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The air smelled of earth and sun-ripened tomatoes.
Frank was leaning over the miniature fence lining the garden beds, crouched low with a focused knit in his brow. With a trowel in one hand and a worn leather glove adorning the other, he tightly grasped the root of another weed before firmly yanking it from the ground. Dirt flew from the small divot in the earth as the weed sprang free from the soil’s grip. His broad shoulders warped as he moved across the beds, calm and quiet in his work.
Ezra sat a few feet away, sitting on the corner of a raised planter box, arms resting on his knees as he watched his father work the soil.
On any other day, he’d be right there beside him, sleeves rolled up and teasing his Pops for humming some old song off-key.
Today, however, Ezra had different plans. He was going to tell Frank he was going to be a grandfather.
So there Ezra sat, the knot in his stomach nearly eating him alive. It was different from the morning sickness he had gotten used to. No, this was different. It was pure fear.
He laid a hand over his lower stomach, still fairly flat save for his natural pudge, but it was definitely firmer now.
Eight weeks. He and Maeve had double-checked just to be extra sure.
He looked over at his Pops again. He was still kneeling, grasping at weeds like he was getting paid by the pound. He still didn’t know, and he was just working like Ezra’s whole world wasn’t imploding in on itself. Maybe everything was actually fine, and Ezra was just too full of feelings and hormones to make any sense of it.
Frank had raised him with steady hands and patient silence. Learning to read his Pops’ emotions was like a fine art, not for the faint of heart. Ezra partly attributed it to simply being around him so much and some of it to their shared blood. Not many in this world could read Frank Veritz, but Ezra could. He could tell when his Pops was proud, even if he never said it, well, frankly. He knew when Frank was worried, even if he said nothing at all.
But today… Frank just looked like Frank. Unbothered, calm, and focused on the task at hand.
Ezra chewed on his lip. How the hell am I supposed to tell him?
He told Maeve he would tell his dad the news today. That he wanted to tell Frank himself. That he could handle it… And he could! Probably. Hopefully. He just…
He blinked hard a few times to clear his stinging eyes.
Goddamn pregnancy hormones.
Before he could catch himself, a sniffle escaped his nose. He quickly rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
Frank didn’t look up.
Ezra swallowed.
“Hey, Pops.”
Frank gave a noncommittal grunt, not even lifting his head.
Ezra took a breath, then another.
Just say it. Shoot. Now or never.
“I wanted to tell you something. It’s kind of important.”
Frank finished pulling the weed he was working on, shook the dirt off the root ball, and chucked it with the others before finally looking back towards his son. Just enough to barely glance over his shoulder.
“Well, shit, it must be real important if you need this much fanfare. Just spit it out.”
Ezra just blinked. Damn.
He took another few deep breaths. It’s now or never, Ez.
Just spit it out.
“I’m pregnant, Pops.”
Silence.
Frank stared at his son a few moments more, no shift in expression. Not even a twitch. Just a long, unreadable look. Then he nodded. Once.
And turned back to the garden.
Ezra just blinked, dumbfounded. His jaw slowly dropped, a stupid yet shocked look on his face.
“Are you… Are you gonna say anything?”
Still crouched over his beds, Frank continued his weeding, though with a little more fervor. He was thinking.
His voice was gritty but even. “What, you want me to laugh? Cry? Run a lap or two ‘round the barn?”
Ezra barked out a laugh at his bluntness. It wasn’t until it was laid out before him that he realized he was talking to his dad , the king of stoicism.
“No. I just didn’t know what to expect, that's all.”
Frank gave a hum—half scoff, half chuckle—and drove his spade into the fertile earth with a hearty thrust . He rocked back on his heels and swung to face Ezra head-on, settling on his worn-out knee pad that he’s had since Ezra went by a different name. His eyes were steady.
“Look, son,” Frank started, low and firm, “I wasn’t too ready to be a father either. Didn’t think I’d ever be. You came so sudd’nly, and all I could think was, ‘Lord, how am I gonna screw this one up?’
