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“It can’t be that bad,” Dad says, as if he can read my mind.
“I’m afraid it is.” I wring my hands, wishing I could fast-forward to some point in time after this conversation. “I have something I need to tell you, but I’m not sure how.”
“You can tell me anything.”
“Can I?” I ask tearfully. “Can I tell you that the daughter you’re finally proud of is as unreliable as ever? That I haven’t changed at all?” The words tumble out of me in a rush of verbal anguish, and my father peers at me with concern and confusion.
“What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
“I can’t accept the promotion. And I… I… I quit,” I say in a strangled sob, burying my face in my hands.
He’s silent for a long, agonizing moment. So long, I’m tempted to peek through my fingertips, but I know I won’t be able to bear his look of disappointment.
“May I ask why?” he asks quietly.
“Because I have to go home. To New York. It’s where I belong, Dad. I’ll stay in California long enough to finish up with the energy drink account, but then I have to go back. I’m so, so sorry. I know I’m letting you down again. I guess it’s just who I am. Quincy the Quitter.” The nickname tastes bitter on my tongue, but it’s never felt more fitting. It seems no matter how hard I try, I’m destined to disappoint someone—Brynn, Ethan, my dad, even myself. Maybe it’s time I face it.
I lift my head, meeting my father’s gaze. I expect displeasure. Maybe even reproach or regret. Instead, his gaze is soft and tender, shimmering with a depth of affection I’ve never seen before.
“Don’t be sorry. And don’t call yourself a quitter.” He closes both laptop screens, turning slightly to face me, making sure he has my full attention. “Sure, you quit things. More things than you probably should. But I suspect that’s my fault. I wanted to instill drive, ambition, and friendly competition, but I might’ve gone too far, teaching you that something isn’t worth doing unless you can be the best. If thisblip,” he says, gesturing to his hospital bed, “has taught me anything, it’s that I might have an unhealthy pursuit of perfection. Which I passed on to you kids.” Leaning forward, he holds my gaze with intent and purpose, and I blink back my tears, wanting to memorize every line and crease of his face, immortalizing this moment. “But I want you to know this, kiddo, without a shadow of a doubt. When it comes to the things that matter—like loving this family—you arenota quitter. You never give up on us, even when we make it difficult. And when it comes time for you to have your own family, I know you’ll love them just as fiercely and unwaveringly as you do ours. And that, sweetheart, is one of the many reasons you’vealwaysmade me proud.”
His words wash over me like a cool, refreshing balm, healing both heart and soul. My whole life, I’d strived for outward approval, trying desperately to be what I thought everyone else expected, instead of realizing I had gifts of my own. Gifts that, while different and unique to me, are just as valuable. Why hadn’t I realized that before? Springing from my seat, I throw my arms around his neck, inhaling the strange, musky scent of expensive cologne mixed with medicated salve and bleached bedding.
Like most people, I’ve never been a fan of hospitals. But after today, they may be one of my new favorite places. That is, after New York. The city that holds my heart. The city that’s calling me back home.
“Careful,” Dad says, chuckling softly. “I think your hand is caught in my IV.” Of course, we both know it’s not, but ill-timed jokes have always been his love language. The same way Ethan’s is food and Brynn’s is a sensible budget.
“Love you, too, Dad,” I say, smiling through my tears. Only this time, they’re happy tears.
“One more thing,” he adds, taking on a more serious tone.
“What’s that?”
“I have a proposition for you. And before you say no, hear me out.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, curious what he has in mind.
But nothing could prepare me for what came next.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
The overzealous cab driver veers around a wayward pedestrian, slamming my head against the window. I groan, gripping the sore spot, but my smile doesn’t fade. How could it? I’m back home. In the city that never sleeps. Because who wants to sleep when you’re in a place this spectacular?
I’ve already dropped my bags off in the lobby of Brynn’s apartment building and asked Sharon, the doorman—doorperson?—to watch Whiskers for me, since she said neither Ethan nor Brynn were home. I’d considered letting myself inside with the key I’d never given back, but I didn’t want to presume, especially since Brynn and I technically haven’t spoken since our fight before I left.
Of course, I realize that showing up unannounced at her place of employment is a risky move. And I fully accept that my choice in attire will lead to a healthy dose of public humiliation. But I honestly don’t care. It’s time for the grand gesture, like in every romantic comedy I’ve ever watched. Except, in this scenario, I’m not winning back my leading man. Not yet, anyway. This time, I’m wooing my best friend. Let’s just hope this story has a happy ending.
I hop out of the cab and immediately garner several sneering glances. Admittedly, my T-shirt is a bit too tight and a little too short. And the poorly placed handprints are borderline inappropriate now that I’ve passed puberty. But still, haven’t New Yorkers seen worse than my tacky tie-dyed tee from camp?
Ignoring the raised eyebrows, I push through the revolving front door and make a beeline for the lobby receptionist.
“Can I help you?” She frowns at the palm prints on my chest, and I’m tempted to say, “Hey, lady, my eyes are up here.” Instead, I manage a smile. “The offices of Richmond and Fairfax Financials, please.”
Her eyes widen in surprise, and I’m guessing I’m not their usual clientele. “Um, eighth floor.”
“Thank you.” I endure an awkward elevator ride with two men in slick suits who seem to think their stares are subtle. To block their view, I cross my arms in front of my chest, even though the action brings my shoulders up to my ears. When the doors slide open, I dash out as quickly as if the cables had just been cut and the giant metal box was about to plummet into oblivion.
Lifting my chin, I stride into Richmond and Fairfax Financials with as much self-confidence as I can muster given the circumstances. Brynn’s workplace is as glossy and glamorous as I’d imagined—all white, crisp, and polished to perfection, without a single paper clip out of place. And the staff looks sleek and sophisticated, the epitome of New York City professionalism—aka the exact opposite of my appearance at the moment.
