I was nervous—I had to admit it. It was strange, both because anxiety wasn’t an emotion that I considered worth my time, and because with Chelsea there was nothing to worry about.

Still, the idea of sharing my past, my humble upbringing, with anyone was enough to put me ill at ease. I wasn’t embarrassed by where I’d come from, and I loved my parents dearly, but I’d worked so hard to leave the poverty of my youth behind and to bring my mom and dad out of it. Coming back always managed to put me in a frame of mind I always thought I’d left far behind.

I took the car onto a winding dirt road, the pine and fir trees looming above and reaching up into the darkening sky.

“Wow,” said Chelsea, her eyes on the passing landscape. “You weren’t kidding when you said this was all the way out there.” Then her face flashed into an expression of shock, as if she was worried she’d said something out of line. “I mean, I don’t mean it like that,” she said, quickly correcting herself. “It’s just far from the city.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I know I lived out in the sticks.”

“It’s actually kind of nice,” she said, turning her attention back outside. “Peaceful after being in the city for so long.”

I was happy to see she was looking on the bright side of things. I remembered that by this point in the trip with Felicity, she was already whining and complaining about the poor cell phone reception.

About twenty minutes later, we arrived at the house. The place was a two-story American Foursquare, a fresh coat of white paint making it seem like it gleamed even in the dark. I’d put tens of thousands of dollars of upgrades into the place over the years, turning it from the humble, nearly run-down place I’d remembered from my youth into something more fitting for my parents.

Mom and Dad stepped out right as I killed the engine. A smile spread across my face as I laid eyes on them.

“Ready to do this?” I asked.

“You bet,” she said.

I gave her hand one more squeeze before the two of us got out of the car.

“There’s my baby boy!” shouted my mother, her feet hurrying down the steps as she ran toward me.

As soon as she was close enough, she threw her arms around my neck and pulled me in for a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you were able to come see us,” she said, letting me go.

My mom was a slim, small woman with gorgeous silver hair and a face that made it clear how beautiful she was when she was younger. She still was, in my opinion.

“Coming out all this way to see us,” said my dad as he stepped down from the porch, his heavy boots making the wood creak. “Not necessary in the slightest.”

His tone was stern, but the warm smile on his face showed that he was joking around.

My dad was a broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man with a head of wavy brown hair and a severe face. He was in great shape aside from a small, round pouch that curved the flannel of his shirt.

Once he was close he stuck out his hand, which I took. His shake was as firm as ever, his watery blue eyes locked onto mine. He pulled me in for a quick backslap and let me go.

“And, oh my god, this must be the lovely young lady we’ve heard about,” said Mom, turning her attention to Chelsea.

“Mom, Dad,” I said. “This is Chelsea Lane.”

“Steve Carver,” said Dad, taking Chelsea’s hand and giving it a polite, old-fashioned handshake.

“Oh, Steve,” said Mom. “No handshakes, come on.”

She gave Chelsea a tight, warm hug.

“So nice to meet you both,” said Chelsea.

“Come on,” said Dad. “Chilly as hell out here.”

Dad held the door open for us to come inside. An intense wave of nostalgia hit me as soon as I stepped over the threshold, the sight of the living room and the stairs and the backyard through the kitchen windows bringing me back to my youth.

The four of us made our way through the house, my mother leading us to the long farmer’s table in the kitchen.

“I know it’s too late for coffee,” she said, “so I made some tea.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

Dad, Chelsea, and I took seats as Mom prepared the tea. She poured four mugs and passed them around before joining us.

“How’re you feeling, Dad?” I asked.

His expression hardened, and he waved his hand through the air, grumbling slightly as he did.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said. “Your mother was making a big fuss over everything, but it was nothing.”

“Nothing?” asked Mom, disbelief in her voice. “Steve, you had a stroke!”

“Just a little one,” he said. “And look at me— I’m right back on my feet. And I’ll be back to work on Monday.”

“But Dr. Schwartz said to take at least a week off, Steve,” said Mom. “At least take a few days.”

“Sometimes getting back into your normal routine can be the best cure,” said Chelsea. “Working always makes me feel right as rain.”

“I like this girl,” said Dad with a smile, his thick finger pointed in her direction. “Knows not to waste time lying around like an invalid.”

“Bah,” said Mom. “Anyway, tell me about what’s been going on with you two. I still can’t believe my little boy’s getting married!”

“I still can’t believe it either,” said Chelsea. “And at first I kept wondering if he and I were taking things too fast. But I don’t know—something about Bryce made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with him.”

She squeezed my hand under the table, which struck me as a little curious—she wasn’t doing it for an audience.

“That’s exactly what happened with Steve and me,” said Mom, turning her attention to Chelsea. “We met when he got back from the Korean War—he’d just moved to Portland, and he came into the diner where I waitressed for lunch almost every day.”

“When I was done with my time in the service, I had no idea what I was going to do with my life,” said Dad. “I got a little apartment with my money and went to the diner on the corner every day for lunch to look through the classifieds. But mostly to do the crossword puzzle.”

He sat back in his chair, the wood groaning underneath him. Chelsea smiled and leaned forward, the steam from her tea coiling around her face. She looked so damn beautiful I could hardly stand it.

“But that first time I laid eyes on your mother... Forget about it. I knew she was the woman for me. But she was just so damn pretty I didn’t even know what the hell I’d talk to her about.” He snorted and shook his head. “I’d been in the middle of combat, but speaking to a woman like your mother was enough to make me quake in my damn boots.”

