I relax, overwhelmed with relief—and happiness. I took a risk striking out on my own, and although I had to ignore what my parents wanted from my life to make it this far, his praise still means so much to me. I’ve always looked up to him, at everything he’s achieved, and I can’t help wanting his approval, even now.
I hide my emotions, busying myself by adding pasta to the boiling water, and cutting fresh tomatoes up into a rough chop. “Can you please grab some basil?” I ask him. “It’s in the box on the window ledge.”
Dad goes to pick a bunch from the plant growing there. “Is this OK?”
“Perfect. Just tear it roughly and throw it in with the veggies,” I instruct him.
He does as I say, then sniffs at the pot. “Smells good.”
I give it a stir. The veggies have softened now, breaking down into a thick, fragrant sauce that makes my mouth water. “Shouldn’t be long,” I decide. “I’ll just throw together a salad, and that should be it.”
“Please,” Dad pretends to groan, “no more salad. I’ve been living off rabbit food for weeks!”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, I found a recipe for an amazing dressing. You won’t even notice how healthy it is.”
I start on the salad, tearing chunks of fresh lettuce into the colander. As I work, I think more about my father, and how reluctant he always seemed to come back here to Beachwood Bay. “I was wondering…” I start, “what made you leave town? You went off to college in New York, right? Didn’t you ever think about moving back after school?”
“Never,” Dad declares grandly. He catches my expression, and softens. “You have to understand, sweetie, you may love this place, but growing up here… It wasn’t all a picnic for me.” He stirs the sauce slowly, and lets out a sigh. “To tell the truth, I was pretty miserable.”
“But why?” It seems so strange to think of my confident, successful father as a teenager—and even odder to imagine him unhappy.
Dad shrugs. “I guess I never quite fit in. I was a nerdy kid,” he explains, “nerdy, and ambitious. I wanted to see more of the world, to do important things. There I was, this weedy kid with hardly any friends, getting picked last for all the sports teams, but I knew I was destined for bigger things.”
“You, weedy?” I can’t help but tease, poking his middle-aged spread.
“Watch your tone, child.” Dad laughs, then pauses, a sad look in his eyes. “But, seriously. It’s one thing to come to Beachwood Bay as an adult, and have people recognize you for the person you are right now, but it was different for me. It felt like no matter what I did, everyone still saw me as that Olsen boy, the one who made straight As but couldn’t get a date to prom. I wanted to get away from that, start fresh on my own terms.”
He shrugs, glancing down, and I realize that for all his security and success now, there’s still a part of him who remembers being unsure and alone.
I reach over and hug him. “And look at you now,” I say brightly. “The most feared trial lawyer in New York City, with a successful wife, and two stunning, creative, amazing daughters.”
Dad smiles at that. “And they’re so modest too.”
“They sound pretty perfect to me.”
He chuckles. “I guess I always saw you following in my footsteps. That’s why it was such a surprise to find you back here, living the life I thought I’d left behind. But I guess it just skipped a generation, after all.”
“I still want to follow in your footsteps, Dad,” I reassure him. “I just want to do it my way. Even if I’m not in a courtroom, I’m still the girl you raised. My argumentative, stubborn streak isn’t going anywhere,” I add with a grin.
“Good. You’re going to need it for this property fight,” he nods. “These development companies don’t mess around. Chances are, they’ll send a whole battery of lawyers to the meeting tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so,” I pause. “Ash Callahan, he’s too independent to put this in someone else’s hands. He’s more a do-it-yourself kind of guy, whatever the task.”
Dad quirks an eyebrow. “It sounds like you know him pretty well.”
I clear my throat. Getting into my love life right now is so not an option. “Apparently, not as well as I thought,” I say, and quickly change the subject. “Pasta’s ready!”
I serve us two bowls, with a generous portion of the veggies, which by now have reduced to a deliciously fragrant sauce. I set the table for two on the back porch; it’s getting dark out now, but there’s still a pale haze over the ocean, and the crisp tang of sea air. Dad brings through the salad and our drinks, and takes a seat across from me. He digs into the food right away, with noises of appreciation, but I pause, looking around at the now-familiar view—and the empty lots next door. Already, there’s construction tape and markers set out on the land, and I don’t even want to imagine what will follow if the town council goes against me tomorrow.
“Thank you,” I tell Dad, my voice cracking a little. “For coming down here, for helping me out. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” he says simply. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
I nod.
“Don’t be,” he reassures me. “We’ve got some excellent arguments, and it sounds like all your work talking to the people in town will make a real difference.”