26

THE BEST ADVICE

NORA

MY FEET DRAG DOWN the jetway as if I’m not looking forward to seeing my father. I am. I’m just so tired, and everything hurts. My head, my chest… I love Doc. He loves me. And I annihilated him for it.

At that thought, my chest seems to fold in on itself. I stop suddenly, gasp, and grip the gate podium just outside the ramp doors. Whoever was walking behind me bumps into me.

“Excuse me,” the woman says, irritated.

I ignore her, focusing instead on my breath. How does one breathe when they’ve managed to break their own heart?

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

I open my eyes and see a little boy no older than six looking up at me. His mother looks impatient, but surprised at his concern. She may have been the same person who bumped into me—or not. I can’t be sure.

“I’m sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “He thought maybe you were hurt.”

My mouth hangs open, and I feel my heart pound. “I was,” I hear myself say. “I was.” I’m in shock, because I don’t want to believe my own words.

This woman looks a bit disturbed, probably because I sound kind of possessed or maybe like I’m on serious drugs. “Come on, Theo. Daddy’s already out front waiting for us,” she tells her son. “The lady’s okay. See?”

The boy doesn’t budge, letting go of her hand to wrap his arms around my hips in a hug. My hand automatically presses against his back. Warmth bleeds from him to me, and tears form in the corners of my eyes. “Thanks, Theo,” I say quietly. “You should go. I feel so much better now.” It’s not necessarily untrue.

He waves politely at me before taking his mother’s hand and walking off. She looks over her shoulder at me once, and I expect her to scan me for signs of crazy, but she doesn’t. She smiles.

What feels like eons later, take a deep breath and exhale out whatever funk I dragged off the plane with me. I need to spend some time with me da and forget the colossal damage I’ve left back in the good ol’ Golden State. Maybe even find a way to live with that.

Half an hour later, I’m watching the sun set on Queens from the backseat of a cab. Orange blends with the bright red and yellow of taillights and indicators. Part of me warms, and another part snags on the gray of the cement and buildings, as that echoes everything inside of me right now. I cannot get to my dad’s house fast enough.

Once I do, I see his tall, slim frame step out onto the porch, waving an arm as I get out of the cab. I drag my suitcase toward his steps and grin at his goofy smile.

“There’s my Tink,” he says.

Though hearing that name sparks the safety I felt as a little girl, I also hear Doc’s voice echo in my ears. A sharp pain in my rib trips me, but I manage to cover it.

Da slips down the steps and grabs my luggage from me. “I got these.”

I smile. “Hiya, Da,” I say quietly. “I missed ya.” For the first time since I ran, I feel a modicum of comfort. He offers me his cheek, so I kiss it.

“Ah, you’re very good. Glad to have ya.” He ushers me in. “Cuppa tea?”

“Oh, that’d be grand,” I say with a sigh and set down my carry-on next to my suitcase in the hall. I’ll deal with them later. “Can we sit out in the garden?”

“Of course. No standin’ upon ceremony here, Tinker Bell. You know that,” he says happily. “Go get comfortable. I’ll get the tea.”

I do as I’m told, pushing through the sliding door to see the last of the sunset. The warm glow is nearly gone, but the quiet of fading light amidst a cool breeze feels so refreshing. I’m relieved to be here, and to be so far from home. Even at the thought, I know the look of hurt on Doc’s face will forever tarnish my memory of him—no matter how much good he had to give me. I ruined that for both of us.

Collapsing in the first chair I bump in to is everything I want right now. It’s a chair swing with big, fluffy pads, and its movement adds to the gentle wind that spins through the yard. The groan I produce sounds pitiful. Da follows soon after with two of his best teacups—Ireland’s finest china, of course—because guest.

“I thought we didn’t stand upon ceremony?” I tease.

“When my best girl is here, I use my best stuff,” he retorts. “Now drink up, and let it fix yer ails.”

I smile and lift the cup, blowing a little at the steam. A testing sip reveals it to be everything I need.

Like the boyfriend you just threw away.

The errant thought startles me enough that I temporarily lose my grip on the cup, but it doesn’t fall. I do, however, get hot tea all down my arm.

“He wasn’t perfect.” My whisper is wobbly, tears preceding my pathetic declaration. Shakily, I set the cup down on the table in front of us.

Da jumps to life, retrieving some kitchen roll. I can’t hear what he says exactly; I’m too caught up in being angry with myself. Then he starts swatting at the air around us.

“What?” I say, looking up. “What are you doing?”

“I asked if it was a bee!” he almost shouts, but as he’s still swatting and waving his arms about, he looks far too ridiculous to be angry.

I shake my head. “No, no. Just me.”

After we’ve cleaned up my clumsiness and he’s forced a bag of frozen peas on my arm for the burn, he sits down across from me again and sighs heavily.

