Page 49 of The Voice We Find

Wow. What a guy, August. Way to go.

“I didn’t say good-bye because I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Portia.” It’s a lame excuse, and she knows it. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology.”

“You’re right, I owe you more than that. You’ve been a friend to me from day one, and if I’m honest, I haven’t quite figured out how to reciprocate that. I have one close friend and only a handful of acquaintances, most of whom I keep at arm’s length. I’m far fromanatural when it comes to people—not the way you are, anyway. I don’t trust easily.” I pause the fire hose of honesty only long enough to cycle a breath before launching in again. “So maybe if you can tell me what’s bothering you, it will give me the opportunity to redeem myself from being a complete jack wagon.”

This brings a smile to her face. A real one. It’s so striking I commit it to memory and then save it to my favorites album.

She takes in a deep breath, then exhales. “My parents showed up at the winery yesterday after an extended trip away. I hadn’t seen my mom in close to a year and my dad in nearly three.”

I work to keep my face neutral. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”

“Worse than any of my roleplays with Dana before I left New York.”

“Who’s Dana?”

“She’s my...” She thinks, then gives a shrug. “She’s the equivalent of your Chip to me, I guess.”

I chuckle. “Got it.”

“When I left home at eighteen, it wasn’t on good terms. My father wanted a specific future for me, one that followed in his and my older brother’s footsteps, despite me being born with the complete opposite personality for such a career. I was set to go to Stanford, his alma mater, where I could be molded into the type of respectable daughter he could find pride in. That was the plan, anyway. And then...” She pauses, swallows. “Something happened when I was sixteen that caused me to take a hard look at my future. I was struggling and alone, and the only thing I had to look forward to was this drama camp I begged my mom to let me attend the following summer.” She looks at the wall, at the window, at the iPad, and then finally at me. “That’s when theater became more than something I wished I could do and became something I decided I would do. I researched schools and knew I’d do whatever it took to get accepted into NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, like many of my favorite actors. The application process was rigorous and stressful, but I did it, all on my own.” The pride in her voice is almost enough to drown out the catch I hear at the end of her statement.

“Your parents weren’t supportive?”

She shakes her head. “They didn’t know until I left the acceptance letter on my father’s desk.” She sighs. “He tore it up and gave me an ultimatum. I either decline the offer and all that goes along with it—including my desire to be a glorified showgirl—”

“A glorified showgirl? Is that actually what he said?” It’s difficult to keep my frustration at bay as I watch the flash of pain in her eyes before she continues.

“Or I leave without his support—financial or otherwise. That was eight years ago, and not much has changed. Yesterday’s lunch notwithstanding.”

Still propped against the doorjamb, I shove my hands in my pockets. “What about your mom?”

This takes Sophie a bit longer to answer. “I think my mom is a good person with a good heart.” She nods almost as if trying to convince herself that this is true. “But she’s been under my father’s thumb for nearly forty years, and she rarely, if ever, goes against him, which means our relationship has suffered a great deal since I left.” I think she’s finished when she says, “They’re embarrassed of me.” She swallows. “Of my decisions and my failures. And now this—working as a voice actress, reading books.” She holds out her hands as if to indicate the studio. “I know I shouldn’t care what they think—I mean, I’ve lived on my own for years now. But my dad insists I should be working to build areal careerat the winery, and I simply can’t imagine staying in a place that’s only ever made me feel worthless.” She groans and tips her head back to stare up at the ceiling. “So tell me why I laid awake half the night replaying his words over and over?”

“Easy,” I say without hesitation. “Because we never stop wanting our parents’ approval.”

When her eyes snap to mine, her expression is stricken. “Oh, August.” She covers her mouth. “I’m so sorry. This entire conversation is so insensitive of me. I shouldn’t be complaining about my parents when—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m saying I can relate to that struggle.”

Her next words marinate for several slow seconds before she speaks again. “I was under the impression your family was super close before the accident.”

My reply takes equally as long to formulate. “My parents raised us to be a close family, and we were.”Until I ruined everything and cut them off for a woman they warned me against.“But it’s difficult to stay as connected when you’re separated by distance.”

Her chin bobs in slow motion, as if she’s trying to decode what I haven’t said. “Does going to church remind you of them? Is that why you left without saying anything yesterday?”

My lips part, but no sounds follow. This is not a conversation I have often—and certainly not a conversation I’ve had with anyone outside a select few.

Sophie takes a step around the recording stool, watching me, and I don’t know how this conversation got flipped around so quickly, but her eyes are clear while mine feel ... hot. “In a way, yes. It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.” She inches her way closer, so close I can see each of her perfect eyelashes as she blinks. “Gabby mentioned it’s not a comfortable place for you. And yet you still went yesterday. For her.” She appraises me. “I think that says a lot about you.”

Yeah, it says I’m a fraud.

I only have to look as far as my sister to see that. Her increasing faith since the accident has only shed light on my decreasing attachment to anything I once held true. In the days following her recovery, Gabby wouldn’t stop talking about those hazy moments between the train crash and when she blacked out and woke in a hospital halfway around the world. But unlike her, all I wanted was to never talk about it again.

“I suppose we all find comfort in different ways,” I try. “Gabby found it in her faith and in her church, and apparently also in some dude named Tyler.”

---