“The thing is… this whole bein’ a parent changes you. Makes you into whatever your kid needs.” He rested his fists on his knees, his gaze still fixed on his son.
“There ain’t nothin’ in this world that compares to the love a parent has for their kid. No matter how scared ya are, no matter how tired, you’ll find a way to be ev’rythin’ they need.” He shot Ezra a reassuring look. “I didn’t do perfect, but we made sure you had a solid head on yer shoulders.”
A beat of silence. Frank’s expression didn’t soften, but there was a newfound warmth underneath his hardened exterior.
“I know you’ll be a fine dad, Ez. ‘Cuz you already know what it takes.”
Ezra’s throat started to tighten, his cheeks set ablaze. His hands trembled in his lap, and before he knew it, his hands were wet with tear drops.
“Thanks, Pops.”
Frank nodded. A comfortable silence stretched between them.
Then, quietly.
“I love you, son.”
Ezra whipped his head up.
His pops never threw around I love you like his mama did. He could probably count the times he’s heard him say it with just his two hands.
But his face… It was unwavering. Certain.
Ezra let the hot tears fall.
“I—I love you too, Pops.”
A breeze whistled through the trees, drifting the scent of flowers and dirt through Ezra’s nose. The silence that followed was full and rich, but no longer heavy or overwhelming.
Then, as if to punctuate his profound statement, he slapped his hands against his thighs and stood with a low grunt.
“Alright. Enough of that. Come help me with these weeds, pumpkin head. You been sittin’ over there lookin’ pretty for far too long. Come get those hands dirty.”
Ezra laughed, full-bodied, wiping his eyes.
“Okay. I just don’t wanna overdo it with the baby and all…” Ezra walked over, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his dad.
His pops let out a pshhh , clapping him hard on the back. “Ah, nonsense. Yer mother was elbows deep in the dirt right up until yer brother was born. You’ll be alright.”
Frank walked over to his squash patch, carrying the watering can and shovel with him.
Ezra followed.
A few hours later, after all the beds were weeded and the plants were watered, Ezra and his father decided it was a good place to stop for the day, the scent of earth still on their clothes. Ezra washed his hands of dirt with the leftover water in the watering can.
They approached the back porch of Ezra’s childhood home, the old steps sighing from use. Frank flicked a stray bit of soil from his sweaty arm as they stepped inside.
Ezra’s words were still hanging in the air.
I’m pregnant, Pops.
Frank’s grunt of acknowledgement was about as expressive as he ever gets, but the way his eyes softened said enough. Ezra’s heartbeat is still hammering as he kicks his work boots off, setting them next to his father’s. The screen door creaks closed, locking with a click .
The smell of fruity muffins drifted in the air, certainly his mother’s doing, no doubt. Laughter bubbled from the kitchen, and Maeve’s bright, tinny voice floated through, clear as day.
Frank turned, giving Ezra a glance—the closest he can get to you alright? Ezra just rubbed the back of his neck nervously, the fingers of his other hand tapping his chest for comfort.
As they entered the kitchen, his mother, Carol, was running around like a headless chicken, a mixing bowl tucked in her arm and a dish rag thrown over her shoulder. Maeve was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of herbal tea. She spotted Ezra trailing in behind his father, a smug look settling on her face.
Oh, brother.
Carol beamed when she spotted her son and brother. “Ezzie, sweetheart! Did Pops work you too hard out there?”
Ezra tried to laugh, but it came out more like a weird squawk. “No, not… not really—”
Frank cut in before Ezra’s brain could short-circuit again. He was at the sink, scrubbing under his nails with a brush and dish soap. Then, as if he were simply stating the forecast, he rumbles out:
“Boy’s got news for ya, Carol.”
Carol froze mid-stir, her head whipping towards where Ezra was now sitting next to Maeve. “News? Good news, I do hope.”
