Page 110 of Love so Hot

I trail behind them, feeling like a stranger in my own house. In the kitchen, Mom bustles about filling the kettle and laying out a tray of scones while Dad and I take seats at the granite-topped island.

He clears his throat again. "So, how have you been?"

I shrug. "Oh, you know. Okay, I guess."

Mom sets a delicate china teacup in front of me. "Just okay? Sweetheart, we've been so worried about you."

I wrap my hands around the cup, staring into the steaming liquid. How do I even begin to explain the last few years? The protests, the camps, the fights with my so-called comrades? The constant moving, never settling, pouring my heart into a cause that sometimes feels hopeless?

"I've been... busy," I say lamely. "With the Earth Defenders and stuff."

Dad makes a noncommittal noise. Mom frowns slightly, but quickly replaces it with a bright smile. "Well, the important thing is that you're here now. With family."

Family. The word feels heavy, loaded with unspoken history and expectations. I take a sip of tea to avoid having to respond.

Mom, perhaps sensing the tension, stands up abruptly. "You know, I think I have a different blend of tea that would be just perfect. Let me go check the pantry."

She hurries out, leaving me and Dad alone. I fiddle with my cup, suddenly fascinated by the hand-painted violet pattern.

Dad clears his throat, and I brace myself for the inevitable lecture. But when he speaks, his voice is surprisingly gentle. "Did Lawrence tell you to come home?"

I look up, startled. "How did you...?"

"He called me," Dad admits. "Came clean about your engagement. Said he was more worried about you than about whether I'll sign onto his pipeline."

I blink in surprise. "Larry said that?"

Dad raises an eyebrow. "He cares about you, Willy."

"He told me not to come," I blurt out. "Said he didn't want me to sacrifice my ideals just for him."

A flicker of surprise crosses Dad's face, followed by something that looks suspiciously like approval. "I like him," he declares.

I snort. "Of course you do. He's just like you."

The words come out harsher than I intend, and I instantly regret them. But Dad doesn't seem offended. Instead, he leans forward, his eyes searching mine.

"Willy, what's really going on?"

I feel the familiar prickle of tears behind my eyes. Damn it, I promised myself I wouldn't cry.

"Things have been... tough," I manage, my voice wavering. "Since I left, I mean. And now..."

I trail off, unsure how to put the turmoil in my heart into words. How do I tell my father, the man I ran away from becausemy ideals didn't align with his, that I've fallen for someone who represents everything I'm fighting against?

Dad waits patiently, his expression open and nonjudgmental. It's that look, more than anything, that breaks me.

"I'm in love with him," I whisper, the tears finally spilling over. "With Lawrence. But he... we... we have such different ideals, and I don't know what to do."

There. It's out. The truth I've been running from, laid bare in the warm, homey kitchen of my childhood. I feel raw, exposed, like a nerve ending waiting for the inevitable pain.

But Dad doesn't look angry or disappointed. Instead, he reaches out and takes my hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighs. "Love is never easy, especially when it comes to matters of the heart and the head."

I sniffle, using my free hand to swipe at my tears. "What do I do, Dad? How do I choose between my principles and my feelings?"

Dad is silent for a long moment, his gaze distant and thoughtful. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but filled with conviction.