"Wear the blue button-up," Zoe instructed, leaning against Miles's doorframe as he held up two shirts. "The gray one makes you look like you're going to a funeral."
Miles frowned at the shirts. "I thought the gray was more... I don't know, mature?"
"You're meeting her parents, not interviewing for CEO," Zoe rolled her eyes. "The blue brings out your eyes. Trust me."
Miles had been changing outfits for twenty minutes, a new kind of pre-performance anxiety gripping him. Track meets were straightforward—run faster than everyone else. Meeting Kayla's parents, especially her father, felt infinitely more complicated.
"What if her dad hates me?" Miles asked, finally voicing the fear that had been growing since Kayla's dinner invitation three days ago.
Zoe's expression softened. "He won't hate you. You're polite, you get good grades, and you're faster than he ever was."
"That last part might not help," Miles muttered, remembering Kayla's warnings about her father's competitive nature.
"Just be yourself," Zoe advised, then paused. "Well, your best self. The one who doesn't leave dirty socks on the bathroom floor."
Miles threw a balled-up t-shirt at her, which she dodged with practiced ease. "Very helpful."
His phone buzzed on the bed. Kayla.
dad's already practicing his intimidating face. don't worry, he does this to everyone
Miles groaned, showing the text to Zoe.
"She's just messing with you," Zoe assured him, though she didn't sound entirely convinced. "Mostly."
Downstairs, his mom was folding laundry, a rare Saturday off giving her time for household tasks that usually piled up during her hospital shifts.
"You look nice," she commented as Miles entered the kitchen. "Nervous?"
"Is it that obvious?" Miles grabbed a glass of water, his mouth suddenly dry.
"Only to someone who's known you your entire life." She set aside a folded towel. "Meeting the parents is always nerve-wracking. I remember when I met your father's family—"
She stopped abruptly, a shadow crossing her face. Miles rarely heard her mention his father in anything but the most practical contexts.
"Anyway," she continued, recovering quickly, "just be respectful, look them in the eye when speaking, and remember your manners."
"What if her dad asks about... you know, us?" Miles gestured vaguely, unable to articulate his concern.
His mom raised an eyebrow. "About you and Kayla?"
"Yeah." Miles felt his face warm. "What do I say?"
"The truth," she replied simply. "That you care about his daughter and respect her."
Miles nodded, though the prospect of discussing his feelings for Kayla with her former college-athlete father made his stomach tighten.
"And Miles?" His mom's voice turned serious. "Don't compare yourself to her father. I know you're thinking about... your own situation. But this isn't about that."
Miles nodded again, though they both knew it wasn't that simple. Every interaction with a father figure carried the weight of his own father's absence.
The Velocity System vibrated in his pocket. Miles pulled it out discreetly, surprised to see a social notification rather than training data.
SOCIAL INTEGRATION PROTOCOL ACTIVATED
PARENTAL INTERACTION GUIDELINES:
- MAINTAIN EYE CONTACT: 65-75% OF CONVERSATION
- RESPONSE DELAY: 0.5-1.5 SECONDS BEFORE ANSWERING QUESTIONS
- POSTURE: UPRIGHT BUT RELAXED, SHOULDERS AT 15% TENSION
- CONVERSATION TOPICS: ATHLETICS (SAFE), ACADEMIC GOALS (SAFE), RELATIONSHIP DETAILS (PROCEED WITH CAUTION)
Miles stared at the screen, equal parts amused and disturbed that the System was now offering social advice. He slipped it back into his pocket, deciding human guidance was probably more reliable for this particular challenge.
"I should go," Miles said, checking the time. "Don't want to be late."
His mom gave him a quick hug. "Text me when you're on your way home. And Miles? They'll love you. Just like she does."
Miles felt his face flush again. "Mom!"
"What? I have eyes," she laughed. "Now go, and bring the flowers I put in the fridge."
The Fisher home was in Oakridge, a neighborhood of well-maintained houses with actual front yards—a stark contrast to Miles's apartment building. Miles double-checked the address Kayla had sent him, suddenly self-conscious about the slightly wilted flowers in his hand.
Before he could second-guess himself further, the front door opened. Kayla stood there in jeans and a simple blue top, her hair down in the way that still made Miles's heart skip. Her smile widened when she saw him.
"You brought flowers? That's either super sweet or my mom got to you already."
