by Masen, Kat
There was a feeling in my gut that said move on—he hasn’t called you nor bothered to track you down.
What’s done is done.
Yet, another feeling in my heart says, fix the mess you’ve contributed to. This isn’t his fault. Oliver gave me the ultimatum, told me he loved me, and I chose to walk away out of fear.
My courage begins to build with every step I take closer to his apartment. Perhaps, it’s wrong of me to ask Chance to somehow gain me access to Oliver’s apartment, while the concierge refused my entry. But he happily did so, not exactly sure how, and now I am standing in the foyer, knocking on the door, but I am met with dead silence.
Then I hear the ping of the elevator and feminine laughter behind the doors. The second they open, there he stands, as handsome as I remember him, dressed in a formal blue tuxedo.
A woman is draped over his arm. Her posture’s loose, and she’s someone intoxicated.
The shock paralyzes his face rendering him speechless. A stupid part of me was expecting his welcoming smile, but nothing comes. Instead, his mouth remains an uncharacteristic grim line amid his barely-there stubble. Almost robotically his hand rises upward toward the door handle, ignoring the blonde’s babble as he fumbles for his keys.
He’s being anything but inviting.
Callous words, refuting my need to apologize follow.
He’s every bit the arrogant Aussie I remember him to be, and somewhere during his need to fight me, I crumble.
I wanted to remind him how we shared our vulnerabilities more readily than trading cards, experienced a new world away from home in which we both found love. I desperately wanted to tell him how I visited our pier on my morning runs, listen to songs which remind me of him, and how I would sleep on his side of the bed with the same pillow he slept on in my arms.
But most importantly, I wanted to tell him I still loved him.
That feeling, despite time lapsing, has never faded away.
But I did none of that.
I walked away because he has moved on.
The nausea swirled like a vicious tornado inside my empty stomach. My head swam with half-formed regrets.
I shouldn’t have walked away.
If only I went with him to his appointment.
If only I had half the strength I have now, could I have said I love you when it was right for me to admit that to him.
My heart’s torn into pieces, already fragile from the broken state my mistakes have left it in. My melancholy mood and nerves over meeting Miles tomorrow hangs over me like a black storm cloud, raining my personal sorrow down on me in bucket loads.
Seeing Oliver has fueled the flame burning out of control.
There’s no way to extinguish a flame of that magnitude. So instead, I cry myself to sleep, a mixture of releasing emotions and my utter exhaustion. The weight of the world is resting heavily on my weakened shoulders.
Tomorrow will be a new day.
I will finally meet the man who should have been my father from the moment I was born.
The man who stole my mother’s heart, just like Oliver had stolen mine.
Gabriella
I find myself in a state of panic all day long.
Miles agreed to meet me in the lobby of the hotel.
The day I’ve been anxiously waiting for is here. Everything hinges on this moment, and once done, it can never be undone.
I changed my outfit three times and barely ate any food but rather survived on caffeine. Australian coffee had a nice taste unlike the stuff back home. It’s much stronger which probably explains my jittery hand and inability to slow down my heart rate.
Butterflies swarm in my stomach, my head buzzing with possibilities.
What if he doesn’t like me?
What if he tells me to stay out of his life?
I’m not sure if I have the strength within me to face rejection from someone who is supposedly my family.
Inside the lobby, I nervously check my surroundings. I’ve seen pictures of him on social media, so I know what he looks like.
A tall man, exactly like the photographs, walks toward me with a welcoming smile. Unknowingly, the breath I’d been holding releases at a steady pace.
Trust your gut.
Everything will be okay.
Upon seeing him for the first time, I examined all his features, stunned by our resemblances—the shape of his eyes, the bridge of his nose, even the arch of his brows.
“You must be Gabriella.” His smile captures his sentiments, and just like me, I watch him examine my features with a nostalgic expression. “You’re beautiful. Just like your mother.”
“And you must be Miles…” I pause, unsure of what to call him. “Or should I be calling your Mr. Kelly?”
“Miles is just fine.”
Standing here in the lobby proves awkward, so Miles suggests a quaint restaurant a block down.
We commence our walk past the other establishments and a load of Japanese tourists exiting a large coach. Miles tells me about his exchange-student program in high school which led to a year in Japan. To this day, he’s still fluent in Japanese.
“Japan, wow. So how did swimming come into play?”
We take a seat inside the restaurant by the large bay window. It’s not as busy or rowdy as the hotels we walked past, yet a perfect place to eat and talk without shouting through loud noises.
“I was a strong swimmer growing up, and my height proved an advantage. I tried out for the state championship, won first place, and a retired Olympic coach recruited and introduced me to all the right people. The rest is… well, a long story.” He laughs, grabbing the menu and quickly scanning it before placing it down again.
My father was an athlete.
I can’t help but be proud.
“I… I just want you to know that meeting you means a lot to me.” I stumble on my words, riddled by my emotions. In front of me sits my biological father, a man whose blood runs through my veins. He’s nothing like Edward Carmichael, they couldn’t be more worlds apart.
