Page 19 of Seeds of Love
“She’s great,” I manage, trying to keep my tone light. “Smart as hell, stubborn as fuck. Already stressing about college apps even though she’s only in high school.”
“That’s awesome,” Alex says, and she actually sounds like she means it. “Are your parents pushing her to go to college, or is it her idea?”
The question, innocent as it is, makes me acutely aware of the Grand Canyon-sized gap between our lives. I think about Alex’s casual mentions of family vacations in Europe, the way she never seems to worry about money for books or meals. I remember the time she showed up to class wearing a Patagonia jacket that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
Fuck it. Time to rip off the band-aid.
“All Megan,” I say, my voice rougher than I want it to be. “Mom and Dad are behind her, but...” Christ, why is this so hard? “Things got complicated when Dad lost his job this summer.” My voice cracks a little, and I fucking hate it. I wish I had a different story to tell her.
Alex’s face does that thing—that soft, sympathetic look that makes me want to crawl out of my skin. “Oh, Freddie, I’m so sorry. That must be really hard.”
Hard? Try fucking apocalyptic.
It was late June when Dad got too sick to work. Thirty-five years underground, breathing in coal dust, breaking his body for that company. And what did those corporate assholes do? Tossed him aside the second he couldn’t work anymore.
I can still hear his voice on that phone call with HR, getting quieter and quieter until it was barely there at all.
“They’re letting me go,” he’d said, like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “No package. No admin role. Nothing.”
My dad—this guy who taught me how to throw a football, who never missed a single one of Megan’s soccer games—just sat there at our kitchen table and cried. Mom held him while his shoulders shook, and I felt something inside me break.
All those years of loyalty meant jack shit to them in the end.
I remember the rage hitting me so hard I couldn’t breathe. Had to get in my car and drive, just fucking drive, until Goldbend was nothing but a speck in my rearview mirror.
That’s when it hit me. This was it. No more screwing around, no more treating college like some extended vacation with no real plan.
Freshman year, Alfie wouldn’t shut up about the money in oil and gas, how the mining companies were always hungry for fresh meat. I did my research—turns out, environmental science was my ticket in. Our program was like a fucking pipeline straight into these industries.
Good pay right out of the gate,Alfie kept saying, like a broken record. But all I could hear was:A way to take care of your family.
Driving back that night, watching the sun bleed out over Goldbend’s skyline, I made my call. I’d switch majors, work my ass off, do whatever the fuck it took. Simple as that.
I don’t tell Alex any of this though. Don’t tell her how different our worlds are.
How on earth do I explain that I’m not here to save the planet? That I’m just trying to save my family? That the industry she fights against is the same one that fed me for eighteen years before it threw my dad away like yesterday’s garbage?
But sitting here in our hidden corner of the cafeteria, watching her face, something in me wants to spill my guts. Not everything. But something.
“Yeah, it’s been rough,” I say, massacring my granola into tiny pieces. Fuck it. Here goes nothing. “Dad worked at the Goldbend mine. Twenty-three years underground before they kicked him to the curb.” The words taste like acid. “That’s why all this environmental shit... it’s personal, you know? I know you hate the mining industry?—”
“Freddie,” Alex cuts me off, leaning in. “I don’t hate your dad. Of course I don’t. I hate the corporations that exploit workers and the environment without a second thought. There’s a big difference between the executives making millions while destroying ecosystems, and someone working to support their family.”
Something tight in my chest unravels. “Yeah?”
She gives me this look—half ‘you’re an idiot,’ and half something else I can’t read. “Did you seriously think I’d judge your dad for doing what he had to do? Give me some credit here. I get that people need jobs. Especially in small towns, it can be tough.”
“I just... You get so fired up about protecting the environment. And you should. But for Dad, for guys like him... it wasn’t about destroying stuff. It was about survival.”
“I get it,” Alex says, all soft and understanding. “And I bet now that he has you to educate him about environmental impact, he wouldn’t choose that field again if he had the chance, right?”
“Right,” I say, but the word feels hollow in my mouth. Truth is, I’m not so sure. Dad still talks about the mine with a kind of pride sometimes—about the camaraderie underground, about providing for his community, about the satisfaction of honest work. Even after everything, even after the layoff and the medical bills, I’ve caught him scanning job postings for similar positions in neighboring towns.
Maybe that’s what Alex can’t fully understand, even with all her compassion. It’s not just about having no choice—for some people, it’s about identity. Three generations of Donavon men worked those mines. Sometimes I wonder if Dad sees my switch to environmental science as a kind of betrayal, even though he’d never say it.
“Is that why you switched from general education to environmental science?” Alex asks.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I needed something with better job prospects. Or well, any job prospects.” I chuckle. “Mom’s working extra shifts at the hospital, and I’ve been working at the gym as much as possible. But with Dad out of work and Megan hoping for college... it feels like we’re barely treading water sometimes, you know?”