"Both?" Miles admitted. "My mom suggested it."
"Smart woman." Kayla stepped aside to let him in. "Fair warning: Dad's in full interrogation mode, Mom's made enough food for an army, and my sister is prepared to embarrass me with childhood stories."
"So... a normal family dinner?"
"As normal as it gets with a track-obsessed father and a fifteen-year-old sister who thinks she's a TikTok influencer." Kayla took the flowers. "Come on, might as well get this over with."
The Fisher home was warm and inviting—family photos on the walls, comfortable furniture that looked actually used, the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. It felt lived-in in a way that made Miles immediately aware of how sparse his own apartment was, with his mom working constantly and no father to help shoulder the load.
"Mom! Dad! He's here!" Kayla called, leading Miles toward the kitchen.
Mrs. Fisher appeared first, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She was a shorter version of Kayla, with the same warm eyes and easy smile.
"Miles! So nice to finally meet you." She extended her hand, then changed her mind and pulled him into a quick hug. "Kayla talks about you constantly."
"Mom," Kayla groaned.
"What? It's true." Mrs. Fisher accepted the flowers with genuine delight. "These are lovely, thank you."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Fisher. Thanks for having me over."
"Call me Denise, please. Mrs. Fisher makes me feel ancient." She turned toward the doorway. "Robert! Come meet Miles!"
Miles straightened involuntarily as Kayla's father entered. Robert Fisher was tall and broad-shouldered, with the lean muscular build of a former athlete who still kept in shape. His handshake was firm, his gaze direct and assessing.
"So you're the national champion," he said, his deep voice neutral but not unfriendly.
"Yes, sir." Miles met his gaze, remembering his mother's advice.
"Dad, don't start with the track interrogation before dinner," Kayla warned.
"What? I'm just stating facts." Mr. Fisher's expression remained serious for a moment longer before breaking into a smile that transformed his face. "Kayla's been telling us about your races. That Henderson performance was impressive."
Miles relaxed slightly. "Thank you, sir."
"Robert is fine," he said. "Sir makes me feel like my father."
A younger girl bounced into the kitchen, her resemblance to Kayla unmistakable despite being a few years younger. "Is this him? The boyfriend?" She studied Miles with unabashed curiosity. "He's cuter in person than on Instagram."
"Emma!" Kayla hissed, mortification written across her face.
"What? It's a compliment." Emma extended her hand with exaggerated formality. "Emma Fisher, future Olympic hurdler and Kayla's much cooler sister."
Miles shook her hand, fighting a smile. "Nice to meet you, Emma."
"Dinner's almost ready," Denise announced. "Emma, set the table. Kayla, why don't you show Miles around while we finish up?"
Grateful for the reprieve, Miles followed Kayla out of the kitchen.
"Sorry about that," she whispered as they moved into the living room. "They're being so embarrassing."
"They seem nice," Miles said honestly. "Normal."
Kayla gave him a curious look. "What were you expecting? Dragons?"
"Kind of, yeah." Miles smiled sheepishly. "Especially your dad. The way you described him..."
"He's saving the real interrogation for after you've been fed," Kayla said, only half-joking. "Classic trap."
She showed him around the house—the living room with its comfortable couches, the small office where her parents worked, and finally a hallway lined with family photos. Miles paused at one showing a younger Robert Fisher in a Louisiana State University track uniform, crossing a finish line with his arms raised in victory.
"Dad's glory days," Kayla explained. "NCAA championships, 1999. He got third in the 400."
Miles studied the photo with interest. "He was good."
"Very," Kayla agreed. "Still holds me to those standards sometimes."
"Is that why you started running?"
Kayla considered this. "Partly. He introduced me to it, but I stayed because I loved it." She glanced at Miles. "What about you? Before the whole national champion thing, I mean."
Miles tensed slightly. "It's complicated."
"Because of your dad?" Kayla asked quietly.
Miles nodded, surprised by her perception. "How did you know?"
"You never talk about him, but you get this look whenever fathers come up." She touched his arm gently. "You don't have to explain."
Before Miles could respond, Emma called from the dining room. "Food's ready! Stop making out in the hallway!"
Kayla closed her eyes in mortification. "I'm going to kill her later."
Dinner was a lively affair. Denise had prepared lasagna, garlic bread, and a salad that Robert insisted was "mandatory for athletes." The conversation flowed more easily than Miles had expected, with Emma providing most of the entertainment through stories about her middle school track team.
