The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) (12 page)

She jumps when I wrap my arms around her shoulders and press a kiss onto her cheek.
“
Beckham Michael, you know better than to sneak up on your mother like that!
”

“
Hi, mom,
”
I mumble as I squeeze her tighter and ignore her reprimand. I smile victoriously when she turns her head and returns my kiss with a kiss of her own.

“
Hi, sweetie. How was your drive?
”

“
Not bad.
”

“
Well, you must be hungry. I saved you some pizza. It
’
s in the oven.
”

“
Thanks,
”
I reply as I begin to pull away from her.

Kenzie
’
s squeal is the only thing that prepares me for the moment when she throws herself at me from behind. I catch her legs and she uses the support of my hands to push herself further up onto my back. When she places her chin on my shoulder, I feel her long unruly curls brush against my arm. She
’
s taller than Addison, but doesn
’
t weight much more, so I hold her with little effort.

“
You
’
re late
,
”
she scolds me.

I turn my head and lean away from her so that I can see her face. Her brown eyes sparkle with amusement and I can
’
t help the grin that pulls at my lips.
“
Better late than never.
”

She rolls her eyes.
“
I guess.
”
A whine escapes her when I set her on her feet, but her complaint stops there as she follows me around while I prepare a dinner plate for myself. She chats with me while I eat, my mom joining the conversation every now and again as she finishes her clean up. It isn
’
t until Kenzie inquires about Addie that I remember Jack
’
s news and the familiar weight of anxiety tugs at my insides. I know that I won
’
t be able to get through the weekend if I don
’
t try and sort out these feelings and I know there
’
s only one person who can help me with them.

“
Is dad home?
”

My father is a very busy man, always has been. I know he likes to spend the weekends at home, but sometimes he just can
’
t
—
so even though it
’
s after eight o
’
clock on a Friday night, I know it
’
s possible he could still be at work. I
’
ve always known him to be extremely professional and hard working. I respect him and admire him like nobody else. He
’
s the reason why I want to become a doctor. He
’
s a physician anesthesiologist and I hope to become at least a fraction as brilliant as he is. While we
’
ve bumped heads more than a few times in the last twenty-one years, he
’
s my dad and he loves me like no one else can. This is how I know that I can talk to him about what I
’
m feeling without having to worry about receiving any sort of judgment.

“
Yes, he
’
s home. He
’
s in his study,
”
my mom answers.
“
In fact, I was just going to take him some coffee
—
but if you
’
re headed that way
…”
She hands me his mug and then takes my empty plate. I thank her and then make my way out of the kitchen, through the sitting room, and then into his office. I knock on the closed French doors before inviting myself in. I shut myself inside as he looks up from the paperwork in front of him.

“
Beck
—
hey, welcome home,
”
he greets me as he stands. I set his coffee down as he comes around to meet me for a hug. We
’
re the same height with similar builds. As he smiles at me, I see my reflection thirty years from now
—
curly hair gone gray, eyes decorated with laugh lines but still full of life. Except, behind his glasses are brown eyes and I have my mother
’
s blue irises.

“
Thanks, dad. Is it okay if I interrupt? I kind of need to talk.
”

“
Yeah. Is everything okay?
”

I don
’
t know how to answer that question. It
’
s simple and yet so very complicated. My confusion makes me chuckle and I shake my head at myself.
“
I don
’
t know,
”
I murmur.

“
Have a seat,
”
he insists, nodding toward the chair he has just vacated. I plop down as he props himself up against the edge of his desk.
“
What
’
s going on?
”

“
Jack is going to propose to Claire next weekend.
”
The words pour out without a second thought. I didn
’
t know that
’
s where I was planning to start, but it fits and so I keep going.
“
Every time I think about it, I kind of freak out. It has nothing to do with Jack and Claire
—
it
’
s just that
…
I know how Addie is going to feel when she finds out.
”

“
You think she
’
ll be jealous?
”
he asks as his brows tug together.

