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I thought I’d be relieved to watch Donner go down. I expected some powerful emotion of relief to flood through me on Thorin’s behalf. This will end soon. But instead, I feel like we’re still in the thick of the mess. Now comes the court cases, the trials, and the punishments and appeals. How long before this truly is over? “I don’t know.”
“Any regrets for being with Thorin?” Dad asks softly.
Instantly I reply with, “No.” Sucking in a lungful of air, I scowl at him. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because sometimes we take on unnecessary burdens,” Dad informs me. “I know you want to be with Thorin. I know how much your lives have intertwined since you two entered each other’s lives again. I don’t want you to doubt him because this all feels overwhelming. He loves you and I believe you love him, even if you aren’t saying the words yet.”
I want the world for you.
And I want the stars for you.
We may not be saying them directly, but we say them in our own way. “I’m not planning on leaving Thorin because of my anxiety.” I blow out a breath of air again, this time feeling marginally lighter after doing so.
“Good. You deserve to be happy.”
“So do you.”
Dad offers me a half-smile, a light dimming in his eyes. “I’m content. I’ll be happy when I repair what I’ve damaged between the two of us. Are you sure we can coordinate a date for therapy? I made an appointment with a therapist for myself, and their colleague does family therapy so they gave me their card. I did some research and they come highly recommended.” Dad’s hopeful voice melts me.
“Of course. Detrick schedules me out pretty far, so just do what you need to. If something has to move, so be it. We come first.” And I mean it. Fixing my relationship with my father isn’t an opportunity I plan on missing unless absolutely necessary.
Dad turns back to his computer, tapping my tablet until it turns on and pulling up his calendar simultaneously. He scrolls through both, and I glance at his private calendar in shock. There are normal slots for Dad’s work meetings and things to check on within the company, but I notice light green blocks with various charities I recognize as ones Mom used to donate her time to.
Unable to bite my tongue, I gesture towards the computer screen. “Are you volunteering?”
To my surprise, Dad’s face flushes pink at my question. Clearing his throat, he says, “Around the holidays I do more because less people want meetings around the holidays, so I can volunteer. I try to do more with the charities I like and some of the ones your mother was fond of. I try to not attend charities you frequent because I don’t want it to be awkward for you if we run into each other.”
My heart squeezes painfully in my chest. “You can go to the same charities as me. In fact,” I pause to point at an opening in his schedule, “you should join Thorin, Nana Noel, and me at a church we volunteer at on Wednesday’s. You’d like it.”
Surprise flickers in Dad’s eyes. “I would love that Bex. How about I schedule that, and we schedule a family counseling session on Tuesday afternoon in two weeks?”
I peek forward at my schedule, noticing an empty Tuesday slot. “Sounds good to me.”
Dad smiles, typing it into both of our calendars. “For the last item on my list to ask you about. I would like it if you attended the Christmas Ball this year. I know it’s last minute notice, but it would mean a lot to me. You can invite Thorin, of course. I don’t expect you to be my date.”
We simply stare at each other silently as I absorb his words. It’s been several years since I’ve gone to the Christmas Ball where we host the Hastings Humanitarian Award. My presence has never been mandatory. Occasionally when I don’t have a lot going on around this time, I slip inside for a few hours to check it out. But I rarely go. When I was a child, I attended with my parents every year. That went on until I was eighteen. Those few years Nana Noel acted as my legal guardian, she would drag me to it as her date.
There’s not a lot of time to get a dress or schedule an appointment at a hair salon. But I know enough people that I could manage to swing it if I leave here today and make some phone calls. Not to mention, I could text Emilia to ask her who she uses if I can’t find anyone with an opening on Christmas. Mom always rushed around like she was going to be late no matter how much she planned in advance.
Thinking of Mom makes a chuckle escape, my eyes slightly tearing up as I grin at Dad. “I would love to come. I’ll ask Thorin if he can make it with it being so close. If he can’t come, I’ll still attend.”
Relief spreads across his face. “Thank you, Bex. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
25
“I can feel my mother’s love flowing through me right now.” - Bex
One month later…
My arm hooks through Dad’s as he leads me into the grand staircase that leads down to the main floor where the tables, auctions, and displays of the participants are waiting. There’s a large Christmas tree in the corner decorated in the standard Christmas colors. However, this year Dad and I dug out some mementos from my childhood. Ornaments that were hand made when I was younger in grade school, crafty ones Mom made on a whim of trying something new, and a random assortment of the ones Dad liked over the years and bought just because.
While the tree looks beautiful still, it rings with the Hastings family here at the annual Hastings Humanitarian Award Christmas Ball. Several people have gone up to it, oohing and aahing over the personal touches added to this year’s tree. Of course we’re not admitting to the fallout in any way, so we said with everything going on, we wanted to honor our family being together over this period of time.
Even the gown I’m in, courtesy of Dad letting me dive into Mom’s old closet he keeps in the spare bedroom, has added a personal touch. I thought he was going to cry when I came out in the dark green princess-style gown. Nana Noel even loaned me an emerald necklace she intended to pass down to Mom to go along with it.
Speaking of Nana Noel, she’s around here somewhere with her group of grannies causing mischief. Dad and I had to do the customary greetings, but I could overhear the caterers talking about trying to divide and conquer the room when a certain group of elderly people stole their trays and were hoarding them at one of the tables. Dad and I had a very hard time keeping our faces straight while hearing about it.
