Page 118 of October
"Oh yeah?" he says, crossing his arms, clearly trying not to smile.
"Yeah," I grin. "with your fifty shades of brown and we all know why."
He rolls his eyes, though it's affectionate. "Brown looks good on me."
Mom gives him a look.
He shrugs. "What? It reminds me of her. Sue me."
"You told me once," I say, mimicking his deeper voice, "'I like having her on me somehow.'"
Dad groans, muttering, "Jesus, I forgot I said that."
"I didn't," I smirk. " Irreversible damage."
They both laugh, Mom wiping at her cheeks again, then stepping closer. She reaches up and touches my face the way she always has like she's smoothing back time and trying to memorize the man I became.
"You're steady," she says, voice full of a mother's kind of awe. "Patient. Kind. Stubborn, but soft in the right places and you stayed open... even when it would've been easier to shut down. I'm proud of the man you became."
Dad nods beside her, quieter, but there's that familiar lopsided smile he only wears when his heart's full.
"You didn't just grow up," he says. "You showed up. For her. For your sisters. For yourself and if you ask me, that's the kind of man worth saying yes to."
My throat tightens, and I have to look away for a second. The weight of what they're saying settles over me, grounding me. Making this moment feel even more real.
"Thanks," I murmur. "Both of you."
Then I open the box again, "Think she'll like it?" I ask.
Mom's eyes well up again. Dad just grins and says, "If she doesn't, I'll take it. Very regal. Could be my new 'emotional support' ring."
We all laugh, and for a moment, the world is warm and still.
And I know I'm ready.
Then he turned to me, more serious now. "You have our blessing, Jimmy. Of course you do."
He looked at Mom. "Right?"
She nodded slowly, her hand pressed against her heart like she was trying to keep it steady. "Yes," she said, her voice thick. "But Jimmy—be careful with each other's hearts."
"I will," I promised, meeting her gaze. "Always."
Dad placed a steady hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze—the kind of touch that said more than words. "Go build something good."
And I will. With her. The same way they did.
Because I remember them before everything fell apart, that doomed year where silence replaced laughter, where we all started walking on eggshells around the house, afraid to say the wrong thing. I remember how quiet the living room became. How Dad worked too much. How Mom smiled less. How dinner turned into something we rushed through instead of shared.
I remember not knowing what was happening, only feeling it. That strange ache when love is still there but buried under distance, disappointment, and pain. But I also remember the slow, quiet rebuilding, and that's the love I want to build. Not perfect. But real. Chosen. Again and again.
So when I slide the ring back into its box, I feel sure.
Sure of Carissa. Sure of myself.
Sure of the story I come from and the one I'm about to begin...
******