Ezra just sat there, blinking like a deer in headlights. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again, looking like a fish out of water. Maeve nearly let a sneer out before she buried her face in her mug.
I did it once. Today! What’s one more?
Ezra breathes in and out a few times, his mother still staring him and Maeve down, before he blurts out,
“We’re pregnant, Mama.”
For a fraction of a second, Carol just stared at them both, her head turning back and forth between them nearly a dozen times. Then, her whole face lit up so fast Ezra had to turn away to hide his blush. She nearly slams the mixing bowl against the counter, making Maeve jump, before running over to her son and scooping him in her arms.
“Oh my goodness gracious—Ezra! Maeve!” He grunted as he stood, all the air being squeezed from his abdomen. Maeve burst out laughing before Carol reached her too, scooping her up all the same.
Ezra can’t help but laugh, too.
He felt Maeve’s arms wrap around him before she spoke up. “It’s true, Miss Veritz. We must have quintuple-checked.”
Carol squealed before roping her into the hug as well. Ezra half-laughed, half-wheezed, blinking away the fresh tears welling up in his eyes. Maeve’s shoulders shook with quiet giggles.
Frank leaned against the counter, watching the hug attack from a safe distance, his arms folded and a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Finally, Carol let go before turning an accusing finger towards her brother.
“Franklin Veritz, did you know anything about this?”
All he could do was shrug. “He just told me himself out in the yard.”
Carol gasps, though her expression softened. “Well, you could have warned me, you dunce! Told me to sit down or somethin’.” She whips him with her dish rag, earning a low grumble from Frank. He shoots Ezra a secret smile before leaning back against his spot on the counter.
Good boy. I’m proud of you.
He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. His knowing, tender look towards his son says it all.
Ezra pressed his forehead to Maeve’s temple, letting himself breathe for what felt like the first time in weeks. His mama is still rattling off questions a million miles a second—when’s the egg due? How are you feeling, dear? Have you picked any names? Do you know the gender? Maeve tried her best to answer all her queries.
It all drifts into a warm, bright chatter.
Ezra lifted his head, sneaking a peek at Maeve, her smile pressed up against his cheek. He couldn’t help but loosen his shoulders and to rid the tension in his jaw. His pops snuck behind his mom, nabbing a muffin from the cooling rack like it was the most ordinary day in the world.
In a way, it was. Ordinary, quiet life only briefly interrupted by great news, by new horizons.
Ezra closed his eyes and let his mind wander somewhere where maybe, just maybe, he would be okay.
The kitchen was still buzzing, fresh with excitement. Miss Veritz was peppering her son with urgent questions while pulling a dusty recipe box she hadn't touched in years—something about “baby-safe meals” and “extra iron.” Ezra tried to answer all her quips but kept tripping over himself, Maeve’s hand resolute on the small of his back.
When Miss Veritz turned her full attention to Ezra, pulling him to the table to flip through her old prenatal recipes, Maeve slipped back behind the counter to let him breathe a little. He had enough on his plate trying to appease his mother’s doting. Mr. Veritz was there as well, wiping stray crumbs off the counter’s surface.
He’s really happy, she thought to herself, even if he can’t say it outright.
Just as dusk started to fall and Ezra and his mother fell into comfortable conversation (something about vitamins or stretching in the morning; she can’t really think too much right now), he stepped past Maeve, cocking his head towards the back door.
Come out with me.
Maeve cracked a small toothy grin, setting her empty mug in the sink and following his lead. The screen door squeaks as he shoulders it open, holding it just long enough for Maeve to slip out behind him. It slams behind them with a soft clatter that sounds like childhood.
Outside, the porch light hums to life above them, pale and warm against the deep blues and purples strewn across the fields, lightning bugs glittering in the air.
Mr. Veritz sinks into one of the rocking chairs with a grunt , the old wood creaking under his weight. He nods toward the chair parallel to his, mere inches away. Certainly Miss Veritz’s seat, Maeve thought. She strode over quietly, taking a humble seat in the old chair. She brought her knees to her chest, resting her bare feet in the seat of the chair.
