Nola

I spent the night and most of the day just staring blankly at nothing. I couldn't sleep, continuously checking my phone, wishing for Ash to message me.

He never did.

Work was a blur. I couldn't even tell you what I signed or the decisions I made for any of the issues we were working on.

Opening the door, I was hit with the smooth sound of old school jazz. Ella Fitzgerald's voice crackled through the speakers, bringing me back to my childhood.

“Hey, Sweetie, you're early.” My father strolled through the foyer, whiskey in hand, his head gently swaying to the beat. Resting the glass on the floating shelf by the door, he swooped his arm around my waist, taking my hand and holding it up. “You remember this song at all?”

“Of course I do, it was Mom's favorite.” Dancing with my father, he pushed me away, spinning me in a circle and pulling me back to his chest.

“That's right,” he said with a soft smile and twinkle in his eye. “Do you know why this was her favorite?” His feet led us deeper into the center of the room, placing us directly in the middle of the flower design on the marble tiles.

“Nope, neither one of you would tell me the whole story.”

“Well. . .” dipping me down fast, he lifted me back up with a thin smile on his face. “Today seems like a good day for that.”

My father let the song play out, his gaze set far, as if he was looking at a movie screen. He looked so much older than he was. Deep lines stained his forehead from years of stress and long hours. The toll his body took was more than visible.

His voice was no longer as hard, it was soft and understanding. His words held wisdom and advice, unlike the man I had followed and looked up to in the office I was the ruler of now.

I always thought it was strange as a little girl. My father was two different people. There was the man who held the weight of the world on his shoulders, the cold, harsh handed man who never cracked a smile or a laugh in front of his employees.

And then there was my father. That person was just a man, he was tender and kind, he spoke to you like you were his equal, he listened as if your voice really mattered.

It was hard sometimes to know which one I was talking to and I think there were times he couldn't decide who he wanted to be.

After Mom passed, he only became my father, that was the only man I ever saw anymore. The magazine had become too much for him to juggle, so he finally handed it to me.

As the music fizzled and the next song replaced it, he released me from his arms and picked up his drink. Stuffing his hand into his pocket, he took a long sip, letting his eyes settle on mine. “The first time I met your mother, I was sitting at a bar in Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania. I was having a drink with a few other guys I had met along the way.” Waving his drink in the air, he said, “That's how it was back then, strangers didn't stay strangers.”

Turning on his feet, he started to walk away, so I quickly followed. I had waited years for this story. My parents had given me little bits of it over time, but they always left me hanging, never giving me all the details.

Glancing at me over his shoulder, he smirked. “Your mother used to tell me that she knew she loved me the second she laid eyes on me, but. . .”

The silence hung in the air like a heavy cloud, making me even more curious. “But what?” Walking closely beside him, we stepped into the kitchen. “You can't just stop like that, keep going.”

“But, she had it backwards. I loved her first, because I saw her first.” His lids hooded as he pointed a stern finger at the ceiling.

“Yeah right, that's not even possible.”

Nodding his head, he sucked droplets of alcohol out of his mustache. “It certainly is possible.”

“Love at first sight doesn't exist, Dad, it's a cliché, like every cloud has a silver lining or opposites attract. You can't love someone you don't know.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, winking at me. “Because it's true, I loved your mother the second I saw her.”

My muscles shivered as he said it with such conviction, and I knew he truly believed that my mother was the love of his life with just one look.

Could he be right?

Ash's face popped into my head, sending those damn butterflies back into a frenzy. My body grew warm, tingling from head to toe.

No, no it doesn't work that way.

Shaking the thought from my mind, I asked, “So what's with the song? Why was it her favorite?”

Standing at the stove, my father stirred a steaming pot of sauce, lifting the spoon to his lips and tasting it. “That's good,” he said, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Want to try it?”

“Dad, come on, you're killing me here. Why was it her favorite?” My voice was drawn out and exaggerated, making me sound like I was ten years old again.

Chuckling, he placed the spoon down and grabbed the box of pasta on the counter and poured it into the boiling pot. “Your mother was standing against the wall in the back of the bar, laughing and giggling with some guy. I think they were on a date, she never said I was right about that, but she didn't deny it either.” Pointing the spoon at me for a second, he dropped it into the pot and stirred the pasta.

Pulling out the seat at the island, I slipped inside and rested my head in my hands. “So if she was on a date, how the hell did you two end up together that night?”