"So Miles," Robert said during a lull in the conversation, "Kayla tells me you're working with Marcus Johnson?"
Miles nodded, swallowing a bite of lasagna. "Just once so far. He's coming back next month for another session."
Robert's eyebrows rose, clearly impressed. "Johnson's one of the best technicians in the sport. What's he had you focusing on?"
"Mostly drive phase mechanics and arm carriage through the curve," Miles replied, relaxing as the conversation turned to technical aspects of sprinting.
"Your arm position coming off the turn at Henderson was textbook," Robert nodded approvingly. "That's where you pulled ahead of King."
"You watched the race?" Miles asked, surprised.
"Of course," Robert said as if it were obvious. "I watch all the local meets. Even before Kayla started talking about this freshman phenom from Westridge."
"Dad," Kayla warned, but her father continued.
"Your start still needs work though," he said thoughtfully. "First fifteen meters, you're giving up ground. It's your finish that's saving you."
Miles nodded, surprised by the accuracy of the assessment. "That's what Coach Dormer says too."
"Dormer knows his stuff," Robert agreed. "I ran against him once in a masters meet a few years back. Tough competitor."
The conversation continued, shifting between track, school, and family stories. Miles found himself genuinely enjoying the dynamic—the good-natured teasing between Kayla and Emma, Denise's warm interjections, and especially Robert's track insights.
As they finished dinner, Robert turned to Miles with a more serious expression. "So, you two are official now? The track world seems to think so."
Miles felt Kayla tense beside him. "Dad," she said in a warning tone.
"What? It's a fair question," Robert replied calmly. "You're both getting a lot of attention. I want to make sure you're handling it well."
Miles took a breath, remembering his mother's advice. "Yes, sir—Robert. We are. It wasn't exactly how we planned to tell people, but..." He glanced at Kayla, drawing confidence from her presence. "I care about Kayla a lot. The attention doesn't change that."
Robert studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good answer." He turned to his daughter. "He's less clueless than I was at his age."
"Low bar, Dad," Kayla replied, but she was smiling.
After dinner, Robert invited Miles to see his home gym in the garage. Kayla shot Miles a look that clearly said "here it comes," but Miles followed, curious despite his nervousness.
The garage had been converted into an impressive training space—weights, a treadmill, and various specialized equipment for sprint training.
"This is where I trained Kayla when she was younger," Robert explained, picking up a resistance band. "Before Coach Torres took over."
Miles nodded, looking around with genuine interest. "It's a great setup."
"Track's been good to our family," Robert said, his tone turning reflective. "Paid for my college, introduced me to Denise—she was a high jumper, did Kayla tell you?"
"No, she didn't."
"Met at a meet in '97." Robert smiled at the memory. "Knew she was special right away."
There was a moment of silence, and Miles sensed the conversation shifting.
"Kayla's mother and I are protective of her," Robert said finally. "She's got big dreams, good schools looking at her already. I don't want anything derailing that."
"I understand," Miles said, meeting his gaze directly. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of that."
"Good." Robert studied him. "Because I see the same drive in you. National champion as a freshman doesn't happen by accident."
Miles nodded, unsure where this was going.
"My father pushed me too hard," Robert continued, surprising Miles with the personal turn. "Made track a job instead of a passion. I swore I wouldn't do that to Kayla." He paused. "Your coach—Dormer. He's good?"
"The best," Miles said without hesitation. "Tough but fair."
Robert nodded thoughtfully. "Good. A young athlete needs that." He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. "Especially when... family support might be complicated."
Miles tensed, wondering how much Kayla had told him.
"I'm not prying," Robert added quickly. "Just saying... mentors matter. Johnson, Dormer—" he hesitated, then added, "me, if you ever have questions. About track or... whatever."
The offer hung in the air, its significance not lost on Miles. This wasn't just Kayla's father being polite; it was one athlete reaching out to another, one father figure recognizing a need.
"Thank you," Miles said, his voice steadier than he expected. "I appreciate that."
Robert nodded once, seeming satisfied. "Now, about your start position. I noticed something at Henderson that might help..."
For the next fifteen minutes, they discussed technical aspects of sprinting, Robert demonstrating positions and Miles absorbing the advice with genuine interest. By the time they returned to the house, something had shifted between them—not friendship exactly, but a mutual respect built on their shared passion for the sport.
