When Our Worlds Ignite (An Our Worlds Spin-Off Book 1)

by Lindsey Iler

*****

  It’s almost nine when my phone rings. I stretch from the foot of the bed to reach it on my nightstand. I glare at the screen but accept anyway. What could she possibly need?

  “Hey, baby.” My mom’s voice is a welcome but discouraging song in my ear.

  “Hey, Mom.” Muffling a sigh, I plop back on the mattress and stare at the ceiling, listening to her ramble about a committee she serves on and how she’s been too bombarded with projects to catch up with me.

  Much like Violet’s mother, my mom is somehow absently present. Even when I was a child, she somehow managed to chair many events, while being too busy to make it to any of my school functions. I’ve always wondered if she’s searching for her purpose outside of our house. Being a mother and wife must not fulfill her enough. The one thing I can say is I’ve never once doubted her love. It just doesn’t come in the box I prefer.

  “Do you have any idea what it takes to pull off one of these events?” It’s the first direct question she’s asked in the last ten minutes of our one-sided conversation. Before I can answer, she continues. “So, what’s going on with you? Your father said you changed your major.”

  “Last semester,” I correct her.

  “Nonetheless.” Her dismissal is not at all surprising.

  “I quit baseball,” I blurt. “Dad doesn’t know yet.”

  “Why’d you go and do that?” Her disappointment can almost be felt through the phone. “You love baseball.”

  “I’m good at baseball. I don’t necessarily love it, Mom.” I pull the phone from my ear to check the time. I have class in the morning, Mother. I don’t have time to debate semantics with you.

  “So, what the hell you doing now?” Her southern accent thickens with curiosity.

  “I’m going to be working with one of my professors on a research project. It coincides with my major, Mom. This is a good thing.”

  “Well, just don’t expect me to tell your father. He’s going to be pissed. You know I can’t handle listening to him bitch about things that are totally out of his control.” She chuckles. “But, honey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m damn proud of you.” I feel her smile radiate through the phone. Mine must mirror hers.

  “Thanks, Momma.” It never fails. She always manages to turn me into the eight-year-old version of myself. It’s strange how hearing the pride in her voice, even when I don’t always agree with her, can change my mood in a second.

  “I’ll let you go do big things. Change the world and all that other stuff. Oh, and make sure to call your father. I’m not kidding with you, Daniel. I’m not doing your dirty work.”

  “Love you, Mom.” I push end and take a deep breath. Talking to mothers is exhausting.

  After conversations with two of the most important women in my life, I’ve learned a few things. Women are still an anomaly to me. Violet is a little more confusing than my mother, unfortunately. She had called when she’d gotten off work, excited to give me every detail of her first day and boasting about her new boss and coworkers. Her enthusiasm poured through the phone, making it almost impossible for me to stop smiling.

  That was before I got the shiny, rehearsed version of Violet’s plan.

  Now, I know her list is far more detailed and extensive. The trips she’s booked sound extraordinary. Maybe even life-changing and unbelievable. Something she needs. I could hear it in her voice. The way she’s described everything, I can actually imagine her sitting in cafés, sipping cappuccinos, and reading a book while it snows. She’ll learn who she is and what she wants from life. I couldn’t ask for anything more for her.

  After brushing my teeth and rolling into bed, I stare at the stark white ceiling. My mind races to how Violet and I will survive our newfound goals and perhaps our time apart. As I drift into a deep sleep, I feel both relaxed and anxious. Prepared yet completely vulnerable. All I know is I will do anything to make this work out for both of us.

  How did I manage to find myself on a plane to Atlanta?

  This is the exact question I’ve been asking myself over the last few days.

  The bomb of my mom’s affair struck me to my core. Not because I’m surprised, but because it has alleviated some of the hate I hold for my dad. Maybe not fully, but I no longer imagine using a voodoo doll on him. It’s a step in the right direction, I suppose.