A waitress arrives at our table. Miles orders the chicken parmigiana while I choose the barramundi and salad. We both settle for a glass of chardonnay which is served moments later.
“I’ll admit I knew of your existence. But I was young at the time, and your father was… he made sure I was not to see Melinda ever again.”
“He’s n-not my father,” I stammer.
“Gabriella… I’m sorry. I should have fought to be in your life, but I had commitments back home. A family who needed me.”
“You were married?”
“At the time, no. My parents had a business here, and my grandparents were elderly. We had a lot of health complications in the family, then my career kind of whisked me away again.”
I have so many questions I want to ask him, my curiosity overwhelming me. The last thing I want to do is push him away, though.
Calm down. There will be a time and place for everything.
“Did you ever marry? I mean… after my mother?”
The corner of his eyes crinkled—his hazel eyes are the same shade as mine.
“I did, about five years later. Her name was Marjorie. We had twin boys, they’re eighteen now.”
“I have brothers?” I ask, shocked at the revelation. “Twins… wow.”
He nods, removing his phone from his pocket. After swiping through, he turns his phone around and shows me a photograph. They’re identical—tall, dark blond hair with athletic builds. They are handsome, indeed.
“I’m… I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m glad we’ve met Gabriella.”
“Does your wife Marjorie know about me?”
“She’s no longer my wife. We divorced a few years ago, but she is a close friend, and yes, she does know. I’d love for you to meet her one day. I know she’d love to meet you.”
My heart almost bursts at the seams. Hope beads on m
y skin like dew on spring grass.
He wants to see me again.
Introduce me to his family.
This journey has been a long time coming, but at this moment, I have no regrets.
I’m quick to remember he’s just mentioned the dreaded D-word.
“Divorced? I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be…” he lingers on his words, before continuing, “To burn with desire and live a life with someone else is the greatest punishment we can place upon ourselves.”
How true his words ring for me. I sense the pain which still lingers. I will never understand—he loved a woman who easily allowed a man to treat me like an outcast. I’ve witnessed only one side of Melinda Carmichael, and it’s far from beautiful.
But the heart wants what it wants.
“My mother is… she’s not the nicest of people.”
“I’m sorry to hear you feel that way. My memories of her are fond, but it was never meant to be.”
“Have you ever tried to contact her?”
Miles shakes his head. “Edward made it very clear I was never to contact her, and if he found out, my life might as well be over. Like I said, I was young and arrogant. If it didn’t happen, it didn’t happen. I wasn’t going to compete with a man who could crush everything I’d worked so hard for.”
“Do you still love her?” I ask, but it’s faint.
Miles glances toward the glass of chardonnay, skimming his fingers along the rim of the glass.
“Some things you can’t change no matter how hard you try.”
The waitress serves our food which warrants a change of topic.
We spoke for hours. He asked me questions about my life, my work, and friends back home. I learned so much about him and my brothers, still shocked I have an Australian father.
We laughed, having a similar sense of humor which made it easy to converse. Spending time with him is effortless. I could have listened for several more hours if it weren’t for the restaurant staff sweeping the floors around us, warning it was almost closing time.
“This isn’t goodbye, Gabriella,” he tells me outside on the pavement. “I’m glad you have found me. I really hope we can be a part of each other’s lives.”
I throw my arms around his waist, pulling him in for a tight hug. His arms feel like shields of love—his protection and warmth filling the void which has consumed me my entire life.
I don’t want to let go, the tears shimmering in my eyes at the thought of never seeing him again.
Miles buries my head in his chest, stroking my hair as he plants a kiss on the top of my forehead.
“Hey,” he whispers. “It’ll be all right. We’re family now. You’re not alone.”
The heavy sobs gurgle up in my throat, the typhoon of emotions bearing down in this one embrace. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything, Gabriella.”
I pull myself away, creating a distance as I look into his eyes. “Can I call you Dad?”
His beaming smile is enough to wash away any doubts I had about meeting him.
“It would be my honor.”
We say our goodbyes, agreeing to meet for breakfast the morning before I leave for the States.
Back at the hotel, I knock on Aubrey and Chance’s door.
Chance is still out with some friends while CJ’s sleeping peacefully in the middle of their king-size bed.
“So, it went well?” Aubrey yawned, sitting at the edge of the bed with her legs crossed beneath her.
“He was everything I could have asked the universe for in a father,” I whisper, contently.
Aubrey leans her head on my shoulder. “I told you it would work out. How can anyone not love you?”
I linger beside her until my eyes weigh heavy with exhaustion. “I’m going to go to bed. Tomorrow night for dinner?”
“Yes, it’s fancy. Some restaurant which revolves around a tower. Chance booked our table, so we’ll meet in the lobby at six.”
“It’s a date.”
For the first time in a long time, I wake up in a delightful mood. It’s almost as if a piece of me has returned, and boy have I missed her.
The tension of meeting Miles has disappeared. I am optimistic things will be great between us and look forward to meeting my new family.
