Still, there’s something a little sad about this Christmas. As the weeks have gone by, I’ve been feeling more and more despondent, and for a long time, I couldn’t figure out why. I’ve always loved this time of the year. It’s strange that I should be so sad and lost in my head about it this year when everything in my life is going well. My health is good, and so is my dad’s, and things have never been better at work. So what’s the problem?
I first got an inkling when I received a Christmas card from my college friend and roommate, Tori. Dear Jenna, the card said in a careful script that seemed much too fancy and ornate to have come from my carefree friend. Wishing you and your family a happy holiday season. With love, Tori, Stephen, Ryder, and Kylie. The photo on the card showed Tori in a button-down cardigan, sitting on a leather loveseat beside her older and slightly graying husband. She and Stephen each held one of their four-year-old twins on their lap. As I stared at the card, I found I couldn’t quite believe how different Tori’s life was from my own.
Tori and Stephen met while we were in college. He was a teacher’s assistant in her anthropology class senior year, and when she first told me she had a crush on him, I assumed nothing would come of it. After all, it was Tori. She always had a crush on somebody, and it was usually somebody inappropriate. But three weeks later, the class had ended, and Tori and Stephen were dating. He proposed to her on the evening of our graduation, and they married about a year later. A year after that, she announced that she was pregnant.
Each of those things seemed small—or at least, not so titanic—when they were happening. Everyone dated. I had been dating someone myself at the time. It was normal for people of Tori’s age to get married. And even having children, which was inarguably a life-changing event, didn’t seem so startling. That was what you did after you got married. It was normal. It was to be expected.
But looking at that holiday card, I realized that I was no longer looking at my adventurous friend who was always up for anything. I was looking at a wife and mother, a woman who wore button-down cardigans and wrote notes in careful calligraphy. What was more, Tori had become all these things without my knowledge because she and I hardly ever saw each other anymore. We were friends now in name only.
She wasn’t the only person I’d drifted apart from in the past few years. It seemed as though everyone from college was settling down and starting families. Tori’s was just one of a slew of Christmas cards I received this year with photos of chubby children decked out in adorable red and green outfits, some of them sitting on Santa’s lap, others posing with the family dog in front of a neat row of hand-knit stockings. The parents in all these pictures are holding hands, their heads bent together happily. And meanwhile, I’m spending my holidays drinking whiskey and playing chess with my father.
It’s not that I don’t want to do that—I definitely do. But I’m starting to wonder if that makes me weird. Is there something I’m missing out on?
The vibrating of my cellphone shakes me out of my thoughts. The fact that anyone at all is calling me is strange. I keep my phone service active when I’m overseas, but I mitigate that by letting everyone in my life know that I might not be able to accept calls. For a moment, I think it must be a business call, but this isn’t my work phone. I deliberately packed that in a pocket of my carryon bag because I didn’t want to be troubled with business during my flight home.
I pull the phone out of my pocket. There are only a few phone numbers in the world I know by sight, and this is one of them.
“Hey, Dad,” I answer.
My dad has always had a zany sense of humor, and I’m expecting him to launch into the call with one of his signature antics—singing an old-timey folk song, for example, or sharing a little-known fact about the nature of the cosmos. Or he might just belt out “Lima Bean!” his nonsensical nickname for me. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he says, “Jenna?”
He sounds…well, he sounds serious. My dad doesn’t have a serious bone in his body, and I’m immediately anxious.
“Yeah, Dad, it’s me. What’s up?” I try to keep my voice casual and breezy as if by treating this conversation lightly I can force it to be light. Something feels very wrong.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“I’m in France,” I say. “I told you, remember? We were video chatting last week, and I told you I was coming here for work. I’m actually on my way home today. It was a really productive meeting. I’m going to have to get on a plane soon, but when I get home, I can tell you all about it.”
“You’re at the airport?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“In Paris?”
“In Chambéry. Dad, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he says. He sounds like he’s in a hurry to end the call. “I just wanted to call and say I love you, Jenna.”
“I love you too, Dad,” I say, mystified. “What brings it up?”
“Just get home safe, okay?”
“You bet,” I say. Then, I end the call.
I stare at the phone in my hand for a minute. It’s bizarre enough for Dad to call me when he knows I’m out of the country. We don’t talk on the phone a lot. We have our weekly video calls, and sometimes we do call just to ask each other a random question. But he’s never been the kind of parent who worries more than is necessary about my safety. I know he’s not lying awake at night because of me being in France. He knows he raised a smart and capable daughter who can handle herself in an unfamiliar country. Besides, he doesn’t want to rack up roaming minutes on my phone bill.
So why the call? I have to admit, when his number came up, I was worried it would be some kind of emergency, that he would be calling to tell me he was in the hospital or something. But it wasn’t anything like that. He seemed more concerned about my welfare. Asking where I was, what city I was in—why ask a question like that if he didn’t want to talk about what I was doing here?
And then there’s the fact that he jumped almost immediately to the I love you. Now, don’t get me wrong—I know Dad loves me. It’s just that he’s never been especially verbal about that fact. He’s the kind of person who shows his affection in other ways. Cooking with me is an expression of his love. But to call me up and say it like that…well, it’s out of character.
Maybe I dismissed the idea of him being unwell too quickly. Maybe he is sick. I chew my lip thoughtfully. Should I stop in Boston on my way home? Maybe check on him?
A staticky voice comes over the intercom. It speaks first in French, then offers an English translation: “Flight seven eighty-four to Paris, now boarding at gate A2.” The message is repeated in both languages.
I get to my feet, sling my travel bag over my shoulder, and join the line of people waiting to board the plane, making sure I have my boarding pass in hand. I’m worrying too much, I decide. Am I really thinking of changing my travel plans because my father called to tell me he loves me? Ridiculous. I’ll call him when I get home. I’m sure he’ll be his usual playful self, and I’ll feel completely reassured. The fact is, I know I can’t take extra time off work so close to the holidays unless it really is an emergency. And I really want to get out of this business suit and these heels. Dad hasn’t given me any concrete reason to think anything at all is wrong.
I take my seat on the plane, order a glass of wine, and lean back, waiting for takeoff.
Everything’s fine.
My Protector is available on Amazon now!
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Also by Layla Valentine
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Hot Pursuit
SEXT ME
Secret Daddy Surprise
My Protector
SAN BRAVADO BILLIONAIRES’ CLUB
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The Baby Bargain
Accidental Triplets
Take My V-Card
Bought by the Boss
Four Secret Babies
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Triplets For The Billionaire
Quadruplets For The Billionaire
Baby, ASAP
In Deep - A Secret Twins Romance (Once a SEAL, Always a SEAL Book 6) Page 19
