There was a long pause, and Nick was about to pull the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn’t dropped when his father spoke again.
“I also wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you. I know I haven’t acted like it, but I am. Your, uh, American friend was a little forceful in making her point, but she was right. What you’ve achieved is very impressive.”
Nick’s chest constricted at the mention of Carly. At the memory of her flying to her feet and telling his dad how great Nick was, how proud they all should be of him. He took a deep breath, trying to loosen the snug bands of pain around his ribs.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said softly. He swallowed hard against the tide of emotions welling in his throat. How long had he been waiting to hear those words come out of his father’s mouth? Long enough that he’d stopped hoping, without even realizing he’d given up on it ever happening.
His dad cleared his throat, and Nick realized there was more. “I also wanted to say I understand if you’ve made a home somewhere else. But you’ll always be welcome here, however long you want to stay.”
Nick pressed his lips together, trying to chase away the sting at the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he managed, not trusting himself to say any more without his voice cracking. After a long moment, he collected himself enough to speak.
“I’m sorry for the way I left, Dad. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. I know I hurt you and Mum, and I’m sorry.”
“You were right to do it.” Rod’s voice was scratchy now, too. “I didn’t understand it at the time, but I see now that it was the only way for you to have the career you wanted.”
Nick nodded, then remembered his dad couldn’t see him. “Right. But still, I’m sorry. Because those first few years were really hard. I was so young, and I didn’t know anyone, and the company worked us into the ground in the corps—and I couldn’t call you and tell you any of that. I was too proud to admit I might have made a mistake.”
“But you got through it, didn’t you? And look at you now.”
Right. Look at him now. Finally a successful photographer, just like he’d pretended to be. And still nowhere to call home. Not really. And still a giant ache between his ribs every time he thought about Carly.No feeling is final, he reminded himself.And home doesn’t have to be a place.
“She’s quite the firecracker, your American,” his dad said, and the ache only intensified.Not my American.
“Yeah, she’s a lot,” Nick said, managing a small smile.She’s so much. So much passion and rage and fierce loyalty. She’s all of it. Everything.
“She clearly thinks the world of you,” his dad replied.She used to, Nick wanted to say, but he wasn’t ready to reveal all that to his dad today. This mending felt too new and tenuous, and he didn’t totally trust it yet. “And she looks beautiful in those photos you took.”
Nick pressed his lips together again, with no idea of how to respond to that. Luckily, his dad saved him.
“Your sister told us she won’t be the messenger anymore. That if I wanted to know about your life, I’d have to ask you myself.”
God bless Nina. She’d finally figured out that she couldn’t fix this mess for him. Nick’s throat went tight.
“I see,” he managed. He waited to see if his father was going to act on Nina’s new rule, or if it was too soon.
“So, where are you off to next?”
“Euh, Santorini. Greece. I’ve always wanted to go.”
“I hear it’s beautiful. And after that?”
“I don’t know.”
“All right. Will you be coming home any time soon? Not to stay, I mean. To visit?”
Nick couldn’t miss the hope in his dad’s voice, and it made him wish he didn’t have to get on a plane in a few hours.
“I don’t know, but soon. I promise.”
“All right.” His dad let out a sigh. “You can always come home. We’ll—I’ll—always be glad to see you. That’s all we were trying to say. You can always come home.”
Chapter 27
Catherine Lancaster’s office was on the sixteenth floor of the building that housed the NYB school and the company’s administrative staff, and as Carly rode the elevator from the lobby, which was around the corner from Lincoln Center, she felt the same roiling nerves she’d always felt when she’d been called to an appointment with the artistic director. Perched on the firm leather couch in the waiting room, she remembered the last time she’d been called to this office, when Mr. K had informed her that he was firing her effective immediately, because Jack Andersen had asked him to choose between his golden boy and some random, replaceable woman in the corps.
Despite her nerves, she smiled grimly to herself. So few people got to say they’d been hired by NYB. Even fewer got to say they’d been fired by NYB twice. She’d woken up this morning in her own bed downtown and had spent a few minutes staring at the ceiling thinking about the coming season, which would be her last with the company. What would it be like to wake up and not go to company class? Or to wake up and not feel the previous night’s performance in her calves and ankles and hips? She’d find out soon enough.
A phone rang on Catherine’s assistant’s desk.
