Chapter 63

CHAPTER 63

MARIGOLD

I twirled the cheap wine around in my glass, watching the liquid catch the light from the old and dated chandelier hanging over the table. I was lost in thought, thinking about the chaos happening beyond the cozy four walls of my childhood home. I thought about New York. How noisy and alive it was right now while I was surrounded by peace and quiet.

My dad sat across from me, flipping through an old scrapbook he had pulled off a dusty shelf, filled with my childhood school projects. The smell of a cinnamon candle wafted from the living room, where Nat King Cole crooned softly. I had bought the CD for my dad ten years ago, along with a collection of old Christmas classics.

It should've felt perfect. Cozy. Nostalgic, even. But instead, it felt like I was watching everything happen from a distance, detached, like I was just a spectator in my own life. I knew I needed to stay off the internet, but I was drawn to it like flies to shit. It was terrible. A horrible place filled with hate and cruelty and judgment. But I couldn't tear myself away.

The world had gone crazy. The gossip websites, the trolls, Zayn's ex-girlfriends, and people who I had never met suddenly felt they had a right to dictate our lives. It was all so invasive, so shocking.

I hated being painted as some podunk victim. I wasn't. I put my message out there and it didn't seem to be moving the needle. Zayn continued being ripped to shreds and they were not going to be satisfied until there was nothing left. They would pluck every last piece of flesh from his bones in their feeding frenzy.

"Look at this one," Dad said, sliding a crinkled paper across the table. "You wanted to be a teacher when you were eight. Remember?"

I glanced down at the faded construction paper, a drawing of me standing in front of a chalkboard with a bunch of stick-figure students staring up at me. I had written, "When I grow up, I'm going to teach kids all over the world!"

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "I remember."

Dad leaned back in his chair, studying me in that quiet way of his, like he was seeing inside my mind, looking beyond what I was saying. He did that a lot these days, like he knew I was struggling and he didn't know how to help me.

"You used to dream big, Marigold," he said softly. "You were fearless. What happened to that girl?"

I bit my lip, not really sure how to answer. It wasn't that I'd stopped dreaming big. It was that life had a way of kicking those dreams out of you, one disappointment at a time. Dreams were just that—figments of a wild imagination. Dreams were rarely reality for a reason.

"I think she just grew up," I said, shrugging. "My eyes are wide open. I see the world for what it is and not what I thought it was."

Dad gave me a long, slow look before he nodded and took a sip of his wine. "You should go back to New York."

I nearly choked on my sip. "What?"

"You heard me." He closed the scrapbook and tapped it with his fingers. "You should move back to New York. Become the person you always dreamed of being."

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline, but he looked dead serious. "Dad, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you, Marigold. This town. It's not what you wanted. It never was. And staying here just because you think you need to take care of me? That's not fair to you."

"I'm not—" I started, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't pretend, sweetheart. I'm old, but I'm not blind. You've been looking after me since your mom passed. And I love you for it, but this isn't your life. It's time to go make something of yourself. Use that brain of yours. Be brave."

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. He wasn't wrong, and that was the problem. I hadn't stayed because I loved Green River. I stayed because it was safe, because the idea of leaving again, of failing again, terrified me. And because, in the back of my mind, I always thought Dad needed me more than I needed to leave.

But sitting here, with the smell of cinnamon in the air and Nat King Cole singing about chestnuts on an open fire, it felt like I was suffocating. Like this wasn't where I belonged anymore.

"I don't know, Dad…" I finally said, my voice trailing off.

He smiled, that soft, knowing smile of his, the one that always made me feel like he saw right through me. "You'll figure it out. You've always been smarter than you give yourself credit for. And no matter what you do, no matter where you go, I'll love you to the end of the earth. And so will your mother. She's watching over you, you know."

My throat tightened. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "Dad, it's not that easy."

"Sure it is." He shrugged.

"I just got all of my stuff into storage here. I've applied at the bank. I'm staying here. This is my life. And I don't have the money to make that move again. And I wouldn't be able to find a place. The rental market is ridiculous over there. I got lucky to find an apartment in a fairly safe place that I could afford. There is no way I will find a place like that again."

"You found it once, you'll find it again."

I shook my head and got up to start the dishes. "I'm here, Dad. This is where I'm going to be. Period."

"It's not right."

