by Erin Hayes
Ferdie doesn't say anything. I can't tell if it's a good or a bad thing that he doesn't.
"I hope that your trip to Japan was everything that you hoped it would be," I say. "That you found closure."
"Did you?" he finally ventures. "Did you find closure?"
I think about the Jizo statue that I placed in honor of our daughter. Of our impossibly coincidental meeting at that temple. At walking through Tokyo like it was a dream. Did I find closure? Did I finally find peace with a past that I've been trying to pretend didn't exist? "I'm not sure," I finally say. "Things feel different now. I feel as though I have clarity on what I should do."
But closure? I'm not so sure about that.
I don't say that out loud, though. I don't want to give Ferdie a false impression. Especially since I'm drunk.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask. "I mean, in Japan?"
"I don't know." Ferdie's voice is quiet. Contemplative. "I had a different experience than I thought I would."
I giggle despite myself. Stupid alcohol. "What did you think you would....experience?"
"Certainly not what happened. I thought I'd be walking around Tokyo by myself for the most part." He snickers. "But you being there was a pleasant surprise."
"Pleasant?"
"Never in a million years would I have thought you'd be there," he says. "And I'm glad. Even though I would have liked for things to happen differently between us..." He laughs softly. "I'm glad I did get to see you."
"Me too," I tell him honestly. "Me too."
I am happy I saw him. Even though I ended things with James. Even though I'm now in a hotel room because I realized that what I had was a sham, I'm so glad I got to see him again. Luckily, even though I'm drunk as a skunk, I know better than to say that to him.
I know that I shouldn't say that to him.
"I held my niece today," he says suddenly. "Before I left for Japan, it was hard for me to look at her." I close my eyes, because his words sober me to my core. "Before, I couldn't hold her, because I saw what should have been our future together."
"And after?"
"After," Ferdie says, "I don't feel as fragile. It doesn't hurt as much." He lets his words sink in for a moment. "So maybe that means I did get my closure."
"Good." I smile, even though it physically pains me. "I'm glad."
"I hope you'll find that you have that kind of feeling, too," he says.
"Yeah," I agree.
And neither of us speak for what feels like a very long time. I finally sigh and straighten myself.
"I should get to bed," I say at length. "I have to find a place to live tomorrow."
"Are you going to be all right?" he asks me. Again. Or is the question slightly different now?
I think for a moment before answering. "If you're all right," I say, "then I'll be, too. I know that I called you on this number. I know that I shouldn't have done that. I know that you're getting mixed signals from me, and that's because I'm an awful person, but...don't call me ever again, please."
I take the phone away from my ear, meaning to end the call, but then his voice fills the earpiece.
"I was telling the truth, Lex. Out front of your hotel. When I told you that I love you. I wasn't just saying that."
Fuck. I take a shuddering, steadying breath. "I know," I whisper to him. "And in another world, another lifetime, we could have been together. Because I love you, too." My voice breaks as I hear him take in a sharp intake of breath. "But we can't. We can't, Ferdie." And now that I've devastated myself again, I add, "Please, have a good life. You deserve it."
Then I hang up without hearing his reply. I don't think I can handle it.
I grab the blankets of this unfamiliar hotel and pull them up to my chin so I can sleep.
Tomorrow, I'll rebuild my life.
Tomorrow.
For now, I just want to wallow in my pain.
When I wake up the next morning, I feel like death warmed over. I drank way too much last night. And my mood is made even worse by the fact that I remember that I called Ferdinand last night. I know that I made an ass out of myself. I know that I made an unfair plea to him.
And I know that he's gentleman enough to respect my wishes. After all, he didn't follow me when I left him fifteen years ago. He kept his distance. I know that he'll do it again, even at the risk of losing everything.
I'm so damn lost.
It's after I get my coffee and try to screw my head on straight that I run an internet search for some help. I find a number, look at the reviews, and then I dial it.
"Hello, Dr. Garcia's office," the woman on the other end brightly answers.
"Hi, there," I say slowly, feeling oddly exposed. "I'm not a patient yet. But I was hoping I could schedule a therapy session with her?"
"Absolutely. Let me see what her availability is."
Perhaps the entire purpose behind me going to Tokyo and meeting with Ferdinand was to hear that he's now a therapist. Perhaps I needed to give myself permission to seek help.
I'm doing that now. I should have done it a long, long time ago.
And I'm going to fix that. Starting now.
22
Alexandra
I hold my breath, watching as the arriving group of travelers passes through the security point at Washington Dulles Airport. I hold my hands clasped in front of me and stand on tiptoe, trying to peer over the group’s heads.
I don't know why I'm so nervous. I am just waiting for my father, after all.
I haven't seen him in years. Between his schedule taking him across the world and my own schedule working as a diplomat, our paths haven't crossed. And it makes me feel a little hollow inside, that the only family member I have left I haven't been able to see for a long while.
This changes now. Unfortunately, it took breaking off my engagement with James for us to reconnect.
I am determined to change that. To find a way back to us.
"Alexandra!"
I hear him before I see him.
And there he is.
