I toss her a fortune cookie and we open them together. I’m hoping mine will bring me hope of what good is to come.
Courage is not the absence of fear; it is the conquest of it.
Damn my admission of desire to be fearless. I feel like the world is mocking me for it.
“What’s yours say?”
“Do not mistake temptation for opportunity. What the hell does that even mean? Is my fortune cookie slut shaming me?”
I laugh because it does sound like it.
“I guess we’ll find out on New Year’s.”
Twenty-Five
Olivia
I figured today was as good as any other day to meet with my father. Seeing as it’s New Year’s Eve and I’ll be getting rip-roaring drunk tonight, I might as well spend the day uncovering hard to swallow information.
At least, that’s what I assume is coming based on our first meeting.
I’m sitting in the restaurant waiting for him to show up. I grabbed an indoor seat looking over the Cape Fear River. My nerves kick in as another five minutes pass, but then I see him. A broad smile pulls at his haggard face.
Dark circles are a stain under his eyes. His sweater hangs loose on his frame and he’s slow moving toward the table. The sickness in my gut amplifies as I take him in, realizing with certainty why he wanted to meet me now.
“Hi.” I still feel weird calling him Dad, so I don’t call him anything yet.
“Sorry I’m late.” The chair scrapes against the hardwood floors as he pulls it out and pulls it back under him.
“Don’t worry about it.” Concern and pity take root in my veins, crashing through me like white water rapids. I’m sure the emotions are written all over my face and he nods solemnly once he meets my gaze.
“I can tell you’ve figured it out.”
The waitress comes by and takes our drink order and once she returns with our waters, we dive into the hard conversation.
“I don’t know if I should start at the beginning or the end.” He takes a sip of his water. His palms appear extra red in the light of the restaurant. “I have cirrhosis of the liver from years of abuse. Alcohol, drugs, you name it. That’s why your mom…that’s why I left. I was in no shape to be a parent.”
“Why didn’t she tell me about you?” I ask. I can’t comprehend why she wouldn’t tell me the truth.
“She didn’t think it was her story to tell. When she wrote me the letter, she begged me to make things right with you. She wanted me to meet you and to explain.” The waitress interrupts to take our order and we both barely mumble a response. “I chose my addiction over you. I’m not proud of it and now I’m paying for it.”
“How long do you have?” My swallow is thick and my hands are shaky.
“When your mom died, I knew I had to find you. I had to explain. But a part of me always wanted to make amends to her…so that time was rough for me. I’m not proud of it. Then…a year passed. I had your information but I had yet to do anything with it. That year the doctors diagnosed me. They thought I might have two years at the time.”
“And if I’m doing the math right, that was two years ago. Why wait until you’re dying to find me? Why find me at all?” I’m angry. A large part of me wishes he would’ve stayed away. What will happen now? I’ll create a relationship with him and get attached and only have maybe a few months with him? How fucked up is that?
“I thought about staying away. But I realized I couldn’t live with myself if I died without ever knowing you.”
“Good thing you’re dying then.” My callous attitude is harsh and will get us nowhere, but I can’t control the burning rage scorching me from the inside out. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
“I get it, Olivia. It’s okay. I’m a fuck up. I’m not a dad and I’m not pretending to be. I needed to explain before it was too late. I’m selfish, as selfish as they come. All of my choices have been about me and this one is no different. If you never want to see me again, I’d understand.”
I take a long swig of my water and let the words ruminate in my head. In the meantime, our food arrives and I’ve all but lost my appetite at this point.
My father takes a bite of food as he watches me. I wait and wait, but no appropriate words pop into my head. I don’t know what to say to my estranged, addict, dying father. It’s a fucked up situation at best.
I think of what I told McKenna the night I told her he showed up unannounced—how I would regret not getting to know him.
Wouldn’t I regret it more now, knowing he’s dying? Do I want to waste any more time? What kind of person would I be if I turned him away right now?
“Can we take things slow? I mean, I know that’s not ideal, considering… I want to get to know you, but I can’t just jump into this and start calling you Dad or whatever.”
“I understand.” His smile is genuine and his eyes crinkle with the effort.
We talk for the rest of the afternoon. He asks about my job and my friends and if I have a boyfriend. That’s a complicated answer I wasn’t ready to dive into, so I promptly told him ‘no’ and changed the subject.
“Do I…do I have any siblings?” My face heats and I take a bite of food to give myself something to do.
“No. I never got married or had any more kids. Your mom and I were college sweethearts, did she tell you that? It’s how we met.” I shake my head. She never told me anything about him.
My father goes on to tell me this epic, romantic tale of how they met. They crossed paths in the courtyard one day and every day after that he waited in the same spot with a flower until she agreed to go on a date with him.
Unfortunately, the romance didn’t last.
He didn’t have the best friends. In college it’s standard to drink almost every day and experiment with drugs. But the experimenting continued after graduation and the drinking got heavier. Sometimes he wouldn’t come home at night or contact her at all.
Even after my mom found out she was pregnant, he didn’t stop. She waited until I was born, hoping meeting me would change him, but it didn’t. That’s when she pushed him away and told him to come back when he got his act together, when he could be a father.