  After such an explosive and informative lunch with my mom, finding out I can actually pull off “Operation Get Vi’s Shit Together” and get paid while I do it is surreal. So, instead of brooding over my mother, Jacqueline and I’ve been mapping out my journey.

  “How was the flight?” Kennedy asks the second she accepts my call.

  “It was good. Gave me time to do some research about France,” I respond, silently thanking the older gentleman who helps me with my bag. I can’t believe I’m going to France. Eek.

  “I’m jealous. I can’t believe you get to go to all those places. Eat all that food. Get all those clothes.”

  “Let’s get real for a second. You don’t care about the clothes, and you’re right where you should be.”

  “Still.” Kennedy chuckles. “At least promise to send me postcards. Bring back a trinket or two.”

  “I will.” I step out into the fresh Atlanta air and take a deep breath.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Kennedy has the motherly instinct down pat. Seems to me she’s worried about her dear old, best friend.

  “I just don’t understand what my father wants and why I had to come all this way. Whatever he has to say could’ve been said over the phone.”

  “I’m not sure, but remember what I said. If you need anything at all, I’ll jump on a plane in a heartbeat.”

  “I know you would, and I appreciate it, but it’s about damn time I start dealing with things head on. The last time I didn’t, Dan and I ended up hating each other.”

  “Now you’re the one who needs to get real.” She scoffs. “You and Dan never hated each other. Not even for a second.”

  “Do you ever wonder if we’re just crazy? Thinking we deserve some version of the perfect we’ve created in our own heads?” I ask, only because I question if happiness is something we will always be chasing.

  “I think there’s a perfect little boy in my backyard right now playing catch with his dad.” Her voice is choked with happy tears she’s fighting. This has been a regular thing for her lately. She can’t reign in her emotions to save her life. “I have to believe in the crazy, Vi, because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. Getting married. Adopting Ben. Sometimes, crazy is what gets us through life.”

  A week ago, Dan accidently slipped about Graham and Kennedy’s upcoming, secretive nuptials. I hung up on him and immediately called her, demanding answers. She gave them to me without question and apologized for keeping it secret. Their wanting to make sure they’re in a position to secure Ben’s adoption is more than understandable.

  “I’m proud of you, by the way,” Kennedy speaks after a long, silent pause.

  “Yeah, why’s that?” I hold out my free hand to hail a cab. One swings to the curb, and the driver loads my small suitcase as I slide in the backseat.

  “Because you’re following your heart. Even if it sends you on a wild goose chase, I don’t think you’ll ever regret it. You may not know who you are at times, but dammit, Violet, I know exactly who you are.” Her sniffles have my eyes watering as if the two of us are connected.

  “Don’t. You’ll make my mascara run.” My fingertip gets wet when I dab the corner of my eyes.

  “If I don’t talk to you before you fly out, be safe. I’m going to need my maid of honor in tip-top condition when the day comes.”

  “Maid of honor?” I ask. A part of me has assumed she’d ask eventually, but she’s stayed pretty mum about the whole thing. Who knew all those years ago, I’d end up being the maid of honor in Graham and Kennedy’s wedding.

  “Like I could do it without you.”

  “I still can’t b
elieve I won’t be there for your first wedding.” My scheduling is hectic. Jacqueline has set up a few events for me to attend the weekend Graham and Kennedy are getting married.

  “You’ll be in the second, though.” We chuckle at the insanity of the statement. Only those two could end up having two weddings. “Now, go deal with your dad, and then go conquer the world. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Ken.” I push end and lean back against the leather seat.

  “Where to, Miss?” the driver asks. His dark brown eyes glare at me with an impatience only a cab driver could perfect.

  I hand him the address, and his eyes light up. My dad’s address must hold some weight.

  Twenty minutes later we pull up to a rod-iron gate that has to be twenty-feet tall. I can’t help the eye roll when I see it. My driver pushes the intercom button, and a cheery voice echoes into the car.

  “Good afternoon, how may I help you?” she boasts, pride for her job as my father’s gatekeeper evident.

