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“He didn’t ask me to stay. He didn’t ask me to choose.” I licked my suddenly dry lips. “And he wouldn’t force me to give up something if it made me happy. If I told him that this life was what I wanted, he’d be the first person to support me. So I’m asking you to have the same respect for me, Dad.”
His throat worked on a swallow, but he stayed quiet.
“I deserve the chance to figure out what I want. So does he. And I want to do that in a place where it feels safe for both of us,” I said firmly. “I know you loved me the best way you know how, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t hurt me. And I hope we can get past that hurt someday, especially if this makes you lose even more trust in me, but I’m not giving up any more of my life to gain that trust back.”
His jaw clenched briefly. “Are you punishing me for sending you away?”
“No,” I answered easily. “This isn’t about you. For once,” I added. “It’s not about you at all.”
“So you’re choosing a man over the future you have here,” he said, the slightest edge of disappointment cutting through his words.
“I’m choosing me, Dad. Whether you believe that or not is not my responsibility. You of all people should understand why I want the chance to build a life that wasn’t scripted by someone else.”
I shook my head, my shoulders slumping as the weight of what was happening pressed down, so much heavier than I thought it would be. More than anything, I wanted him to tell me he’d love me no matter what I chose. No matter where I lived. Where I worked. Who I loved. I thought about what Tim Wilder told me he wanted for his kids, and desperately wanted to hear from my own father that all he wanted for me was to be happy and loved.
When he still sat in stunned silence, that stupid furrow in the same spot on his forehead where I got mine, I tried to decide whether more words would help or if trying to get him to understand made me Sisyphus trying to roll the boulder up the damn hill.
“You taught me well in a lot of things, Dad.” Slowly, I stood from the chair. “And if I’ve learned anything the last couple of weeks, it’s that little things can add to something big, if you’re willing to see them for what they are. I don’t want to erase the good because you want something different than I do. I’m willing to build on the foundation we’ve got, if you can handle letting me make those decisions for myself. I’ve earned that right, and I think you know that if you’re being honest with yourself.”
He stared at me like he’d never seen me before, and I took that as my cue, my throat clogging with bittersweet emotions.
From just beyond the dining room doors, I saw Ruth swipe suspiciously underneath her eyes. My heart clenched.
“Enjoy your breakfast, Dad.”
He pushed his chair back, mouth agape. “You’re actually doing this? Ivy.”
“I understand if you need some time to process it.” I imagined that hook under my chin, the one I’d always thought was rigged up by him. But really, all of this was me—even if the thickest of my walls came from the way I’d been raised. So I let my chin notch up an inch, not with arrogance or as a flimsy defense, but because I was really fucking proud of myself. “But yeah, I’m doing this.” I paused before I left the room and glanced over my shoulder. “I love you, Dad.”
When I cleared the doorway, I practically fell into Ruth’s tight embrace.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispered fiercely. Then she kissed my cheek and pulled back, grabbing his omelette from the table where she’d set it. Tears pricked my eyes as she disappeared through the doors with his breakfast.
I sagged against the wall and stared up at the ceiling.
Waiting by the front door was a large suitcase, the one Ruth promised she’d pack for me.
The car and driver were still in the driveway, and he greeted me with a deferential smile, opening the back door and taking the suitcase out of my grasp.
Once he pulled away from the house and began driving back to the airfield, I finally took my phone out of my purse and smiled as I read through the texts I’d missed from Cameron.
Cameron: Neville is absolutely useless at explaining why he let you walk out that door.
Cameron: I wish you’d woken me.
Cameron: Call me if you need to talk.
Cameron: He ate another plant, what is wrong with this cat?
Cameron: I hated waking up without you next to me.
Cameron: Why does it feel like you’re a million miles away right now? Ivy, just fucking call me when you’re done with whatever you’re doing.
Slowly, I typed out a response, pressed send and closed my eyes.
When I pulled my car behind his truck, Cameron was waiting for me on the deck in front of his house. Those deep brown eyes of his watched me carefully, his facial features giving nothing away.
My stomach was a riot of winged nerves, tickling bubbles coursing through my veins as I pulled my sunglasses off and opened the car door. Instead of going straight onto the deck, I walked to the trunk and pulled out the big black suitcase.