But he never came back.
I’m shocked by his honesty and I appreciate that he isn’t glossing over the ugly details. It’s hard to hear, but I’m happy to finally learn the truth.
When we finish our meals, we stay a little longer, talking and catching up on a lifetime of lost moments.
“What are your plans for tonight?” he asks.
“My roommate is dragging me out to a bar.” I grimace because the topic of drinking is understandably uncomfortable.
“Just be careful with that stuff. It’s not only addicting, but it’s genetic.” His eyes are sad, shame seeping from every pore.
I nod and divert my gaze. “I’m sorry, are you…we didn’t really discuss your sobriety or…lack thereof.”
“Yes, I’m sober now. Just a tad bit too late.”
Yet, if he weren’t sick or sober, would he have met me? I can’t say for certain. And if I ask him that question, I don’t think he’d have an answer either. Though I have a feeling it wouldn’t be a good one.
We walk out of the restaurant together. I walk slowly to stay by his side. When we part, I have the urge to hug him despite him still being a stranger to me. There’s a deep connection tugging on my heart and soul, an understanding of who he is to me.
“Well, have fun tonight and be safe.” He walks me to my car and I’m not sure if he even drives or needs a ride somewhere.
“Do you want me to take you anywhere?”
“Oh, no, my car is right over there.” I still feel bad since he has trouble walking as is.
“Okay, well, thank you. For lunch and for coming around.” I shrug, suddenly shy.
“Thanks for giving me a chance to explain. Maybe I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You will.” With that, he smiles and turns, but I stop him. “Hey,
Dad?” My inflection skyrockets as I test the name on my lips.
I walk to him and envelope him in a tentative, awkward hug. He returns the gesture, squeezing me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And, really, I guess it is.
Twenty-Six
Olivia
Pregame music pumps through the apartment complex as I get home. McKenna is one of the offenders, turning the property into a loud mix of miscellaneous beats. The sounds don’t jive and it becomes nothing but noise, but I think my roommate has the loudest speakers of all. Once I walk into the apartment, I don’t even hear the other tenant’s blaring their own music.
“Hey, bitch, drink up.” She pours me a shot despite it being three in the afternoon and we plan to drink all night. If I tell her it’s too early, she’ll call me a killjoy and peer pressure me into drinking anyway.
She’s lucky she’s my best friend and I love her, and after my lunch with my dad, I could certainly use the buzz. As I pick up the shot glass, my father’s words swirl through the recess of my brain.
It’s addictive. It’s genetic.
“Oh my God, wait, how was lunch with your dad?” She kills the music, though it’s still loud as it streams from the adjacent apartments.
I put the shot glass down before taking a drink. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Interesting. Informative.”
“Okay. Please, be a little more vague.” I shoot her an evil eye. “I’m just saying. Informative? What the hell does that mean?”
“He was an addict. That’s why my mom kicked him out and why I’ve never met him. And now he’s dying because of it.”
She shuts the music off but our apartment doesn’t get any quieter thanks to the rest of the building still blaring their own music. “Holy shit. I’m sorry, Liv.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’m still kind of processing all of it.” The harsh reality of my situation drowns me. I lost the one person who raised me, the most important person in my life more than three years ago. Now I finally get to meet my dad, only for him to be dying on me as well. “I’m going to take a shower before tonight.”
I leave her in the kitchen and wander down the hall to my room. I lie in bed and let the thoughts swirl around my head, and I must fall asleep because the next thing I know, the music starts up again from my living room and I can hear a few more of our friends have arrived. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s after seven.
I take a long shower while my friends are out there pre-gaming, and take my time choosing my outfit, not caring about making them wait. We won’t be leaving for the club for at least another two hours anyway, which means I have plenty of time.
I curl my hair and do my makeup and finally, when it’s after eight, I join my friends in the living room. This time I don’t think when Kenna offers me a shot. I down it and plan to enjoy my night, putting any and all thoughts of my father and Lucas out of my mind.
“Hey girl, you look hot,” our friend Zoey says as she pours herself a drink at our bar. She brought along her two roommates, Leah and April, and together the five of us are going to the club Pécher downtown.
We all take too many shots and by the time the car comes to pick us up, our New Year’s crowns are falling off our heads and we’re blaming our heels for being clumsy when it’s just us.
The car is too small to fit all five of us, but we beg the driver and tip him well and he caves. Zoey got the short stick and has to sit up front, but she’s flirting with the driver so I’m sure she’s not too pissed.
The ride to the club takes about twenty minutes. It’s just long enough to make me tired. I yawn and all my friends boo and yell at me. I roll my eyes and hold Kenna’s arm as we all try to not appear drunk while we wait in line. We don’t want the bouncer to kick us out before we even make it in.
The line is long and it’s cold in our skimpy dresses. My red dress has spaghetti straps which are zero help in keeping me warm and the short, asymmetrical hemline with a sequin snake ends mid-thigh. Not exactly appropriate winter wear. I don’t think I drank enough to be able to ignore the cold like my friends seem to be.
