Chapter 8

8

DANIKA

M att and I stand in front of the doorway, my heart pounding in my chest as I take in the familiar sight and smell of my childhood home. It's been thirteen years, but the house still looks the same. Well, almost, except for the new flowers on either side of the door and a fresh coat of beige paint.

Beige? Does Dad now have social media and know what aesthetics are? He's always been a black-and-white kind of guy. Absolutely no beige or pastels.

"You need more time?" Matt asks.

I shake my head, overwhelming emotion forming a lump in my throat, and raise a fist to knock.

"Just a minute!" Dad yells.

I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. Why am I so terrified? This is my dad. This is my home. Yet I can't shake the feeling that he'll be disappointed. I wasted more than ten years of my life chasing after something that didn't lead me anywhere.

I don't realize I'm clutching my shirt in my fists until Matt reaches out and intertwines his fingers with mine. That calms me down a bit. He's here. Matt has always been good at stepping up when I'm too scared or nervous to say anything.

The door opens, and Dad steps out, his steps faltering when his eyes land on me. I haven't seen him since last Christmas when he stayed three days at a hotel near me. We see each other at least four times a year, but it's always him going to me and not the other way around.

"Dani?" His voice is soft but thick with emotion.

"Hi, Dad."

"Come in. Come in, Dani. What are—" Dad's eyes turn to Matt before he turns to cast a questioning look at me.

"I'll explain everything, Dad."

"You don't have to if you don't want to. Welcome home, kiddo." He steps in front of me and wraps his beefy arms around me, and the tears I've been holding back spill over. I hug him tightly and bury my face in his chest, sobbing hard for the second time this week.

Dad rubs my back. "There, there. Why don't we go inside first, hm? I can make your favorite hot chocolate."

"Okay."

"I'll stay here, Dan," Matt says.

"No, let's go inside."

Matt exchanges a glance with Dad. "You need to talk alone. I'll be here, okay?"

"Okay."

"You come inside when we're done, Matty. I still have those teabags you like," Dad tells him.

This makes me snort, but I cover it up with a cough.

Matt never liked Dad's tea. He just pretended he did to avoid hurting his feelings. Matt is a coffee person through and through. No jasmine and lavender teas for him. Then again, what's a small lie compared to how Dad beams because he finally found someone "with the same taste" as him?

"Sure thing, Jim. I can't wait."

Dad leads me inside and through the living room. He pulls the chair from the dining table and kisses the top of my head. "Sit tight, kiddo. Your old man will take care of you."

Wiping the last of my tears, I watch him move around the kitchen. The room feels both the same and different, maybe because of the new gray backsplash, new appliances, and wait … is that an air fryer? Did Dad learn online shopping or something?

My "favorite hot chocolate" isn't something Dad makes from scratch. He raised me himself, so he made foods and drinks that took no more than fifteen minutes to prepare. The recipe is nothing more than a locally made chocolate powder mixed with milk, and he just adds three pieces of chocolate squares.

It's a hundred times better than the fanciest drink I've ever had, and when he's done, I happily inhale the nostalgic smell.

He eases onto the seat across from me and smiles, his hand going to his salt-and-pepper hair to flatten it. "Still taste the same?"

I make a show of gulping loudly and wiping my mouth with my arm before nodding. "The same and the best. I keep telling you. You should open up a hot chocolate spot."

He waves me off. "I'm content with a pet shop, you know that. I love my guppies and tetras." Dad leans forward and laughs softly. "Did you know? My hairless guinea pigs got sold last week."

"No way. Eww, really? Who bought them?"

"I don't know. Someone passing through town, I think. When I showed you their photos, you said they'd grow old with me."

"Yeah, I did. They look so … weird, weirder than a chinchilla. Remember when my classmate in third grade brought her sphynx cat?"

Dad bursts out laughing. "You had nightmares for three days!"

"The hairless guinea pig did that to me, too." Part of me wants to beat around the bush and talk about anything and everything except what I really came here to say, but I remember Matt waiting outside, so I square my shoulders and let out a breath. "Dad, I'm coming back to Sweetheart Falls."

I brace myself for questions, disappointment, and worries, but the first thing he asks is, "You're okay? No one hurt you back there?"

"No, Dad. I'm not really okay, but no one hurt me. Well, maybe my asshole manager."

"Should I take my rusted ax and show him no one hurts my daughter?"

I smile and wipe a lone tear sliding down my cheek. "I'm sorry."

His forehead furrows. "For what?"

"For being a failure. For trying to chase something that was never meant to be mine."

"Dani…"

"I wanted to go home months ago, Dad, but I didn't want you to think I failed you, which I did."

"Dani, I only ever wanted what's best for you and what makes you happy. You wanted to make a living out of your art? Perfect. You wanted to go to the city? Okay. If you said you wanted to paint plant boxes for the rest of your life, I would've cut the trees myself."

