“Darling?”
“I never thought I’d hear that voice again. I believed it was gone forever, and now . . .”
“I know. You don’t have to try to put it into words.”
“I don’t even know how to feel. One minute I’m relieved he’s alive, and the next I’m so furious. But now, he’s coming here, and I’m excited and terrified.”
“There’s no right way to feel. I think the most important thing is to allow yourself to feel it all,” he says.
“I just need you to hold me right now,” I tell him.
I curl up in his arms and close my eyes while he runs his hands up and down my back. I open myself up to his comfort and take all I can. It’s a myriad of extremities in my heart and head, but somehow, Declan is powerful enough to temper the storm in me.
His warmth is able to relax me enough that eventually I drift off, and when I wake, he’s still holding me. I look out the windows and see the sky rippled in waves of pinks and oranges.
“How are you feeling?” Declan asks softly.
My voice is sleepy when I respond, “That’s a hard question to answer.”
He leans down and kisses me. “Why don’t you freshen up before he gets here?”
What does one wear when they meet their dead father for the first time after twenty-three years? After I shower, I dig through my suitcases that I never got around to unpacking yesterday and pull out a pair of black pants and a flowy green top. I busy myself, focusing on making sure I look nice for him; maybe it’s me subconsciously distracting myself or maybe it’s because I honestly want to look pretty for my dad.
I don’t really know.
I dry my hair and fix it with free-flowing waves and then apply my usual light makeup and sweep a little gloss across my lips. I slip on a pair of black flats before giving myself a lookover in the mirror.
My stomach twists in nervousness. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him or how I’m going to react. I’ve dreamt endlessly about magically getting my dad back, and now that it’s here and it’s real, I’m suddenly terrified.
“You look perfect.”
When I turn to Declan leaning against the threshold, I give him a tight smile. “Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“I know you’re nervous and worried, but try not to psych yourself out.”
“What if I can’t do this?”
“And what if you can?” he counters. “Come here.”
I walk into his arms and hold on to him.
“You’re trembling,” he notes. “Why don’t I get you a drink to help with your nerves?”
I follow him into the living room and before we make it over to the wet bar, there’s a knock on the door.
Stopping dead in my tracks, all the air is sucked out of my lungs, and I’m momentarily paralyzed. Declan looks back to me, and I’m in shock.
“That’s him.”
MY WHOLE BODY freezes, and I swear my heart skips a beat or two. I’m wide-eyed as Declan looks at me. I can’t speak. My skin pricks in goose bumps Declan places his hands on my cheeks and tells me with sure-fire intensity, “You can do this.”
Nodding my head, I speak around the lump lodged in my throat. “Don’t let go of me.”
“I won’t.”
Hand in hand, we walk over to the door. Each step I take feels like a marathon’s worth of strides. My heart tremors, pumping erratically beneath my bones.
Another knock.
I reach out my jittery hand, and a wave of nausea hits hard when I hold my breath and open the door.
It’s him.
His eyes meet mine, and I can’t speak. I can literally reach out and touch him, but I don’t. I’m too scared he might disappear if I make any sudden movements. He looks at me in confusion. His eyes give a little flick, and I wonder if there’s maybe a hint of recognition.
“Dad.”
My voice falters and his eyes widen in curiosity, but it’s when that very look morphs into astonishment that I know he knows. In one fluid movement, he takes a step towards me and pulls me into his arms.
“Oh, my God,” he breathes in disbelief, and I wrap my free arm around him as the tears start falling. “Elizabeth?”
“It’s me, Dad,” I tell him as my emotions swell to ungodly proportions.
His hold on me is the strongest I’ve felt in my whole life. And all of a sudden, my fears, my reservations, my hatred, it vanishes. Declan lets go of my other hand, and I cling it around my dad. His back quakes in my hold, and I hear the click of Declan closing the door as the two of us cry.
He cradles my head in his deft hand, the same way he did when I was a little girl, and chokes out, “My baby princess.”
He draws back, bracing my head in his hands, and scans my face.
“My God, you’re so beautiful,” he says thickly.