The bed in the hotel feels like a giant cloud, so soft and inviting making my sleep completely dreamless, giving me the much-needed rest my body craved.
After a healthy breakfast, I shower and change into a navy dress I bought at Venice Beach. It’s kind of quirky, nothing like the stiff wardrobe my mother used to make me wear. The dress has a lapel neck with the hem sitting mid-thigh. Around my waist sits a thin camel-colored woven belt. But that isn’t the best part—it has cats all over it—small white cats. I love it so much I bought the same dress with pineapples.
The weather forecasts for some mild rain, so I decide to wear my white sandshoes and tie my hair back into a ponytail.
Chance and Aubrey are visiting Chance’s family out in the suburbs, so I decide to take in more sightseeing. Now I know my father is Australian, I want to learn and see more of this beautiful country.
With my map in hand, I make my way to the concierge.
“Hi, I was just wondering the best way to get to Taronga Zoo.”
“Sure.” Byron, as his name tag says, draws on my map. He’s rather good looking—very Chris Hemsworth with his sandy blond hair and deep voice. “The quickest way would be to walk down to Circular Quay, then catch a ferry over, unless, of course, you fancy a bus ride.”
“A ferry will be nice.”
Byron suggests some attractions at the zoo which are a must-see. I take it all in, noting his warning to start at the top of the zoo and make my way down because the hill is a killer walk.
“So, meeting someone there?”
“No.” I smile, politely. “Just me.”
“How long are you here for?”
“We leave on Monday.”
“We?”
“My friends and I. I just want to get in as much as possible while they attend to other commitments.”
Byron’s a wealth of knowledge. We talked for a while about places to see in Sydney. He told me some anecdotes, all of which I welcome with a laugh. Somewhere during his story about handling a snake at the Australia Zoo, Steve Irwin style, Chance is standing beside me in the lobby.
“Hey, Gabbo.” He pulls up beside me, bumping my shoulder on purpose.
Where this new nickname has come from is beyond me.
“Listen, I want to talk to you…”
The second he says it, Oliver walks through the main door. My breathing becomes hitched as our eyes meet carelessly.
Why does he have to be so unbelievably sexy?
I hate that he still has a firm hold over me like a spell unable to be reversed no matter how hard I try.
He’s dressed casually, yet even in his chino shorts and plain white tee, the man manages to make me weak in the knees. Oliver has always been fit, but his body looks even more defined than I remember it being.
I notice the black Mercedes parked by the concierge and bow my head, keen to avoid an argument with Oliver in public.
“I was just heading out.” I clear my throat. “Byron was giving me the directions to Taronga Zoo, so off to hug it out with some koalas.”
“Byron…” Chance says confused until it registers. “Oh, this bloke.”
“Listen, I should go.”
Accidentally, my glance shifts toward Oliver, again. Beneath his baseball cap, his eyes drill into me, but his words are non-existent.
If he wants to play the game of being an asshole, I won’t entertain his childish behavior. I’ve gotten sleep, finally easing the tension of meeting my father, and with a small amount of confidence finding its way back to me, I’m nothing like I was the night I crashed his apartment. Sad and pathetic would be a great way to describe my behavior.
With the map nestled in my purse, I say goodbye to Chance, thank Byron for his help, then walk past Oliver with my shoulders straight, ignoring his stiffened posture as we pass each other.
The second the automatic doors close behind me, I let out the deep breath I’d been holding in and scurry toward the ferry before it leaves.
The ferry ride over to the zoo is nothing short of breathtaking. We passed the Sydney Harbour Bridge on the left, sailed past the Opera House on the right, then battled the choppy sea straight to the zoo.
Taronga Zoo is nothing like the other zoos I have visited. There are so many habitats to explore and interactive experiences. I cuddle my first koala—a once-in-a-lifetime moment as the cuddly little bear latches onto me as if its life depends on it.
I visit the giraffes and even watch the chimpanzees play with each other in their captivity. And the thing which surprises me the most, I venture into the snake cave. Snakes petrify me. It’s almost pitch black in the cave, and my heart is racing a million miles a minute, but I’m determined to see every snake and read about their habitats which are described on small Perspex display boards.
As I stare at the python watching it hiss, the space beside me becomes increasingly warm. Careful not to move, I calculate the likeliness of a snake escaping. I have no idea what to do in case of a snake attack. On the plane ride over here, Chance told me Australia’s the deadliest country in the world with snakes, spiders, and several creepy-crawly things which could kill you in zero-point-five seconds.
“Why are you here?”
My mouth falls open, my hand flying toward my chest in shock. The voice startled me more than the thought of any snake. I can barely see him amongst the dark shadows, but even in this humidity, I can smell his cologne. It’s just as I remember it— a manly scent mixed with rainforest and a fresh summer’s breeze.
“Why are you here?” I ask, catching my breath.
“Will you answer me?”
“Oh, so now you want to talk?” I note with dark amusement, crossing my arms beneath my breasts. “How very convenient of you.”
