I noticed that she kept glancing up the driveway, waiting for Ben to hang up and acknowledge her. Every second that passed felt like a win.
“That’s everything. Is it okay if we go in and start setting up?” Neil said. He was clearly enjoying acting like the lead on the production in the few minutes Ben was pretending to be busy.
Tricia gave Ben one last, longing glance. “Yes, of course. It’s so cold out here, let’s get you inside by the fire.”
My mom stood by the door like a flight attendant greeting passengers. She put her hand on my arm to stop me as I crossed the threshold. “Where’s your overnight bag, honey?”
“Didn’t they tell you? We’re all staying at the Greeley Inn, so we can work on editing together.”
It was a bit of fiction Mel and I had concocted to give me a valid reason to leave at the end of the day.
She frowned at me. “But you don’t know how to edit.”
“I, uh, I have editorial control on the program,” I stuttered, throwing a nervous glance at Neil and hoping he wouldn’t correct my lie. Thankfully he was too busy unpacking.
“Oh.” She peered out the window by the door. “He’s going to freeze out there. Should I tell him to come in?”
“Mom, he’s used to the cold.”
“That’s right,” she laughed. “Three speed skating gold medals means he’s spent plenty of time freezing his booty off.”
It didn’t sound like a dig but I knew it was. I made a mental tally to keep track of how many times she mentioned his Olympic wins.
“Do you have a preference about where we set up?” Neil asked her.
“Ben will have thoughts about that,” Hailey said under her breath.
He shot her a look then refocused on my mom. “Do you have a couple of options in mind? That way we can show Ben when he comes in.”
“Yes, of course, we have lots of pretty spaces we can choose from. Follow me.”
I remained in the front hall, waiting for Ben. For whatever reason, he felt like my touchstone.
He finally hung up and started striding toward the house. I leaned my forehead against the window, willing him to walk faster. I needed him to witness every second of the visit, so he could fully understand what I was up against.
“Well hello, pretty lady,” my dad’s voice rang out from behind me.
I turned to find him with his arms outstretched, ready for a hug.
He was still leading-man handsome, with a blocky jaw and the perfect amount of salt in his peppery hair. My father was basically a neutral stranger in my life, a member of the chorus who was always overshadowed by the lead. Not that he cared. It gave him the perfect excuse to lose himself in his work, and then on the golf course.
“Hey, Dad.”
I relished the few seconds of connection as we embraced. It was the closest I’d come to true parental affection.
We pulled apart but he held on to my shoulders and studied me.
“You look really good, sweetheart. Healthy.”
My heart warmed at the first part then dropped at the second. Healthy could be code for “not tiny enough to jump high.”
It must’ve registered on my face because he quickly followed up. “You lookhappy.”
I paused to consider it. I’d just come from a flight where I didn’t feel terrified the entire time, I was hanging out with a crew I’d dreaded working with but who turned out to be okay, and the one person I’d spent the past four years hating was quickly becoming my strongest ally.
I smiled at my father. “I guess I am.”
We were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
