I sat up straighter. “I don’t have to go to Stanford.”

“You’re going to stay? Here?”

“Yes,” I said quickly.

“You’re going to throw it all away?”

“There’s a college here⁠—”

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Blake.” His voice hardened. “The college here is shit. You have a scholarship because you’re brilliant and destined for greater things. And you want to throw it all away for her? I won’t allow it.”

“If this is about keeping up an image⁠—”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” he snapped, looking insulted. “If the town hates us tomorrow, we’ll hand them pitchforks and let them have their say. I don’t care. What I care about is you and Beverly. So answer me, Blake. What happens when you’re gone?”

“I’ll take her with me.”

“Take her with you?”

“She can transfer to a school in the city.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ, Blake. Think about what you’re saying. You know how busy you’re going to be. You’re going to be drowning in coursework, in research, in the life you’ve spent years building. Where does she fit in that? How are you going to find the time to be with her?” He shook his head. “No. No, that’s not going to work. Not for her. Not for you. You’re not thinking straight. This is obsession, not logic. And you, Son? You run on logic.”

“I love her,” I said again, louder this time. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t figure out love,” he retorted. “You think you’re prepared for the reality of this? For what it means to juggle college and a relationship and living together at your age?”

“Dad… With or without your approval, we’ll be together.”

“What happens when you break up?”

“We won’t,” I said stubbornly.

“You don’t know that. Beverly’s not as mature as you, Blake. She doesn’t plan ahead. She’s all about fun and drama and living in the moment. She still hasn’t even gotten her driver’s license, for God’s sake. She’s not at your level. She’s too young.”

“We’re a year and a half apart,” I gritted out.

“You are years ahead of her.”

My fingers balled into fists beneath the table. “You’re wrong.”

“Am I?” he asked solemnly. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t know I’m right.”

Anger flared in my chest. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Wait for her to grow.”

I stared at him, furious. “You want me to break up with her.”

“I want you to wait,” he said firmly. “Wait until she’s ready. Until you’re ready. You don’t know how hard this will get.”

Wait? I wanted her now.

I wanted to argue.

I wanted to scream that we’d be fine.