right. It was probably yourzero qualificationsthat madeExpeditionoffer you a job in the first place. Come on, Kate. You’re scrappy. You want an editing job? Get yourself one. You know writers and editors all over the world. Network. Make it happen for yourself.”
His advice is surprisingly simple. It also feels impossible. In my head,Expedition‘s job offer has always been more of an outlier. It’s never been something I’m qualified for. At least not on paper. The job offer was dumb luck. A one-off. But maybe he’s right. Maybe... I could try.
“Now, you probably won’t find an editing job in little old Silver Creek,” Dad says with a condescending chuckle.
I am immediately defensive, and the feeling surprises me. What does he know about Silver Creek?
Then again, Mom’s too-deep roots in her hometown played a part in ending his marriage, so maybe I can’t blame him.
“I know you have reasons to hate that town, but it really isn’t so bad. There are a lot of good people there.”
“I don’t hate Silver Creek, Kate. I enjoyed living there.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “But the world is so big, honey. I want you to have it all, and I’m not sure you’ll ever find it there.”
Have it all? And what, be alone just like him?
It’s always been exactly what I wanted, but somehow I never truly processed what it would mean long term. But seeing Brody with his family, his friends,feelingwhat it could be to share a life with him. If I’m choosing, I’m not choosing solitude.
My dad’s words replay through my brain, and this time, they catch on something different. I look up. “Did you just say you lived in Silver Creek?”
He nods. “Of course I did.”
“What? When?”
“Before the divorce. Just for a year or so. Almost two.”
I shift in my seat, suddenly nervous to be talking about my parents’ divorce. My dad and I are close, but I was so little when everything happened, it’s always been a thing that was behind us. We’ve never truly talked about it.