I really don't deserve him and Matt. "I was so scared to come home like this, Dad. I wanted you to be proud of me. I never got to thank you for supporting me throughout art school and in the years after graduation until I landed a job that paid enough."

"Dani, it's my responsibility as your father."

"How many guppies did you have to sell?"

Dad snorts. "Please. I had to include the aquariums for an extra 20."

I crack up, doubling over, and Dad immediately joins in. He wipes his eyes before sobering up and smiling. "I am proud of you, kiddo. Taking off at eighteen and living in the city alone? That's brave, Danika. I would never have done it. I'd be so scared to do it, but you did. Things might not have turned out the way you wanted them to, but maybe, just maybe, you're meant for better things."

"T-thank you, Dad. I love you."

"I love you too, kiddo." He purses his lips, hesitates for a bit, and says haltingly, "So … you … and, uhm … Matty. When did that happen? When did you get here?"

My mind chooses that moment to remind me of all the filthy things we did, and I look away, fanning my heated face. "When I came back last Friday. I went into the mountains to camp and gather myself before I came here."

"Dani…" Dad's eyes are wide with disbelief.

"I know, Dad, I know. I didn't stop to check the weather. I got stuck there, Matt saved me, and well … we talked things out."

Dad gives me a knowing look. "I'm glad. I've always liked that boy, though I wasn't too crazy when he proposed right out of graduation, but…" He whistles and speaks with an almost reverent tone. "I couldn't believe it when Lydia said he was building a cabin in the woods. Matt, the boy who didn't even know which kind of knife to scale a fish with, was going to live in the mountains. He had everyone talking, you know. People made bets on how long he'd last there alone."

Dad smacks the table in amusement. "He wouldn't even help with the cattle at his ranch, and there he was, trying to live on his own. But I knew he could do it. I knew. This was the same boy who made you an easel stand when the store was out of stock. The same one who built a small cabinet for your paints."

"I remember that," I say with a smile.

I startle when my phone vibrates in my pocket. There's no signal in the mountains, so I'm just starting to get messages and emails right now—not that there's a lot, aside from spam.

One of the email subjects catches my eye, and I open it with trembling fingers.

From: Eli Johnson

Subject: CONGRATS. ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE

Daniela,

I am writing to inform you of a recent decision regarding your role within our company. After careful consideration and evaluation, it has been determined that the transition with the other employee in your previous position has not worked out as anticipated.

You can go back to your former position.

Please let us know if you are willing to accept this offer. We look forward to your positive response and to having you back in your previous role.

Best,

Eli

Creative Director

My eyes narrow at my phone, and I let out a scoff.

"Who was that?" Dad asks.

"My old boss. He wants to offer me my old position back."

"He fired you?"

"Yep. His nephew took my job."

"Now he wants you back."

I nod, scanning the other emails and text messages I received from my former workmates. "Apparently, he screwed up big time, and the company lost one of our big, old clients. The client will only come back on the condition that I handle their account."

"Damn. Karma works fast." Dad stops halfway through drinking his tea and squints his eyes at me. "You don't look happy."

Taking a deep breath, I rest my elbows on the table and massage my temples. "I spent five years in that company, Dad. My boss still calls me Daniela even though he talked to me on a daily basis. I thought that was what I wanted—to go back and work there again. They pay me well enough."

"But?"

"I just spent the weekend with Matt, and I … I realized I'd forgotten what happiness felt like. Genuine happiness. Not the temporary high I get from a simple "good job, Daniela" from my boss. I forgot what it was like to wake up and just … live."

"Corporate life isn't for everyone, and how difficult is it to learn your employees' names? Prick."

"I realized that too late. I used to do art for me, then I realized artists either go hungry or cave and accept a job at least adjacent to what they like to do. My clients would call me in the middle of the night, demanding me to change the logo or blur the background."

"Dani, I won't lie. That sounds tough as shit. Do you wanna go back?"

To my surprise, the answer comes easily. "No. No, I don't want to go back. I think … I think I want to start all over again right here."

Dad reaches over the table to cradle my cheek. "I'll support whatever you want, kiddo. Next time, I don't want fear or hesitation when you knock on my door. You come in and tell me who I have to punch. I'm your dad, not a judge."

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too. Now go tell that man you're not about to run out on him again."

Oh God. I forgot Matt was waiting for me outside. How long has it been? Thirty minutes? An hour? Did he hear us talk? Did he listen? Our house is small, so anyone on the porch can hear us clearly.

I rush to Dad and kiss his cheek. "Bye, Dad. I'll come back tomorrow for dinner. Me and Matt."

He waves me away. "Sure, Dani. Bring ice cream for dessert."

"Cookie dough or butter pecan?"

"Both."