In The Weeds

“Be selfish, Beckett. Just this once.”

“Sometimes love is greedy, kiddo.” My dad sets his mouth in a firm line. “Sometimes it’s a little bit selfish, too

“If you think love means having to sacrifice bits of yourself to make someone else happy,” he explains. “If you’re afraid to ask after what you want. Maybe I did something wrong.”

Maybe this is what happy is supposed to be. A person, a place. A single moment in time. Beckett in the hallway helping me untangle the sweatshirts from around my shoulders. A family of cats jostling for our attention as we trip into the kitchen. Tea in the kettle on the stovetop and two mugs sitting side by side right next to it.

Alcohol doesn’t make things up, it just pries them loose

Seasons change and so do we.

“It’s okay to want different things,” she says. “People change. You’re allowed to change. Doing less doesn’t make you less.”

“Plus, everything gets quiet when I look at you.”

“It’s okay if it takes you some time to find it again. And it’s okay if you find it just to lose a bit of it here and there. That’s the beauty of it, yeah? It comes and goes. Not every day is a happy one and it shouldn’t be. It’s in the trying, I think.”

I clear the cobwebs out of my throat. “Trying to be happy?”

“No.” He shakes his head once. “That doesn’t work. Trying to be happy is like—it’s like telling a flower to bloom.” He crosses his ankles and drags his palm against his stubble. “You can’t make yourself be happy. But you can be open to it. You can trust yourself enough to feel it when you stumble on it.”

“I don’t think it would hurt,” she offers. “But please give yourself a break. Drink a latte.” She pauses for a second. “Find out if the man owns gray sweatpants.”