Then one day, my father pulled me to the side. I think prom was coming up or something. He told me not to take a date or maybe not to go at all. Honestly, prom hadn’t been on my radar. But the words he said after that stuck with me.

“The greatest things in life are often the things that we wait for. That we cultivate and let grow. We must give them room to bloom because our shadow might not give them all the light they need, son, and I promise you that you don’t want to look back and not know if they fully chose you because knowing they did is the greatest gift you’ll ever receive in life, and it’s not one that can be bought.”

At the time, I had no fucking clue what he was talking about, but when my father spoke, I always listened. Then two days later, Emily was standing in front of me with flour still smeared on her cheek from whatever she and my mom had been baking that afternoon, and she’d asked me about prom—if I was going and with who. She never gave me a chance to respond. All she said was, “Don’t break my heart.”

She was so young then, and I realized that she had this crush on me, one that I was sure would be fleeting. She was too young to know what she was talking about. I told her so. That was the last day she ever came to my family home.

Pretty sure Mom didn’t talk to me for a month after that. Dad's words still didn’t make sense to me at first. Until Emily started to change and grow into a woman. Then I got it. I understood more of my overbearing protective ways of her. I think on some subconscious level, I hadn’t even realized I knew one day she would be mine, and it all began to make sense.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” she mutters when I open the passenger door of her car.

“I’ve never stopped you from going to other parties. But the McDonalds are different. Even the father is under investigation for some shady shit. This is not the place for you.”

“Whatever.” She drops into the car with a huff. I don’t know if it’s the drinks she’s had tonight or what, but something is off. I’m used to her cold shoulder, but this is different. There are no smiles lighting up her face or the normal bounce to her step.

“Are you hungry?” I ask when I slip into the driver’s seat and pull out and down the street.

“Am I hungry?” she repeats.

“You’ve been drinking. Some food might do you some good. Tomorrow is a big day for your father. Don’t want you to be hungover.”