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“Yes. It is. Thank you, Josh, but it’s time for me to go back to real life. Last night was a temporary phenomenon, and now that I’ve proven it to myself, I’m free. Thank you. Goodbye.”
“No, Margot. I want—”
I left, closing the door between his unsaid words that followed me and the lies I’d left behind.
Chapter Eighteen
Iput Josh—and the failed experimental kisses—out of my mind as I walked down the hall. Or at least, I tried to, but somehow the thoughts—and sensations, really—were stubbornly sticking in place. I decided to stop by my parents’ room. It was a surefire distraction though what I’d get in return might be worse than the problem I was trying to solve.
My dad opened the door to my knock, and his face flushed with what looked like alarm before he pulled his features back into line. He stared at a point a couple of inches over my head. “Hi, honey. Your mom’s not here,” he said preemptively.
I bit my lip. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I didn’t move. I hadn’t come here just to see my mom. “Where—”
“She took Lindsay to get some new mascara,” he said, still looking past me like he was following some internal directive not to engage. “Apparently there was too much clumping and alternates had to be acquired.”
“Oh. Makes sense.” I still didn’t move. I could tell that for whatever reason, I was making him uncomfortable, and he was itching to close the door. Lucky for me that his love for me, his oldest daughter, outranked his discomfort. I wondered how long it would last.
“Do you want to come in?” he finally asked, reluctance punctuating every word.
“Sure, thanks.” I went inside and walked past the rumpled, unmade bed to flop down on the unslept-in one.
“So what’s up, Buttercup?” My dad sat down on the messy bed that he and Mom shared. When I’d asked them why they hadn’t wanted a room with one king-size bed instead of two queens, Dad said it was because they liked to cuddle close when they slept. Mom had agreed and then added that the extra bed was a good surface for organizing wedding stuff and laying out the formalwear. Their attitudes served to illustrate how my dad was romantic, and my mom was romantic but also practical.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just felt antsy and didn’t want to be alone.”
He gave me a hard stare. “And you’re trying to avoid Josh.”
I rose up on my elbow. “How did you know?”
“I’m your dad. I see things. I’m not completely oblivious.” He sighed, obviously giving in to the emotional conversation he’d been dreading since he opened the door to me. “I hear you’ve been reallystressedlately.”
Why was he bringing up my stress now? Didn’t my family have other things to talk about? “I had nothing to do with Lindsay’s missing wedding dress. That was some little kid.”
He held up his hands. “I know. I know. I would never have accused you. You and Lindsay might bicker like a cat and a canary, but deep down you love each other. You’d never sabotage her no matter how stressed you were.”
“I’m glad you know that.”
“Of course I do. Your sister does too. She’s just a little preoccupied at the moment. She’s got her own stress.” He gripped his hands together and glanced at the ceiling. “About this stress you’re currently under…”
“Uh-oh.”
“No, no. I’m not going to give you a hard time or try to solve your problems for you. You’re a smart crème brûlée—that’s a lot fancier than a smart cookie and that’s how you are. I know you can solve stuff on your own. Heaven knows you took care of me when I needed it. And I’m thankful for it.”
“Dad, you don’t have to thank me. I—”
“I know. I know. Let me get this out. It’s okay to do something for yourself, you know. You take care of the people you love, and you’ve made sacrifices. Big ones. And I just want to say thank you. Thank you, and you can stop. You don’t have to keep sacrificing. It’s okay to go after what you want for a change, be that New York City or Josh or this Tanner-thing your mom and sister have been telling me about. It’s all okay. We love you, and we’re here for you, and we’re going to keep being here for you no matter what.” He reached out over the gulf between the beds and patted my leg.
“Thanks, Dad.” Emotion welled up behind my eyes, but I didn’t let it spill over. My dad was a secret softie, but nothing made him more outwardly flustered than a crying woman. And since he’d always been outnumbered by the women in our house, I always tried to be less overtly emotional than Mom and Lindsay, and more like him.
“You’re welcome, kiddo.” His eyes lit up. “So did I do it? Are you all cheered up now? All fixed?”
I smiled and sat up. “I’m all fixed, Dad. You did it.”
He gave a gruff chuckle. “Knew it. Just wait until I tell your mother. Now come give your father a hug.”
I stood and gave him a big hug, kissing his shaven cheek that smelled like it always did of Old Spice. “Love you, Dad.”
“I love you too, kiddo. Now get out there and give ’em all hell.”