The line is moving quickly—thank God—and walking inside the club is like walking into the house party scene from Neighbors. There are glow sticks everywhere, people are half naked, strobe lights are blinding me, and people are all over the place, dancing and making out.
The five of us push our way through to the dance floor. One of Rihanna’s songs comes on and Zoey yells “This is my song!”
We grind on each other and the music flows through me. A waitress comes around offering up one dollar shooters and we all grab one, downing the shot instantly.
Then, a group of guys joins us, claiming each of us in their pursuit. We continue to dance with these guys and take more shots as they come through. I spin around to take a look at the guy who has my hips grasped in his hands, hoping this is about to be a movie moment and when I turn around I find Lucas.
Spoiler alert: it’s not.
The guy is cute enough. Tall with blond hair and a frat boy smile. He’s wearing a pink Ralph Lauren polo with cuffed khakis and boat shoes. I can basically smell money on him.
“What’s your name?” he calls through the air over the thumping beat.
“Olivia,” I yell back.
“I’m Brad.”
Of course you are.
“Want a drink?” I nod and he starts to walk away, but my red flags wave and I stop him by grabbing his hand.
“Wait, I’ll come with you.” Rule number one is to never leave your drink out of your sight and not to let anyone bring you one. I’m not trying to get roofied to bring in the New Year.
We have to push our way through the center of the dance floor, and I can barely see thanks to the seizure-inducing lighting. A few people say hi as I pass and that ‘we should totally catch up soon!’ and I walk on by with a promise to find them later.
The song changes and the lights calm down for a minute. I notice a body in the crowd that I recognize, but I can’t get a good look at the face. Something feels off about it, and I make a drunken mental note to investigate later.
We’re waiting in line at the bar and Brad is attempting to make small talk to impress me. I’m ready to tell him there’s no chance in hell he’s even going to be my midnight kiss, let alone will he ever take me home. No, thank you.
I’m bumped from behind as we wait at the bar and when I turn around I notice the same person I recognized earlier. Her tight dress barely covers her ass and her long hair falls down her back. I’m not even offered an apology from her for running into me and I don’t think I’ll get one anytime soon.
Her face is plastered to a guy’s, tongues so far into the other’s mouth it’s making me nauseous. The guy grabs her ass, going so far to reach under the hemline of the dress to palm her skin, and she doesn’t stop him. Instead, I notice that she juts her ass out further to give him access.
What the hell is wrong with people?
Brad finally notices the show and is visibly excited to be witnessing this live porn act. I can’t stand one more minute of this guy and when I see McKenna stumbling toward the bathroom, I make a run for it.
Except, I’m pinned between the frat bro and the porn stars.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” I tell Brad and hope I never see him again.
I tap on the girl’s shoulder, assuming she’ll be nice enough to help me out and move out of the way. There really is nothing nicer than drunk girls meeting in a women’s bathroom, and since I’m close to one, it’s basically the same thing, right?
Wrong.
“I’m sorry, excuse me…can you just move to the side? Just an inch…?” I try to squeeze past the couple and as my hand brushes along her back, she finally turns.
“Are you trying to join? Because if not, go the fuck away.” When I see her face, those brown almond eyes burning with ever-present hatred, I almost lose balance in my shoes and fall backwards.
“Holy shit. Flynn, is that y
ou?” I scan the room looking for her brother, simultaneously hoping he is here and praying he isn’t. I don’t want him to see me with this douchebag and get the wrong impression.
Why do I care? I dumped him.
I tell my conscious to shut up.
“No, it’s just someone who looks exactly like me and who also hates you.” She rolls her eyes and groans. “Fuck, is Luke with you? If he finds out I’m here he’ll probably pretend to be a loving, protective big brother.” Another eye roll and I can’t help but think how strong her eyes are from her working them out so damn much.
“No, he’s not.” She sighs in relief and I don’t tell her that I plan to call him immediately. He has to know she’s here with some sleazy dude.
“Cool because finding another club in forty-five minutes before the ball drops would be a nightmare.” She reaches toward the bar, grabbing a pair of shots on the table, not even caring if they’re her drinks or not. She downs them both and discards the glasses back on the bar. “Later.”
I rush toward the bathroom, and by some miracle, I spot Kenna in line. I go to her and a chorus of angry women yell at me for jipping. What the hell happened to women bonding in bathrooms? This club is all messed up.
“Ken, I just saw Lucas’ sister.”
“Ew, was he with her?” She’s leaning against the wall staring at her phone.
“No. Focus, Kenna. She’s underage.” I whisper the words like they’re a super salacious secret.
“And?” She’s bored with me and in her drunken state, she’s utterly useless.
“And I think I need to call Lucas to come get her. She was with some older guy with his hand up her dress.”
“More power to her.” I’m not going to get anywhere with her. “You just want to use this as an excuse to call him.”
“No, I don’t,” I insist, but part of me does want to see him. Especially tonight and especially with the number of drinks I’ve consumed.
I’m sure I won’t even be able to reach him. He’s likely at his own party doing God knows what with God knows who. But I feel obligated to tell him that his baby sister is illegally in a club with some creepy ass dude. Now that I know about it, I have to tell him.
Fearless (A Carolina Coastal Novel Book 2) Page 12