All sense of pretense and decorum leave me, and I rush forward into the crowd and into the arms of my father. Either I'm bigger than when we last saw each other or he's lost weight. Probably a combination of both. But he's smoothing back my hair and talking to me in Swedish. Admittedly, I'm a little rusty, even though it's my first language. I can understand him perfectly fine, but speaking it feels a little uncomfortable.
So I keep to English as I stand back and smile at him. "You look like they aren't feeding you, Pappa," I tell him playfully. "You're skin and bones."
Father holds me by my cheeks and inspects me. "You're the same, too," he says with a frown. "Do you not like American food?"
I roll my eyes. "I like it just fine. It's just that..."
Father's expression softens. "I know." He kisses my forehead. "I went through a similar thing when your mother passed."
I shiver, because I know what's implied, but I also know that I don't feel the same way. But you really loved Mother. And what I felt for James wasn't love. It was comfort. And love shouldn't be a habit or just what you're comfortable with.
"I'm fine," I tell him tightly.
He nods encouragingly. "Well, aside from being too skinny, you look great." He steps back to give me a once-over at arm's length. We stand like this for a long moment before he sighs. "How have you been doing, by the way?"
I give a shuddering inhale. "Well, a queen-size bed feels much larger now."
My failed attempt at a joke makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He reaches forward and wraps one arm around my shoulders. "It's only been a month. It will get easier."
"Yes. Yes." I step away and give him what I hope is a confident smile. I did what was right, I know for certain. But it has really impacted every aspect of my life. My circle of friends has tightened even further, and I did lose some close friends who believed I broke James's heart. The thing is, I did. And I'm not sure why I don't feel worse than I do.
"Well, do we need to stop by the baggage claim?" I ask, looking at the backpack Father carries. It certainly doesn't look like it's enough for a man to go traveling across the world on peace missions. But when Father shakes his head, I realize that he doesn't have very many material possessions, by design.
"This is all I have," he says nonchalantly.
Maybe I should aspire to be more like my father.
"All right," I say, "then I'll take you home."
I drive back to my new little apartment in Arlington. Along the way, Father and I talk and catch up. About the past, about what's happening in our lives. I tell him that I've been working on a refugee program. Father tells me about where he's been, from South Sudan to Venezuela. Hearing his passion as he speaks makes me realize why he's loved the world over. He's made a positive impact on so many people.
I'm proud of him. I'm proud of his legacy and the mark he's leaving on the world.
Then he drops the news that he has a new girlfriend.
It takes me a moment to process this, and I have to cock my head and blink several times before I can find the words to speak. "You... have a girlfriend?"
I glance over at my father, and he's bright red. "It's nothing too serious," he says. Place him in front of a camera, try to get him to admit to a scandal, or do anything to ruffle his feathers and he emerges unscathed. But seeing him blush like this, it's almost too adorable for me to handle.
But it's also how I know that he truly does feel strongly for his girlfriend. Especially since this is the first girlfriend I've ever heard him speak about. "Right." I can't help my smirk. "So, tell me about her."
"Her name is Yulia, and she's from Ukraine."
I grin and glance over at my father. "Yulia from Ukraine." When he doesn't say anything further to deny or say anything otherwise, I gesture for him to continue. "So, tell me more about Yulia from Ukraine. How did you meet?"
He chuckles and shakes his head, as if assuring himself that telling me about his girlfriend will be all right. "She's with Doctors Without Borders. We met during the Ebola outbreak in Sierra Leone."
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Ebola outbreak? When?"
His cheeks color even more. "It's been a few years."
"When?" I insist.
"2014."
I stare at him for as long as I dare before turning back to the road. "Dad, that's been like...five years."
"I know."
"And you didn't tell me about her?"
"We met then," he clarifies. "We didn't start dating until a year after."
I chortle. "So you've been dating her four years?" He says nothing, and I finally sigh. "I'm just teasing. I'm just surprised."
"I didn't want you thinking that I was forgetting your mother," Father says, his voice a little broken. "You were so young when she died, and I just don't want it to feel like we're moving on."
Oh, my heart. "Pappa," I say, "you have to move on. Otherwise, you're stuck in the past."
Shit, doesn't that sound familiar. I swallow uncomfortably.
Father lets out a breath. "Easier said than done." He looks at me. "I just want you to know that I loved your mother. The only person I love more is you. And losing her devastated me. I don't want to lose you, too."
I reach over and put my hand over his. "I know. I remember that you were sad for a really long time."
"It was part of the reason why we moved to Dubreva," he says, as if reasoning with himself. "I figured that if I couldn't give you a better life in Sweden, we could do better there."
"That must have been really hard," I say.
"It was what was best," Father says. "Living our lives."
What was best.
His words echo in my mind as I ask him to talk about Yulia some more. I can tell that he's genuinely enamored with her and possibly even in love with her, and it's a weird thing to think about, my dad being in love again. I guess a part of me had always thought he'd be alone, trying to save the world. But now, I can tell how much he needs this.
Love does amazing things to a person.
And I find many parallels between him and me. It gives me hope. If he can find happiness, then maybe I can.