  “I have a,” he turns to me, and I whisper my name, “Violet here.” He shrugs, and I laugh at how uncomfortable he appears.

  The intercom screeches as the gates slip open. The driveway isn’t long by any means, but the property is hidden by vast trees and landscaping. Privacy.

  The driver pulls into the beautiful circle driveway in front of the house. In the middle sits a fountain with flowers floating on the water. Nice touch. Clearly, my father hires the landscaping out. His delicate hands couldn’t handle it.

  I step out and am greeted by a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a bright smile.

  “You must be Violet. I’m Gertrude.” She pats her aproned chest. “Your father is excited to have you here,” she states, but it almost sounds rehearsed.

  “How big of a bonus did he offer to butter me up?” I snap. Gertrude’s eyes widen in surprise, and I instantly regret my outburst. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Not to mention rude.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize, young lady. Your father is an impossible man, but deep down, there’s good in there. After all, he’s one-half of you, am I right?” She turns away to take my suitcase from the driver and hands him a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Either she gets paid well, or my father’s forked over my fare.

  The second we step inside the house, a young woman’s touch can be seen everywhere. Modern but comfortable. Sophisticated and airy. Surprisingly, it’s exactly how I would decorate the space.

  “He’s in his office.” Gertrude gestures down the hall. “Third door on the left. I’d knock before you enter.”

  “Or else.” My joke earns a wink.

  The hallway walls are covered in beautiful and unique black and white photographs. The white frames are a drastic contrast to the jewel-toned paint. I think about knocking before I enter. With a sly smile on my lips, I choose defiance and slip through the door. My father, Mr. Jones, as most refer to him, glances up when I enter. He stands and meets me at the head of his large cherry desk.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” The voice that soothed my childhood fears seems older and apprehensive.

  He leans in to hug me, and I hesitate before allowing his arms to encompass me. Maybe a part of me isn’t willing to admit all the blame doesn’t fall on his shoulders. Once you’ve been mad at someone for so long, it’s sometimes difficult to get out of the headspace you were in when it all began.

  “Hey, Dad.” My voice is muffled by his bicep. It’s been so long since he’s embraced me, an ache courses through me when he pulls away. No matter how upset I am, he’s still my dad, and I’m still his little girl.

  “A little birdy told me you’re doing some traveling in your near future.” His eyes narrow.

  “Mom?”

  “Oh, god, no.” His top lip curls in disdain. “Richard, actually, and may I tell you how much I love to hear about my daughter’s plans from a doorman.”

  “Who you pay rather heavily to keep an eye on me, I may add.” The shelves lining the wall behind his desk catch my attention. There are plenty of photos of him with the most recent presidents but very few of his family. I chuckle at the irony. When I whip around to address him, he’s sitting on a sofa, twirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler. “So, Dad, why the need for a visit from your daughter? Did you demand my presence to drag Mom’s name through the mud some more?” Retract your claws. Remember, he isn’t the only one to blame.

  “You’re still full of vinegar, aren’t you?” He pats the seat next to him.

  To keep some space between us, I sit at the opposite end. “Spill it, Dad.”

  He guzzles the liquid and sits the empty glass on the coffee table. “I need to apologize to you.”

  At his admission, my eyes close. Having a parent apologize or feel remorse for their actions isn’t an easy thing to witness. They’re meant to be poised and controlled. Admitting their own wrongdoing is painful to watch.

  His hand lands limply on my arm, giving me no choice but to look in his direction.

  “Dad.” My voice is weak.

  “No, let me speak.” He leans forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. “I may not have been the best husband, but I tried my hardest as your father. I understand why you hate me, Vi, and if you don’t want to accept my apologies, it’s okay, but I need you to know I love you. What happened between your mother and me hasn’t been pretty, and we’ve used you to fight each other. For that, I’m sorry.”

  Wow. Not once in my life have I seen him this remorseful and sincere.

