happiest is where she should go. If I could redo my degrees all over again, I’d study in France. I’d let the best and brightest teach me and have culture on my side. It’s something I regret from being at Brighton because it limited my growth.”
“Brighton? Culinary arts, hmm?” he asks with a newfound interest.
“Yeah, Gray over here mentioned her aunt went there? Loren Tanner. She’s my idol!” My excitement gets the better of me, thinking of the chef that made me work harder than any other lesson could. I watched videos of Loren in class. June used her as our case study for what to strive for. Her hand techniques in cutting a chicken within thirty seconds was how I learned stealth and concentration.
“Ah, yes. Lo. Maybe Gray could introduce you two,” he offers, scratching his chin thoughtfully. His fingers trace his fork, the distraction in his eyes reminds me of a burdened man. Is that what he is? A man who hides behind niceties to feel less alone?
I start to say yes, but Gray shakes her head at us both. “I’m sure Lo is super busy with everything going on, Dad. You know how it’s been there since everything happened,” she enunciates slowly as though there’s a hidden message that I’m not quite getting.
Francis stares at her thoughtfully, his eyes saying more than her words did. Something transpired and there must be bad blood, he’s giving off too many unsubtle vibes. Whatever it is, I want to know. Curiosity always has been my worst trait. Gray almost seems scared of the topic, so again, I change it to benefit her.
“Brookewood is great, though,” I add. “I’ve heard the best things about their programs. I’m sure if you want to go, you’ll like it.” I direct my words at Gray, and the gratitude from saving her again is reflective in her gaze.
We eat in silence, almost stuck in a pregnant pause of uncertainty. Subjects that are better left unsaid.
After dinner, Gray and Francis hang out by the pool, and I excuse myself. My dad deserves to know I’ve monumentally messed up. Especially the information pertaining to Wes. He’ll either be extremely happy or severely disappointed. There’s no in-between with him. He wasn’t always this way. Not before Mom disappeared and not before her.
“Josey bear, what do you think?” he questions, holding two very normal ties up to his chest. One’s dark navy and pinstriped with cornflower, and the other is argyle in shades of red. I remember Mom saying red shows absoluteness and almost a headstrong quality, while blue shows understanding and gentleness.
Tonight is Dad’s biggest political speech for the next campaign. Tonight, he’s discussing how we’re treating humans at ICE facilities. He should represent blue. Prove he’s trustworthy, show he’s not like them, convey to them he’s willing to change the world for the better.
“Blue, Daddy. I like the blue.”
He smiles sweetly at me, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “You’re right, it’s the perfect color. Thank you for always showing me the right direction when I get lost. You’re my compass, Josephine. Don’t forget that.”
Tears stream my face at the memory. He used to care. He used to respect my opinion. He used to ask for it and take it into consideration. Then, one day, all hell broke loose, and I lost everything. I miss our dream team. Making decisions together, hanging out, and being best friends. Would he have saved me if he still chose me? Would my choices and life reflect differently now if not for his lack of care?
“Josephine?” he sounds out on the other end of the phone. His voice is strained, almost sad, yet nearly emotionless too. He’s stuck between a lifeless marriage and a soul-sucking career choice, and I’m the red-headed stepchild.
“Daddy,” I sound out, my voice still small. The wetness from my eyes leaks down my cheeks in heaps, hitting my shirt as I’m unable to control the emotions swallowing me whole.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. His concern isn’t like it once was, but you can tell the man who raised me is still in there; he’s just lost. “Talk to me, princess.”
“I-I—” I start to cry but am interrupted by Marsha’s cruel voice.
“Clay!”
My heart dies at that moment, his voice void of any emotion when he returns.
“What do you need, Josephine?”
“Just wanted to talk, Dad. I’ll let you go.”
“Is that Josey on the phone?” I hear Marsha in the background right before she picks up the phone. “Hello.” Her normal