For a while, the only sounds that filled the air were the gentle squeak of Mr. Veritz’s rocking chair and the gentle chirp of cicadas. Mr. Veritz leaned forward, resting his elbow on an arm of his chair and his head in his hand. Maeve watched him as he seemingly surveyed the garden, like he still wanted to go out there and work some more. She giggled to herself.
“Always a hard worker, huh, Mr. Veritz?”
He let out a low, warm chuckle. “Suppose so. I love that garden almost more than my boys.”
She looked down at her white-painted toes, wiggling them around a bit. She rested her cheek on her knees, looking towards Mr. Veritz.
“You alright?” she asks softly.
Mr. Veritz snorts, a low exhale that could be interpreted as a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Maeve smiled, small and honest. She fidgets with her nose ring. “I’m okay,” she started before trying again, “I’m amazing. Ez is definitely elated too, maybe just a little scared.”
Mr. Veritz lets out a hum, a chest-deep sound that she can feel rumble through her chair. He searched in his pocket for a second before pulling out two hard caramel candies. He picked one up before reaching his hand towards Maeve. She laughs, grabbing it and fiddling with it before unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth.
“I keep thinking about when you were just a youngin.” His eyes were still on the yard, the hard caramel clanking against his teeth. “You’d come through that gate over yonder, come runnin’ up here like your head got chopped off. Always asking me where your little buddy was, trying to drag him off somewhere.”
Maeve puffed some air out of her nose, a small constrained laugh. “He needed dragging.”
Mr. Veritz rubbed his fingers through his mustache, a smile ghosting the corners of his lips. “Still does.”
He turned then, really looking at her—steady, open, like he was about to crack her open and read her like a book. I know that look.
“You’ve been family for a long time, Maeve,” he said in an absolute tone. Simple and resolute. “Long before you knew it.”
Maeve’s breath caught in her throat. She turned her head so she wasn’t facing Mr. Veritz anymore so he couldn’t see her eyes going glassy. She knew he knew anyway. He always did.
She tried to crack a joke. “You’re gonna make me cry on your porch, Mr. Veritz—” she wanted to continue, but her voice cracked halfway through, and when she wiped her cheek, his big, calloused hand was rubbing gentle circles on her back. Her shoulders.
She hiccuped out a sob, burying her face in her knees. He kept rubbing her back. He didn’t say , “Don’t cry,” or, “ There, there.” He never pulled away, either.
“You’re good for him… For each other.” Mr. Veritz said, voice low and sure. “You always were. And now you’re both gonna be good for the little one, too.”
Maeve let out a shaky breath that morphed into a soft laugh. “We’re definitely gonna try.” She sniffed.
Mr. Veritz just let out another huff. “Ain’t tryin’ if you’re already doin’ it.”
“Oh, Mr. Veritz…”
A warm breeze lifted Maeve’s hair off her wet cheek. Without even thinking, she leaned over, gently placing her head on his muscular shoulder. Mr. Veritz just let her, his rocking now paused.
For a long, quiet minute, they just sat like that, watching the yard be swept in a blanket of darkness. Inside, through the screen door, Ezra’s laughter bubbled up, soft and unguarded.
Frank closed his eyes for a beat, letting the peace of the moment settle into his bones. When he cracks a lid open, glancing to his left, Maeve is still there with her head on his shoulder.
He reached a hand over, tussling her hair up, earning a groan from her throat. “C’mon, kid. Let’s head back in before your boy wears himself thin answering his mother’s questions.”
Maeve laughed again, now light and steady. She fixed her hair, giving him a look that said thank you .
Mr. Veritz grunted and moaned as he stood, his knees cracking with the motion. Together, they slip back through the screen door, the porch light glowing behind them like a beacon in the night.
Mr. Veritz flips it off.