  “Dad, I know about Mom’s affair, not that it makes up for yours, but perhaps I had this image in my head of what our family used to be. I saw you and Mom as the perfect couple. She supported you, and you supported her, but deep down, maybe you both didn’t have your hearts in it,” I say in an attempt to glue some of the pieces back together.

  “I loved your mother for a very long time, just as she loved me, baby girl.” He offers me a sad smile. “Sometimes life isn’t that easy, and instead of bowing out, we allow pride to take control. We didn’t want a failed marriage under our belt. We didn’t want to disrupt your life.”

  “But don’t you get it? Your and Mom’s mess has screwed me up. I broke up with Dan. I kept everyone at arm’s length because I thought I’d end up like Mom. Alone and broken hearted at the hands of someone I trusted.”

  “Oh, honey.” He holds his head in his hands before locking eyes with me. “You can’t put our shit on your plate. At the end of the day, even if your mom and I aren’t together, we still have the most important thing in common.” He grins and nudges my side.

  “Let me guess.” I smile back with a short, quiet giggle. “Me?”

  His arm wraps around me, encompassing me in his warmth. My head rests on his shoulder, and I inhale the scent of his cologne, something I remember doing when I was younger. I’d climb in his lap and fall asleep while he worked.

  “Are you happy?” I whisper.

  “I am.” Relief releases from his shoulders as he sighs. “Are you?”

  “I’m getting there. When I fly out of here, I’m going to be doing some traveling,” I spill my plans, “but you already know that. Richard.”

  “Don’t blame him. I’d find out eventually, but please tell me you weren’t going to travel out of the U.S. without letting your poor old dad know?” He clutches at his chest.

  “Full disclosure, I was.” I take in his aging face. Wrinkles are in places I’ve never noticed before. “But I’m glad I came down here first.”

  “Where are you going?” He asks, genuinely interested. He sets his tumbler on the table, giving me his full attention.

  My dad and I haven’t had a real conversation in a long time. Maybe because while under their roof, I had been too occupied with my own teenage drama to actually sit down for long enough to discuss anything real.

  For the next hour, I tell him every stop and day trip I have planned. He warns me of places he’s been that shouldn’t be traveled alone, especially as a young female. When he writes do
wn restaurants and his favorite cafés, I chuckle at his enthusiasm. He smiles at me before looking back down at the paper to doodle more information.

  A knock at the door startles both of us. Dad hands me the paper, and I tuck it into my back pocket as if it’s a secret I want to keep hidden. A beautiful blonde pokes her head through a small crack in the door.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her voice is sweet and mellow.

  My dad waves her in. “You didn’t. We were just discussing Violet’s upcoming travels. Vi,” he gazes at me with pleading eyes, “this is Michelle. Michelle, this is my daughter, Violet.”

  Michelle watches me for a few breaths before fully stepping into the office. She stretches out her hand, and I take it. We haven’t had a chance to discuss his new girlfriend, and now she’s being thrust upon me. No warning. No real direction in where we are supposed to go from here.

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Violet,” she says politely. “Your father’s told me so much about you.”

  “Likewise,” I lie. My dad grins, and his shoulders visibly relax. He’d been afraid, rightfully so, of how I’d react if and when our paths crossed. “Have you had dinner yet?” I ask Michelle directly and glance back at my dad.

  “I haven’t.” Her surprised expression gives me hope for a future where we can co-exist. “Should we go out, or can I cook something?”

  “Michelle’s a chef.” My father clarifies the unasked question in my head when she offered to make our dinner.

  “I’d love a home cooked meal. My roommate and I live off of frozen pizza and takeout,” I say, glancing at the new woman in my dad’s life, hoping I’m not putting her out by asking for her to cook.

  She bounces up and down. “Do you like red meat?”

  “Am I from Tennessee?” I joke. Michelle chortles, and with a broad smile on her face, she scurries from the room. My dad’s smile matches hers. “She seems nice.”

  “She is.” He nods in agreement of my first impression.

  “She seems young.”

  “She is,” he smiles, “but she’s well-spoken and brilliant, in and out of the kitchen. You’ll see.”