I can’t look at the church either, too many memories. That’s what I see. The two of us standing under the tree, him leaning into me. Holding me as if I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen. I am to him, at least. To me, I’m nothing but trash. I don’t deserve the decency I’m being afforded right now. These highly paid suits coming in to make everything go away because of who I am. That’s not right. Breaking his heart shouldn’t have been just a simple piece of paper. I should’ve had the guts to walk up to him and tell him I’m leaving. Give him an explanation about why we aren’t going to work and how the age thing is just too much. But I’m a coward. I know he’d say that his birthday is soon and we can hold out. He’s right, I should be able to, but I can’t.
We stop at an area rest stop so I can freshen up. I have no doubt my arrest has hit the social media sites. I guess Ian is at least prepared for it. I found it ironic that the officer who interviewed me is Dylan’s dad. Of course, I only found out after he told me in the interview room how upset I made his daughter when I started dating Ryan. I knew she liked him, but there’s a difference between her and I – Ryan loves me and I love him – I just can’t show it right now.
I’m changed and somewhat cleaned up and back in the car. I’m being dropped at the airport where I’m to catch a flight to New York to see my parents. We're having a family meeting without Ian. He’ll fly in tomorrow sometime with Cole so we can start this tour. I can’t imagine what Ian has told my parents. I don’t really care, because honestly, I think they're going to be disappointed with me regardless. It won’t be so much about Ryan, but about the way I handled myself. I know better and should’ve acted with more maturity and not let my hormones dictate what I did. I could’ve easily waited until he turned eighteen and just come back, but no, I had to have him, keep him like he was some type of souvenir.
After stopping at my apartment to shower and change, I pull into my childhood home. I was hoping Alex would be here, but she’s with her mom. I know if I called and told her what I had done, she’d be waiting, but I can’t do that to her right now. Her mom needs her. The drive to my parent’s house happens in a blur. I can’t stop crying. I want to crawl up into a ball and bury myself under the blanket of misery that I’ve created.
I walk into the house, expecting it to be empty. My dad, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, is sitting on the couch. He’s waiting for me. His hands are folded and resting in his lap and he’s looking out of the window. It’s the way he used to sit each time I’d leave for a date or for a show, always worried.
I set down my keys on the small table just inside the front door. “Is Mom home?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“No, sweetie, it’s just us.” His eyes are kind when he looks at me. He stands, opening his arms. I can’t move fast enough. I collapse into his arms as he holds me tight in his embrace. I don’t care how bad I’ve screwed up; a girl always needs her daddy and I’m so thankful for mine.
He rubs my back, shushing my sobs. “It’s going to be okay.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not. I messed up so bad, Daddy.”
“Everything will be fine. Come on. I’ll make you some lunch and we’ll talk.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder, guiding us into the kitchen. He pulls out the stool for me, just like he does for my mom, and waits until I’m seated before walking around to the other side. I watch as he looks through the cupboards and refrigerator searching for something to make. I can’t help but smile when he pulls out the makings for tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.
I like watching my dad cook. While I was growing up, he would cook once a week. Mom and I would get pampered and served dinner. He’d set the table with candles and flowers and it didn’t matter what he served, Mom always said it was the best meal she’d ever had. That’s what I see when I look at Ryan – a lifetime of memories waiting to be discovered.
When I close my eyes and think about him, I see him walking around our kitchen, the morning sun shining through the window. He’s in boxers and a white undershirt standing at the stove, cooking. If I let my imagination wander, I see a little girl running and attaching herself to his leg. I stand off to the side and watch. That vision will never happen, especially after what I’ve just done. He’ll never forgive me. I won’t ever forgive myself.
Dad sets a bowl of soup in front of me and a plate of quarter-cut sandwiches in between us. He hasn’t cut my sandwiches since I was ten years old, a time when everything in life was so simple and my one dream was to become a singer. Now my dreams are a pile of nothing because the one person I thought I could share them with, isn’t here and it’s my fault. Even if I apologized I don’t expect him to forgive me. I did the one thing I asked him not to do: I broke his heart. I could see it on his face when he called out my name. It pained me to not smile at him, to hold back from running into his arms.
“Ian called,” he says this in a tone that would suggest Ian calling is an everyday occurrence and it may have been at one time, back when he was trying to sell my brand, but I can’t imagine he keeps my parents up to date on me. That’s my job and recently I’ve been failing.
“I figured.” I take a deep sigh, turn and look at my dad. “I fell in love and made some terribly wrong decisions.”