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But I had butterflies in my stomach.
The memories were from a long time ago, but when my dad wasa dad, he’d been a good one. He was about swinging you up on his shoulders and sneaking bowls of ice cream when Mom wasn’t looking, and making different voices when he read to you at night.
Having opened the drawbridge to my Citadel, these memories were drifting through, and with them were remembrances of years of yearning to have that back. There was even recalling the anger I’d had toward Macy for taking it away, twisted tightly with shame for having that feeling when it was not at all her fault.
But I was a kid.
And I wanted my dad.
As I hit adulthood, and now facing a man who was clearly extending an olive branch, or whatever this was, what was also drifting along that lowered drawbridge was anger at Dad for taking so damn long to get his shit together.
Sure, one could argue I could have extended that olive branch.
But I’d learned a long time ago he was so lost to his pain, there was nothing getting through.
Not even me.
And it killed to keep trying something like that…and failing.
Hence, my move to Phoenix. But that didn’t begin the estrangement between us, it just added distance to it. Distance that was a safety net, or in my case, a very wide moat around my mental health fortress.
And now the bridge over that moat had been lowered and my safety net was gone.
I heard the door open, then I heard Cap call, “Baby?”
I walked to the door to the hall.
Patches was lounged on the back of my armchair and Cap was scratching his head when his eyes went down the hall to me, and he stopped dead.
“Hey,” I called. “Gonna grab my bag and be right there.”
I went to the bed, nabbed the Cult Gaia pink clutch I’d already prepped and headed down the hall.
Cap, as I was coming to realize was Cap’s way (and I liked this way), put his hands to my hips when I got to him.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
So sweet.
He was in a navy blazer this time, light-blue shirt, another pair of dark wash jeans. He worked the semi-monochromatic big time, and it made the blue in his eyes stand out.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I replied.
His grip tightened. “No, Raye. You lookbeautiful.”
I froze.
Cap didn’t.
He asked, “You doing okay?”
I bested the herculean effort to recover from his words and how much they meant to me, and shared, “I’m remembering I’m pissed at my dad for not being my dad.”
“Understandable.”
“So I’m nervous.”
“Again, understandable.”