“So what happened?” asked Chelsea.

“Well,” said Mom, “after about a week of Steve coming into the place, the two of us making eyes whenever we could, he finally talked to me. I swear, I refilled his coffee so many times just to get a look at him up close it’s a wonder I didn’t give him caffeine poisoning. So, he came right up to me and said—”

Dad joined her, the two of them speaking at the same time.

“I’m new in town, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing with my life, but I know for sure that if I don’t ask you out to dinner, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

They both chuckled when they were done, giving each other’s hand a squeeze over the table.

“And that’s what I did,” said Dad. “We went out right when she got off her shift, and two weeks later, we were engaged. Smartest decision I’d ever made.”

Mom and Dad leaned over to one another, sharing a soft kiss on the lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Chelsea’s gaze linger on me.

The four of us chatted for a while longer, getting wrapped up in conversation as we discussed work and life and everything else. After a couple of hours, Chelsea let out a heavy yawn and stretched out her slim arms.

“I think that means it’s time to hit the hay,” said Mom. “Come on, I’ll show you both upstairs.”

We said good night to Dad, and Mom led the two of us up to my old bedroom, which had been redone into a guest room.

“Good night, kids,” she said. “Sleep well.”

She shut the door, and it was just Chelsea and me. As soon as the knob clicked shut, Chelsea stepped up to me, got onto her tiptoes and planted a hard kiss on my lips. After a long moment she stepped back, her gorgeous eyes on mine.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Do I need a reason to kiss you?” she responded, turning on her feet and stepping out of her shoes.

Chelsea pulled her shirt off, the black strap of her bra a contrast to the creamy white of her flawless skin. Over her shoulder, she flashed me a coy smile.

“Come to bed. I’m sleepy.”

Next off were her jeans, and soon she was down to nothing but her bra and a pair of dark red panties. She slipped under the covers and beckoned me with her eyes. I got out of my clothes and climbed under the sheets with her.

Needless to say, we didn’t do much sleeping for a long while.

After the lovemaking was over, we lay cuddled close in bed. As I held her slim, warm body, a feeling of total contentment came over me, and I wondered if my parents’ story about their sudden, lifelong love had made as much of an impact on Chelsea as it had on me. I’d heard it before, sure, but never with a woman like her sitting next to me.

It wasn’t long before Chelsea was asleep, curled up at my side. I closed my eyes, but sleep didn’t come. After a time, I checked my phone and saw that it had been an hour since I’d gotten under the covers.

I knew that I needed to get up, to have a drink and stretch my legs, if I was going to get any sleep. I moved out of bed, careful not to wake up Chelsea. Once I was out, she rolled over onto her other side.

I walked carefully through the house, knowing just how to step so as to not send loud creaks sounding out. Once I was back on the first floor, I noticed that the back-porch light was on. A closer look revealed that Dad was standing out there, a glass of something in one hand and a cigar in the other. Sure enough, on the kitchen counter were a box of cigars and a bottle of bourbon. I took a cigar and poured myself a glass and joined him.

“It’s one thing to go back to work after a stroke,” I said. “It’s a whole other to get right back into smoking and boozing.”

He kept his eyes fixed forward as I stepped up to his side, a soft snort sounding from his nose.

“I’ll be damned if I live like some damned San Fran health freak for the rest of my life just because of one little scare,” he said. “Nope—I’ll go to my grave with smoke in my lungs and a belly full of booze.”

I lit my cigar and sipped my drink, the two of us staring off into the trees.

“That’s a good woman you’ve got,” he said.

“I know it,” I told him. “That’s why I’m marrying her.”

He nodded slowly.

“And good thing you are,” he said. “If you were just screwing around, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

I swallowed another sip, trying to put out of my head the fact that I was lying through my teeth.

“Is that right?” I asked.

“It’s damn right,” he said. “I know you’re a young man—youngish, at least—and that means you want to play the field and all that. But a time comes when a man needs to step up and be a man. And you’re not a man until you’ve married a good woman and started a family. Simple as that. You might be a damn captain of industry, but until you’ve opened your heart to the right girl, you’re nothing.”

I was surprised to hear Dad speak this way. Normally, feelings were the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“You had that blonde British girl here, and I knew that she was trouble—the exact kind of girl a man gets involved with when he has one thing on his mind. But this girl, Chelsea— she’s beauty and brains and ambition and, hell, maybe she’s even got what it takes to be a good mother. Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

I didn’t know what to say. But something told me now was the time for listening, not speaking.

“Seeing you with her at your side… I don’t know, Bryce. It made me feel something. Made me feel like we’d done a good job with you if she’s the type of woman you end up with.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “You did a hell of a job. You and Mom both.”

But my words rang hollow as soon as I spoke them. Everything was a damn lie. Here I was, my dad opening his heart to me in a way he never had, and it was all built on a foundation of lies.

Dad reached over and placed his hand on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Ah, hell,” he said. “This is what happens when you get into the booze after going without for a few days—your damn tolerance goes down. And now I’m getting all sappy and shit.”

“It’s appreciated, Dad,” I said.

“I think I ought to get to bed,” he said. “Good seeing you, son.”

He went back inside, and moments later I was alone. I took a sip of my drink and a drag from my cigar, the conversation lingering in my mind.

I felt so deep into my lie that it seemed like there was no way out.

I had to think of something, and soon.