Later, as the evening wound down, Kayla walked Miles to the door while her parents tactfully retreated to the kitchen.
"So that wasn't too traumatic, was it?" she asked, her voice low.
"Not at all," Miles replied honestly. "Your family's great. Your dad really knows his stuff."
"Don't tell him that. His ego's big enough already." She smiled, then asked more seriously, "What were you two talking about in the garage? You were gone forever."
"Track stuff, mostly," Miles said, though they both knew it had been more than that.
Kayla studied his face. "He didn't give you the 'hurt my daughter and they'll never find your body' speech, did he?"
"No," Miles laughed. "Nothing like that. He just... offered to help. With track. And stuff."
Kayla's expression softened, understanding what Miles wasn't saying. "That's Dad. Always coaching."
"It's nice," Miles said quietly. "Having someone who knows what they're talking about."
Kayla reached for his hand, interlacing their fingers. "For what it's worth, I think he likes you. The technical advice is basically his seal of approval."
"Good to know," Miles smiled. "I like him too. Your whole family."
"Even Emma?"
"Especially Emma. The TikTok dance demonstration at dessert was... educational."
Kayla groaned. "I'm never going to hear the end of that."
They stood there for a moment, neither wanting the evening to end. Finally, Miles leaned down and kissed her briefly, aware of the possibility of parental surveillance.
"Text me when you get home?" Kayla asked.
"Always."
The walk home felt different than Miles had expected. Instead of relief that an ordeal was over, he felt a strange mix of emotions—appreciation for the Fisher family's warmth, respect for Robert's knowledge, and a quiet ache for what his own family life might have been if his father had stayed.
When he arrived home, his mom was still up, reading on the couch.
"How'd it go?" she asked, setting her book aside.
Miles sat beside her, considering the question. "Good. Really good, actually. Her dad's cool—knows a lot about track. Gave me some tips on my start."
His mom nodded, watching him carefully. "And how are you feeling about that?"
Miles knew what she was really asking. "It was... nice. Different." He paused. "Made me think about Dad a little."
She reached out, squeezing his hand. "That's natural."
"But it wasn't bad," Miles continued, surprising himself with the realization. "Mr. Fisher isn't trying to be my dad. He's just... someone who knows stuff I want to learn."
His mom smiled, pride and something like relief in her expression. "That's a healthy way to look at it."
"He offered to help. With track questions." Miles hesitated. "And other stuff."
"That's generous of him," she said carefully. "How do you feel about that?"
Miles thought about it. "Good, I think. Coach Dormer, Marcus Johnson, now Mr. Fisher... it's like I'm collecting track mentors."
"The village approach," his mom nodded. "It takes many people to raise a champion."
Later, in his room, Miles checked the Velocity System before bed.
SOCIAL INTEGRATION ASSESSMENT: EXCEPTIONAL
MENTOR NETWORK EXPANDED: FISHER, ROBERT - FORMER NCAA 400M SPECIALIST
PSYCHOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENT: SIGNIFICANT PROGRESS IN FATHER-FIGURE RELATIONSHIP PROCESSING
TECHNICAL ACQUISITION: NEW START MECHANICS OBSERVED, INTEGRATION RECOMMENDED
CHAMPIONSHIP SEASON PREPARATION: 63% COMPLETE
Miles set the System aside and texted Kayla.
home safe. thanks for tonight. your family's amazing
Her response came quickly: they think the same about you. especially dad. he's already planning your start technique overhaul 🙄
i'm actually looking forward to it
careful what you wish for. he'll have you doing drills in your sleep
Miles smiled, typing: worth it if it makes me faster
such an athlete response. get some rest, champ
night, kayla
As Miles drifted toward sleep, he found himself thinking not about his absent father, but about the network of support he was building—his mother's unwavering belief, Coach Dormer's demanding excellence, Marcus Johnson's professional guidance, and now Robert Fisher's technical knowledge and paternal wisdom.
For the first time, the gap left by his father's departure didn't feel like an unbridgeable chasm. Instead, it was a space being gradually filled by people who chose to be there, who saw something in Miles worth investing in.
The championship season loomed ahead, bringing new challenges and higher stakes. But tonight, Miles felt more ready than ever to face them—not because he had something to prove to the father who left, but because he had people who stayed, who believed, who supported.
People who were becoming his new normal.
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