He knows something’s up.

“I know something’s up,” he says. “You comin’ to visit all last-minute-like is very unusual for you.”

“I can’t want to see me da?” Weak. Weak answer. He will sense this and attack.

“What’s his name?”

Playing stupid never worked with my father, so denial is out. I don’t know what to say without completely breaking down. If I say Doc’s name out loud, I will certainly lose it.

Da leans forward on his knees. “Ya done come in here with a broken heart written all over your face and arms,” he says. “I may not see you much, but I know my Tink.”

A minute smile perks on my face as I hear my nickname again. I very nearly danced professionally—until I met Stephen. Once he had his hooks in me, I let him talk me out of going to my hard-won audition for the American Ballet Company. My stomach drops, and any semblance of a smile fades.

“I’ll wait,” Da says simply, sweet as pie.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It’s over. I just have to move on.”

“Quite the opposite. Love matters the most.”

I take a deep breath, exhale, and let go of the tears I was trying to hold back.

“Declan and I were just fooling around at first,” I say. “Casual, no-strings sex—”

“Jesus wept, girl, I do not need details,” he interrupts. “Just give me the story. You can go to confession t’morrow.”

“Shit. Sorry, Da.” I feel my face flame and blink hard. Who tells their dad something like that? “I just mean, the dating was not serious. I-I didn’t think so, and then…then it was. And I didn’t want it. I didn’t mean to.”

Words become unintelligible as guilt and heartbreak crumble my façade into pieces.

“Ahh, love,” I hear him say as he stands. Next thing I know, his arm is around my shoulders, and he’s sitting next to me on the chair swing. He pushes us back and forth, just a little rocking like you would do to put an infant to sleep. “People say fallin’ in love is a gift. Well, they’re wrong. It’s not a gift.”

“That’s for sure.” I sniffle and wipe my now-snotty nose on my arm. Da makes a sound of disgust and hands me his handkerchief. I thank him. “It’s more like a curse.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he chides me. “I’m sayin’ love is a responsibility, and it’s not for the faint of heart.”

“So, I’m faint of heart?”

“I didn’t say that. It can scare the bejeezus out of the strongest of us.”

“So, what then? It’s an obligation? I should just go along with it whether I like it or not?”

Da sits back roughly and crosses his arms. “Jesus Christ, girl. Of course not! But if you have it, you feel it, you better respect it. You have to allow it to breathe or you’ll asphyxiate it and yerself.”

“I’m tired, Da,” I say, standing. “It was a long flight in a bloody cramped seat, and I’m thinking I might just go to bed.” In truth, I don’t want to hear any more, because I’m not sure I can hurt any worse and not die.

“You’ll sit down here and listen to your old man wax poetic about love lost and shite like that, all right?” He eyeballs me something good for several tense seconds before I decide to sit back down. “There now. If ya fall asleep, I promise I won’t be offended. I’m used to beautiful women not listenin’ to me.”

I laugh as I tuck myself in under his arm, my cheek on his shoulder. My eyes close as he continues. Behind his voice, the city is quiet—Manhattan is far enough from his neighborhood that the only sounds are above-ground subway trains and the distant freeways. Not far enough, however, to see any stars.

“I loved your mum,” he says, and I frown to myself. “I know she wasn’t much of one—a mum, that is—but she wasn’t so bitter when we first met. Maybe your da’s not the most romantic or sensitive kind of guy, but I tried to show I cared. In the end, I wanted a life she didn’t.”

“You wanted a rugby team, and all you got was me,” I mumble, already halfway to dreamland.

He chuckles. “The point I’m making is that I took so long to realize I was trying to make someone love me, I was practically wasting away.”

My eyes pop open, and I sit up straight. “I wasn’t… It was my fault,” I whisper, afraid to say it louder. He says nothing, just waiting. “Oh my God. For all the ways I’ve tried to not be my mother, I am.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“I wasn’t trying to make someone love me, Da,” I said. “I was trying to block myself from loving someone else.”

“Please to be tellin’ me why ya don’t want to love someone? What’s his name, anyway?”

I’m tired. And by now it all weighs on me to the point that I couldn’t even sit up straight if I wanted to. I slump into his side and sigh. “Declan.”

“Irish?”

“Australian, though his mother is originally from Scotland.”

“I guess that’s not too bad, then.” He grunts, then laughs, almost childlike as he nudges me with his elbow. “You know I don’t really care where he’s from, right?”

“I do,” I murmur. The turmoil has dragged me back under, and I struggle under the weight of everything. I lean into Da and sigh. “I just don’t think I can talk any more about it right now.”

“Why don’t you sleep, love? Affairs of the heart take the life out of you three times as fast as anything else.”

It’s the last thing I hear before I wake up in the guest bedroom at sunrise.