"This is where you live?" Father asks as I pull up to the apartment. He looks up at it through the window.
I put the car into park. "Yes. Third floor. No elevator, though."
Father may be getting up there in years, but he is still pretty spry, so he's less winded on the trek up the three flights of stairs than I am. I try to help him take his bags up there, but he waves me away. "I've got it, Alexandra."
So there's not much more I can do to help. I open the door and let him inside, mentally cringing because I know that there are still unpacked boxes and it feels fairly sparse inside.
"It's..." Father starts.
"...still being moved into," I say quickly.
"...quaint," he finishes meeting my eyes. "And perfect. It looks like you're doing well enough by yourself."
I nod. "Thank you," I whisper. I turn to the cupboards and pull out the tea kettle, knowing that my father doesn't drink. "Can I get you some tea?"
"Yes, please," Father says as he sits down at my kitchen table with a sigh. We're both silent as he watches me put the kettle on the stove and then pour the hot water into teacups. I set them both down as I seat myself across from him. "You remind me of your mother," he tells me as he swirls the teabag in the cup.
I smile. "I'll consider that a compliment."
"You should. She was a wonderful woman. Just like you."
We both drink.
"So how long are you in Washington for?" I ask him. I hadn't gotten much in the way of information. Just that he was in town for a little bit.
"A week for this conference." He shrugs. "And then I'm back off to Sierra Leone."
"And will Yulia be there, too?" I venture.
Father's cheeks flush. "Yes," he says into his cup before he takes a swig.
"Good. I'm glad. Truly."
"And you?" Father asks, meeting my eyes. "Are you all right? After your break-up with James?"
I hesitate before giving a slow nod. "Yes. I think I am. It's just..."
"Just what?"
"I think I'm a little cursed," I say with a laugh.
"No, you're not," he says, giving me a hard glare. "You're perfectly fine. If it didn't work out between you and James, there's someone out there who is perfect for you as well."
Yes, there may be, but I told him to let me go fifteen years ago and again just a month ago. I give a pained smile. "Perhaps. Or maybe not." I look down at my cup. "Do you remember our time in Dubreva, Pappa?"
"Of course, I do. I consider it one of the best decisions I ever made for our family." Father sighs. "Granted, I wasn't around as much as I should have been. But you got a better education than I could have given you back home. And you were exposed to a lifestyle that few children ever get.”
Yeah, I got to be friends with four princes.
As if he’s on the same track that my mind is on, Father says, “You know, Queen Victoria of Dubreva approached me about a year ago to arrange a marriage between you and Phillip. Again. But this was after his scandal from cheating on his fiancée.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I knew she wanted the same thing back when I was eighteen, but not...recently.”
Father strokes his chin. “I had entertained the thought of it then—after all, you seemed to get along well with those princes, and it would have set you up for life.”
I find that I'm laughing. "It would have been really awkward if it had progressed any further."
Father shifts to sit closer to me. "How so?"
"Well," I say, feeling the familiar butterflies leap into my throat. "Phillip was just a friend."
"Well," Father says slowly, "have you ever considered him as something more than a friend?"
I smile, feeling my eyes wrinkle at the corners. "No. Because I was in love with Ferdinand."
> It takes a few seconds for Father to process this, and he blinks furiously as it finally dawns on him. "Ferdinand? He's one of the other princes, right?"
I nod. "Princess Elizabeth's older son."
"The broody one, right? The one that looked like he was always trying to swallow a frog?"
I laugh, because that's an apt description of Ferdinand. Back in those days, he always did look like he was frowning. "Yes. That one."
"And you were in a relationship with him?"
"Yes. We dated after I turned fourteen."
Something in my voice must have connected the dots for him, because he puts his hand over mine and gives it a squeeze. "Was it serious?"
"Fairly serious." I debate telling him about the engagement and my pregnancy—honestly, if he had been around more, he would have noticed my pregnancy. That I was a little heavier and had morning sickness. As it was, I hid it pretty well.
So, rather than open that wound wider, I'm not going to tell him the full story. That will have to be for another time, because I don't have the capacity to handle it right now. I don't want to hurt Father that way.
I close my eyes and let out a breath. "We had even discussed marriage."
There. Super vague and still technically the truth. Even though I didn't say all of it, I feel a weight lifted from my shoulders as I look at my father.
Fuck, it feels good to finally get that off my chest.
"Wow," Father says. His eyebrows go up in surprise. "Marriage. I had no idea."
"No one knew, to be fair," I say. "We kept it secret. Because Victoria wanted me to marry Phillip, we didn't want to make waves. Not until we figured out how to let her down."
Father thinks on this some more before letting out a sigh that borders on a groan. "Why didn't you say anything, Alexandra?"
Honestly? "I wasn't sure if you agreed with Victoria. On me marrying Phillip over Ferdinand."
"Oh, Alexandra." Father's face falls. "You didn't have to keep it a secret from me. I'm so sorry you felt that way."
Shit, emotion is threatening to barge into this conversation, and I feel as though I want to cry. "It's not that we were specifically keeping it from you. It's just that..."