Turning around, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “I did something a little bold, maybe even rude if you asked the other guy.”

“What was it?” My voice was eager, ready to finally know the truth about how my parents came to be.

My mother brought out the best in my dad and he brought out her spark. They were oil and water combined for the first time in history, blending together perfectly.

They had a love most would envy. Deep down I wanted that too, I wanted someone to love every piece of me. I wanted someone to wake up to in the morning and to hold me at night as my eyes closed.

Ash's smile exploded behind my eyes, bright and filling. The quick burst sent my heart into a tailspin, making it pump harder and faster.

Love at first sight isn't real, it's a made up phrase that married couples use to express themselves.

“You alright?” my father asked, eyeing me. “It looks like you just left me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Keep going, I'm listening.”

“I couldn't take my eyes off her, your mother was a light in a somber world. Her smile, her eyes, the way she would look up at the ceiling when she was laughing; I was hooked the second I saw her.” Taking a step forward, he pulled a bottle of wine out from under the island and grabbed a glass out of the rack. Filling it half way, he slid it over to me, and laid his elbows on the granite, cupping his hands together. “Embrace Me came on the jukebox, and one of the guys I was sitting with made a comment about how I'd never get a girl like that.” Letting his head fall forward, my father started laughing. “So, I bet him.”

“You bet him?”

Nodding, he took a drink of his whiskey. “I did.” His eyes peered into his glass, and I could tell he was reliving that night in his mind.

“What was the bet?”

Chuckling, my father scrubbed his jaw. “I bet him twenty bucks and the watch on his wrist.” Tapping the top of the watch on his arm, his smile grew wide.

“Are you kidding me? You won that watch from a bet involving my mother?”

“Yup, it was the easiest bet I ever made. I walked right up to your mother, ignoring the guy at her side, and took her hand.”

“Just like that? You didn't say anything?”

Thinning his lips, his jaw jetted out to the side. The crinkles by his eyes deepened as his smile reached his ears. “I didn't say a word. I just took her hand, pulled her into my chest, and started dancing with her.”

“That's it? You met mom on a bet and danced with her to that song?” Angling my eyes, my head tilted. “So why did it take you so many years to actually tell that story?”

“Because after the song was over, the guy she was with tried to act all tough and threatened to kick my ass.” Shrugging his shoulders, he wriggled his brows. “So, I socked him in the face, broke his nose, gave him two black eyes, and had to plead guilty to an assault charge.”

Choking on my drink, my eyes shot open as I swallowed hard. “What? You got arrested?”

“That's right, spent the night in jail too.”

“My father has a record. . .” Letting my voice fade, I giggled. “I can't believe you guys never told me that before.”

“That was your mother who wanted to leave that part out, she thought it would be a bad example for your brother.” Tasting the sauce again, he asked, “You sure you don't want to try this? It's incredible.”

Shaking my head no, I kept my eyes on my glass. “How is Finley anyway?”

“He's good, he's in Paris right now, studying foreign policies or something. You haven't talked to him?”

“Not recently, the magazine has had me swamped.”

“I told you to let others take over some stuff, you don't have to do it all, Nola.” His back was facing me as he cooked dinner. I could hear it in his voice, the sound of frustration.

“I know, it's just hard, you understand that.”

Glancing at me over his shoulder, his brows dipped. “And that's why I told you not to burn yourself out. I missed out on a lot of stuff because of that magazine.”

“But you wanted it.”

“No,” he corrected me, turning around to face me. “You want it, I just wanted to give you something you could be proud of. But I went too far, letting it consume me for all those years. I never wanted that for you or your brother, I wanted to create something that would last and give you two the chance to live lives others only dream of. Your brother is doing that, he's studying abroad, he's experiencing life. But you're trying to run something that can run itself if you let it. You can live your own life too, Nola.”

“I am.” My defensiveness kicked in, forcing me to cross my arms over my chest and sit up straight. “And I don't need to leave the country to be living. Everything is good right now, it's perfect.”

It was hard for me to ask for help. It was even harder for me to tell him that I had fucked up.

Laughing out loud, he titled his head. “You're lying to me.”

“I'm not lying, it's true. Things are just fine.”

“Nola, I know you. And you've always had this little screech in your voice when you're lying or trying to hide something.”

“I didn't screech.” Shifting in the chair, I snatched the glass off the counter and took a heavy sip.

