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The waters of the lake are calm and clear. It’s muggy, with a light breeze. Nathan’s been promising Charlene a fishing trip for three summers now, and this year it all fell into place. They’ve been sitting on the lake for an hour when Charlie breaks the silence to ask, “When did you know you loved my mom?”
He’s been dreading this almost as much as Sunday has, but at least it’s a question he can answer better than her other parents. Charlene was about that age. She’d started being protective of her phone, always messaging someone. He clears his throat, shifts slightly, careful not to tip the boat, and replies, “It’s a long story, but uh… I guess we have time.”
“It was the first summer you went to Sweden. Your mom and Knubbler were recording at Mordhaus, and I kept finding reasons to come in. I didn’t want to ask and make things awkward.”
“Why would it be awkward?”
“We only started seriously dating at the beginning of the year, and I thought she’d call me clingy and leave.” He snorts. These days, Sunday was the one clinging on to the both of them. If they hadn’t left before dawn, she’d probably be sitting on the boat with a book.
“So you snuck in?”
“Yeah. I was hooked. She’d get this look on her face like she couldn’t believe me, but she’d laugh and they’d take a while to get back to work. But when she sang with me in the room, it was different. They started asking me to come in, so I made room in my busy schedule, of course.”
“Of course.” She rolls her eyes, face lit up with her mother’s indulgent smile.
“I realized her voice kept me warm. And then all the little things — the way she moved, the way she talked, all her weird habits— did too. I’m stu- Sometimes it takes me a while to understand things,” he grates out, not needing to be chided, “But I knew I loved her when I felt like I couldn’t breathe next to her without wanting to scream it.”
“Is that all? Huh.” She falls back silent. She sits ramrod straight, blonde ponytail barely swaying in the wind. He knows better than to interrupt her thinking pose, so he stares out on the lake and does some reflection of his own.
There was more to it, but no way was he telling that part of the story to a 15-year-old. He remembers the exact moment love crushed the air from his lungs.
They stayed in the studio long after Knubbler called it a night, flirting over a mountain of chow mein, knocking back endless mugs of hot tea. She’d unearthed one of Pickles’ old acoustic guitars from somewhere in the back, and sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling it in her lap as she noodled around what she'd been working on. One thing led to another, they started a guessing game with Bauhaus and ended it with him rumbling out one of his mom’s favorite songs from the 60s.
Sunday played him through to the end with a wide-eyed stare, then answered, far too casually, “Cigarettes and Coffee. Otis Redding. It’s a classic.”
“It’s you,” he begged, feelings too big to make into words. “It’s you for me.”
He can’t forget the way her smile faltered, the guitar’s last chord ringing out into silence. How she blinked tears back, looking anywhere but his face, voice gentle as she said, “Oh, Nathan... Are you sure?”
It was the same voice she used to comfort her daughter when something went wrong. The soften-the-blow tone she wielded when Dethklok members had meltdowns in her presence. A maternal tone that ripped the oxygen from the air all over again.
He hears it again in his mind. His pained shout of, “Yes! I’m in love with you!” and Sunday’s angsty reply.
“I don’t think I know how to be loved,” she'd admitted, mascara tears dripping down her cheeks. “I’ve never felt like this. I haven’t had the chance.”
“Let me show you.”
Five years later, he’s done well enough that he’s trusted with her daughter’s questions on relationships. Charlie didn’t lack for fathers these days, but he’s happy to be the one who gets to show the kind of love a partner deserves. And now…
“Hey, Dad?” She abandons her fishing pole again to ask him another question, hands on her chin. “Did you bring me out here to tell me you’re going to propose to Mom?”
Her looks are all Skwisgaar, but he's pretty sure she got her mom’s intuition and her uncle’s big annoying brain, to boot. “Uhhh…”
“I saw the invoice from the jeweler. You should be more careful about where you leave your mail. Sooo…?”
“What’s the deal with you and that kid from your Model Embassy program?” He deflects, poorly.
Lucky for him, Charlene is 15 and equally bad at these sorts of conversations. She turns bright red and worries the end of her ponytail. “Uh, um, who, Lykke? We’re just pen pals! And we’re working on a project together!”
“And that’s why you’re giggling on your computer at midnight? Your mom’s having kittens about it. I had to convince her that calling her contact in Denmark was taking it overboard.” Even if said contact would have refused to spy on a random Danish teenager anyway. Maybe he was still jealous.
“I’m not allowed to have friends anymore? It can be pretty boring here when Mom’s overseas filming and you guys and Uncle Charlie are busy. I’m a little too old to be content having tea parties with Klokateers.”
“This Lykke, they coming to your birthday next month?”
“Yes, Dad,” she groans, rolling her eyes again.
“I’ll be watching,” he growls.
“Neither you OR Mom have any room to complain. It’s not like we’re the image of rebellion.”
“Technically, with your family, the Embassy is rebellion. You rebel, you,” he teases, nudging her shoulder. She laughs him off, gently shoving him back.
He's always wanted to be there for someone like his dad is for him. He reaches over to fondly tousle her hair. She hops up to dodge it. A moment later, they’re spitting out lake water and watching their bait worms sink to the bottom.
Turns out he could be a world financial power and have the family he dreamed of. There’s only one thing left to do, besides get back to shore.
“You are proposing, right?” Charlie wheedles, “Can I see the ring?”
“Yeah. Later. Now help me row back.”