“
Yes. But it
’
s more than that. I mean, I know she
’
ll be happy for them, but yes
—
she
’
ll be jealous. She
’
ll be jealous and probably anxious and worried about the fact that we aren
’
t engaged yet. Not even close.
”

“
Not even close?
”

I slump against the back of his chair in response to his question. The fact that he asks means that there
’
s something wrong with me. His question is proof that I should be ready at this point, but I
’
m not. My heart feels heavy and I
’
m suddenly gripped with fear.
“
Dad
—
what does it mean? What does it mean that I
’
m not ready to be engaged?
”

“
What do you think it means?
”
he asks with a shrug.

“
I don
’
t know,
”
I say with a sigh.
“
I
don
’
t
know.
”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. I watch as he studies me, leaving myself open and vulnerable for his perusal in hopes that he
’
ll see something and come to understand something that I simply cannot grasp hold of.

“
You
’
ve been in love with the lovely Miss Grant for years, now. It might have been something I could dismiss when you were younger, because young people fall in and out of love all the time, but you two have grown deeper and deeper in love. It
’
s no longer something that can be dismissed as a chapter of your life that will pass. Right?
”

For a second, I
’
m disappointed that he asks for affirmation. It would have been nice to be let off the hook for a second. Then I realize that I don
’
t need to be let off the hook
—
my love for her is unquestionable.
“
Right. Dad, she
’
s it. She
’
s the one. I know it. That
’
s why I don
’
t understand
—”

“
Hold on a second,
”
he insists, reaching out to rest his hand on my shoulder.
“
Let
’
s deal with one thing at a time. You love her. That has little to do with whether or not you
’
re ready to get married.
”

“
What do you mean?
”

“
Marriage is a big deal. Yes, people do it every day and with far less invested in their relationships than you have invested in yours, but that doesn
’
t have any bearing on your situation. What matters is not what everyone else is doing, but what you are doing and why. Correct me if I
’
m wrong, but your mother and I have raised you to appreciate how wonderful and yet how difficult marriage can be.
”

He
’
s right. I don
’
t even really have to think about it. My parents have been together for a long time
—
but they haven
’
t always been happy. When I was twelve, and Kenzie was seven, I remember they used to argue all the time. Sometimes I
’
d come downstairs in the morning and find dad sleeping on the couch. I had friends whose parents had gone through divorce and the thought that the same thing could happen to my parents scared me like nothing else had ever scared me before. Then one day I asked them, point blank, if that
’
s what was going to happen to them
—
to
us
. They promised me that the answer was no. They didn
’
t break their promise.

I didn
’
t understand it then, but I understand now that they needed to invite God in where they had pushed Him out. While that seems like a simple solution, I recognize that it was more than inviting God into their relationship; they needed to make room for God in themselves in a way they never had before. I know that only because I saw it. I know that because Kenz and I are a part of their marriage and so God became a bigger part of our lives, too.

I finally nod to signal that he is correct in his assumption.

“
Your appreciation for what marriage stands for is admirable. Your fear signifies that you are not taking your relationship lightly. Remember, Beckham, there
’
s no reason to rush.
”

“
But she
’
s so sure, dad,
”
I mutter, shaking my head.

“
So are you,
”
he says, squeezing my shoulder.
“
But there
’
s a difference between being sure and being ready.
”
I sigh, disappointed that this conversation isn
’
t making me feel much better. He reads me well and huffs a sigh of his own as he pulls away from me. He reaches for his coffee and takes a sip before he begins to speak again.

“
I never told you this, but I dropped out of college, once.
”

My jaw drops open and my chin falls against my chest as I stare up at him in shock. He chuckles before he continues.

“
I guess
drop out
is a bit of an exaggeration but, after freshman year of my undergrad studies, I took some time off. I didn
’
t know what I wanted to do and it felt like such a waste of time and money to be in school. So for two years I worked and I played and I tried to figure out what the heck I wanted to do with my life.

“
I knew that I wanted to be a doctor before I knew that I wanted to be an anesthesiologist; I hadn
’
t decided on that until I went to medical school
—
but the point is, I needed some time away from the pressure of school and my parents and the expectation that I needed to figure out what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. There was never any doubt in my mind that I wanted to go to school. I knew I was smart and I was cocky and confident enough to know that I could do anything I wanted. But at nineteen years old, I wasn
’
t ready for school. I went my freshman year because that
’
s what everyone else expected of me. I went
back
on
my
terms, when I was ready.
”