“You screeched, which means there's more to your little story there.” Spinning his spoon in my direction, he gave me a stern look. “What's wrong?”

Thumbing the stem of the glass, I let my head fall into my shoulder. “It's nothing I can't handle.”

“Is it Clint again? I know you were really upset when he dumped you.”

“I wasn't upset, I was just pissed at how he did it.”

“His father told me you two were trying to work it out, he said Clint thinks you're being difficult.”

“Clint doesn't have a damn clue, he has no idea what I want.” Closing my eyes, I let my head fall forward. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, you can ask me anything.”

“What did you feel when you saw mom? I know you said you knew you loved her the first time you saw her, but what did it feel like?”

“Well, I guess I'd say I felt warm.” Letting out a deep breath, he scrunched his eyes. “Do you remember what if felt like when you were little and would come inside after being out in the cold, and your mother would make you a cup of hot cocoa?” Nodding my head in agreement, he said, “It kind of felt like that, only it wasn't just in my stomach, I could feel it all over my body, everywhere.”

Is that what I'm feeling? Is that what I feel with Ash?

My father peered at me, his eyes observing my face. “What's bothering you kiddo?”

Pulling my eyes away, I looked up at the ceiling. “There's something I want to tell you, but I don't know how.”

“Just say it.” His voice didn't hold any concern or worry.

“I can't, I want to, but I'm afraid. It's bad, and I don't know what to do about it.”

“Honey, get it off your chest. That's why I'm here, just tell me.” His hands grasped the counter, face soft and ready to hear me out.

Opening my mouth to speak, the doorbell fired off, ringing out with the sound of wind chimes.

Ding Dong

My father's head jerked towards the front entrance and he held up his hand. “Hold that thought, watch the sauce for me.” Wiping his hands on a towel, he dropped it on the counter and left the room.

Standing at the stove, I stirred the sauce and pasta. I could smell my mother's recipe, the sweet tang of tomatoes and spices wafted out of the steam, filling the air. Memories of being a little girl popped into my head.

Every Wednesday night my mother would make pasta and her famous sauce. I'd stand at her side on this little wooden step stool, handing her whatever it was she needed. She would whisper the ingredients, telling me that my father could never know what she put in it.

It was our secret, a secret she had learned from her mother and was passing down to me. After she died, I couldn't bring myself to recreate her dish, but my father wanted the tradition to live on.

He spent countless hours adjusting the spices, adding more or less, letting it simmer for longer on different heat levels. He never asked me to tell him the recipe, he wanted to do it on his own.

Inhaling a deep breath, I smiled to myself. I think he finally got it right.

Deep laughter echoed in the entryway as my father and another man were talking. I could hear them going back and forth, their voices mixing with the music overhead.

Ignoring the sudden guest, I let my thoughts drift between Ash and my position at the magazine. I thought about how wrong it felt to give in to Clint and how much I just wanted to tell Ash the truth.

He deserved an answer, he deserved more than what I gave him. We barely knew each other and yet I felt like I owed him more than I owed the company or myself.

What the hell does that mean?

It's not love, it can't be love.

Can it?

The feeling my father expressed was a match to what I felt the first time I saw Ash. When he stood next to me at the bar and made that cheesy attempt to pick me up, my heart fluttered and my lungs stilled.

The sad thing was it worked.

In my heart I've been his ever since.

Keeping my back to the doorway, I stared blankly into the pots, watching them bubble.

“Nola, you didn't tell me I was cooking for three.”

“What?” I asked, confused as my father's voice pulled me from my thoughts. Ticking my head in his direction, my heart stopped inside my chest.

“Hey Babe, isn't this a sight for sore eyes. I never thought I'd see you standing at a stove cooking. And it smells good, that's a bonus. ” Clint peered at me as he stood next to my father, his eyes twinkling in that devilish glow. “I'm starving.”

Squeezing his shoulder, my father looked between us. “Well, we have plenty, so you won't leave hungry.” Slapping his back, my father walked to my side and took the spoon.

I stood silent, shocked that he had the balls to show up there after everything he had threatened me with.

“Why are you here?” My jaw hung open, gaping wide in disbelief. “You're not supposed to be here.”

Holding out his arms, Clint smiled. “I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

“You need to leave,” I barked, stalking forward and latching onto his wrist. “Go, get the hell out.” Attempting to drag him back to the front door, Clint dug his heels into the floor.