"I guess we'll just have to make it right," I said. "Because that's what it is."

I started the dishes, rinsing and scraping and loading them into the dishwasher that had seen better days. I couldn't stop thinking about what Dad said. About how he had pulled out all those old projects, like he was trying to remind me of who I used to be. The girl who dreamed big, who wanted to teach kids and travel the world. Who wasn't afraid of taking risks.

Maybe she was still in there somewhere, buried under years of playing it safe.

Technically, I did go bold. I left home the first time. I did go to New York.

It just didn't work out the way I hoped.

Dad broke the silence as I finished cleaning up. "You up for a Christmas movie?"

I blinked, shaking myself out of my thoughts. "Yeah, sure. Your pick."

"No, it's your turn," he said, already shuffling toward the living room. "Grab your blanket and let's get cozy."

I smiled as I grabbed the ratty old blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around myself. Dad settled into his recliner by the window. I flopped onto the sofa, snuggling into the blanket that was older than I was. It was my blankie. Whenever I was sick, Mom gave me the blanket.

He hit play, and the familiar opening notes of It's a Wonderful Life filled the room.

We watched in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling in the background. Everything felt soft, warm, like a scene from a Christmas card. We had watched the movie at least twenty-five times. I knew it by heart.

The whole scene was very familiar, but it felt strange. It felt like I was watching my life from the outside.

Dad sat forward and pulled the living room blinds to the side. He peered out the window. "Hm," he murmured. "Interesting."

"What?" I asked, already half-dozing.

"I think there's someone here to see you."

"Me?" I asked.

"Yep. Car just pulled up. And no one visits me."

I frowned, pushing the blanket off and sitting up. "Who would be coming to see me at this hour? Elaine and Carlos aren't flying in until tomorrow. If it's Courtney coming to gloat, I'm going to stab her with an icicle."

Dad laughed and motioned toward the front door. "Please don't. Her life is punishment enough."

Curious, I walked over to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open.

It was Zayn.

He was standing on the front step, knocking snow off his boots, his nose bright pink from the cold. He looked up and gave me that sheepish smile I hadn't seen in what felt like forever.

"I was just passing through," he said, his voice casual but his eyes saying a million different things. "Thought I'd come say hi."

I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. "Passing through, huh?"

He grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe I saw your little livestream and figured there was no way I was staying away after that."

My heart did a little flip, and before I could stop myself, I flung the door wide open and practically threw myself at him. He caught me, his arms wrapping around me. I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of him mixed with the cold winter air.

"I can't believe you're here," I said into his coat.

"Does this mean you're not pissed that I'm here?" he asked, his voice muffled against my hair.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, and before I could second-guess my instincts, I kissed him. The kiss made the world snap back into focus, sharp and real, like everything that had felt blurry and distant all day finally came rushing back.

When I finally pulled away, breathless, I whispered, "I've never been good at knowing what I want. But for once, it's crystal clear."

He stared at me for a second, his eyes wide, like he couldn't believe what had just happened. Then he grinned that big, stupid grin I loved so much, and he kissed me again.

We made our way inside. Dad was standing there with a goofy grin. He didn't seem all that surprised to see Zayn. "Well, well. Looks like we've got company for the movie."

"Hope I'm not intruding," Zayn said, though he didn't sound all that worried.

Dad waved him off. "You're always welcome here, son. Grab a seat by the fire. Melt the frost off those bones."

Zayn took off his boots and I helped him with his coat. We settled onto the couch, with him taking the seat closest to the fire. I spread the blanket over him and we cuddled together. I had never cuddled under my blankie with a man before, but with Zayn it felt just right.

Zayn looked wiped out. He kept glancing at me and smiling, but his eyelids kept drooping when he turned his attention to the movie. He promptly fell asleep about ten minutes in, his head resting on my shoulder. I smiled down at him, running my fingers through his hair, feeling more at peace than I had in weeks.

As the movie played, Dad looked over from his recliner with a soft smile. "Just one more reason I think you should move back to New York," he whispered. "Your mother would tell you that you don't have to protect your old man anymore. I'll just have to come and visit more often."

I blinked back the sudden sting of tears and nodded. "If I move back, you better," I whispered.

Dad's smile crinkled his eyes and I knew then, in that moment, that whatever I decided to do, he would be okay.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe I would be too.