3 days before my wedding, Dad called: “I’m not wal…

Elias and I sat near the edge of the booth, nursing our waters. Preston sat at the head of the table, swirling an expensive glass of Cabernet and holding court. “So, Elias,” Preston said, projecting his voice so neighboring tables could hear.

“Still dragging tourists up the ridges? When are you going to settle down and get a real job? A guy your age should be thinking about equity, not how many hiking trails he can memorize.”

My father let out a short, obedient laugh, eager to align himself with the man paying for his ribeye.

I felt my jaw tighten. I opened my mouth to defend the man I loved, but Elias placed a warm, calloused hand over my knee beneath the table. He did not look embarrassed.

He did not look angry. He looked at Preston the way a scientist observes an interesting but harmless insect. “I like the trails,” Elias said, his voice calm and steady.

“They get me exactly where I need to go.”