Stubborn and the Mutt

thirty four | frozen milk

My heart is literally in my throat. One turn to the left and I might die of lack of oxygen or something.

It's a Thursday afternoon. I don't know how I managed to even think of it, to convince him now, but I'm seated in the passenger side with my father driving his car, headed in the direction I'm obviously familiar with.

I told him I had work to do; group work, and that Andrea would be there but she'd be late. I proceeded to tell him that I can't afford to be late because I was waiting for Andrea, and that it would make me very happy if he took me. He agreed.

Which is how we're both in the car, headed to Micah's mansion of a house. Now, the last I saw Micah was a couple of days ago because apparently he had some... I guess, wolf thing to attend with different packs — I did not know what he meant and I didn't think to ask.

That doesn't explain my nervousness, or why my heart is seated in my throat.

I've been thinking about this for a long time — five minutes and about thirty four seconds — and I've decided. I have to tell him. I have to sit him down (he's already seated, driving, with music from back in the day stringing out of his radio) and fill him in.

Let him know that there's such as animals the size of lions that are not lions but are actually wolves and I'm vibing with the one who, apparently, is an alpha and he wants me to be his queen and rule over his pack at his young age. I need to let him know that one day, some time in the far, far... far future, I'll be having three quarter human kids. The one quarter is wolf.

I don't know if it works like that. I'll have to actually talk to Micah about it some day, in the far, far... far future.

I clear my throat and turn in my seat a bit. He spares me a second's glance before his eyes look back at the road. The lady on the GPS tells him to hit a left turn. I lick my lips, scratching my forehead for a moment.

"So... I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Okay. Talk."

I can't help the sickening feeling in my stomach, especially because I can almost predict how he will react. I dread it, actually.

"So... I wanted to talk to you about this because I don't know when would be the best time, papa. I wanted to tell you that.. I am seeing somebody."

Like I predicted, I literally see his entire body tense up for as good as a pregnant pause before he glances at me once again. He doesn't blink, he doesn't squeak a sound. He simply looks at me.

I clear my throat. "A boy. I'm seeing a boy. I wanted... to be open and honest with you, papa. I know you're not comfortable with this and... I know. I just know. But I—"

Papa cuts me off my asking; "Who is he?" Imagine my look of shock, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Now he blinks at me for a second, then turns the steering wheel to the left. "The boy. Who is he? Is that where we are going now?"

"A-ah... no. Of course not. No." I pout, heart racing at the lie. "He's this boy from school. W-we met a while ago but only recently did I accept his request to be his ma— love interest." I clear my throat, proud that I managed to cover the slip up. "He hasn't asked me out as yet, properly, but yes. I thought I'd share that with you, papa."

I watch how he hums in thought, hand lifting to rub his chin. I don't know if I should be surprised that he isn't shouting at me— maybe I'm counting my chickens before they hatch.

"Is he good?"

"Yes, papa."

"What's his name?"

"Micah."