“Whoa, I just got here. I told you yesterday I'd be here for dinner, did you forget?”

“I didn't forget, I just didn't think you'd actually come. After everythin—”

“Shh,” he said, pressing his finger to his lips. “Forget all that, let's just enjoy a nice meal together. Your father went through a lot of trouble to cook this, I know it wasn't all you, it would be rude if we left now.”

“No,” Throwing a hand to my chest, I said, “I'm not leaving, you're leaving.” Pointing a finger at him, I jerked my arm in the direction of the entrance. “Get the hell out of here, NOW!”

“Nola, Sweetheart, calm down.” My father stepped between us, grasping my shoulders and looking me in the eyes. “It's okay, this isn't a problem. It's alright if Clint stays for dinner, it's okay that you didn't think he was coming, we have plenty.”

Clenching my jaw, I growled. “It's not okay, he needs to leave. I don't want him here, I don't want him anywhere near here or me or any place I might be.” Glaring at Clint over my father's shoulder, I felt my father rub the outside of my arms.

He was trying to calm me down, using what he knew to soothe me. He used to do that when I was little, he'd rub my arms and pull me in for a hug if I was sad or angry, and it always worked.

But not then, it didn't do a thing to make the steam settle or my nerves stop from firing off like bombs in my brain.

“Babe, listen to your father. You don't want this to get out of hand, there's no need for it. What's in the past is in the past, we're working it out, we're going to be fine.”

“Get the fuck out!” I screamed, lifting on the the tips of my toes and pushing my face over my father's shoulder. “Get out of here! You're not welcome here!”

I was ready to tear through my father and smack him in that rotten face of his. Every nerve in my body was exploding, every muscle was tensed and strained, begging to lash out.

“Nola—”

Cutting off my father, I pleaded for him to hear the desperation in my voice. “Please, Dad, make him leave. I don't want him here, I can't have him here. If you knew—”

“You don't want to do this, Nola,” Clint butted in before I could finish. “Think about what you're doing, think about it long and hard.”

Flaring my nostrils, my words cut through the air. “I have thought about it, now get the fuck out.”

Taking in a deep breath, my father wrapped his arm around my neck and pulled me into his ribs. “Clint, you need to go. My daughter is obviously upset, so I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay.”

“Rolland, this isn't what she wants, she's just confused.”

“It sounds to me like she knows exactly what she wants and what she doesn't want. Go Clint, don't make me ask you again.”

Huffing under his breath, Clint lowered his head and stomped his way by us. Through slit lids he glowered, giving me a look of death.

Stopping, he dragged his hand across his chin and said, “You're going to regret this, Nola, just you watch.”

“Get the hell out of my house, Clint.” Pushing me behind his back, my father took a step forward.

Clint didn't protest, he simply walked away, slamming the door as he left.

That was it, I couldn't take any more of that man. Breaking into tears, I fell back against the island and sobbed. My muscles were shaking violently as I clutched the edge, doing my best to stay on my feet.

“Nola, what's wrong? What the hell is going on?” My father moved quickly to my side, taking my arm and helping me into the stool. “Tell me what that was all about.”

“I can't,” I said, shaking my head. “I want to, but I can't tell you.”

“Honey, just tell me.”

“I can't, Dad.” Speaking as clearly as I could, I sniffled and wiped my cheeks. “You'd be so disappointed in me. We could lose everything you worked so hard to build.”

“Nothing could destroy what we built, nothing.” Running his hand down over my hair, he kissed my forehead. “And I just told you how I got arrested. You could never disappoint me, Nola, not ever.” Lifting my face up with a single finger, my father's eyes searched mine. “What have I always told you?”

“It doesn't matter how many times you fall, you get your ass up and keep going.”

“Exactly, so get your ass up and fix whatever it is you need to fix. And if you need my help, I'm here, just like I've always been.”

Everyone who knew my father in the magazine world, thought of him as a callous old asshole. But that was so far from the truth.

My father was the most loving man in the world. Everything he had done was always for his family. That was how he worked. No matter how lost he thought he got along the way, his intentions and heart were in the right place.

And as I sat there, looking into the eyes of the man who had moved mountains to make his name, I knew he was right.

I could fix this.

Even if that meant jumping off a bridge and starting over.

I wasn't going to let Clint walk all over me, holding this damn video over my head like a halo of fire.

I know what I need to do.