Page 72 of The Producer: Aaron

“This is not going to bring Dad back, but I want you to know that he is a good person,” I whisper softly.

“I’m happy to hear that,” she says, finally smiling a bit.

“I didn’t ask him, but I’m sure he will talk to you about that day, when you are ready. Maybe it will help to talk about it,” I suggest cautiously. I don’t want to push this argument and shut her down again.

“I will think about it. Thank you.” She kisses me on the crown of my head and hugs me fiercely.

I’m happy with this answer. I never came this far in a conversation about Aaron like the one we are having now. She always avoided the conversation about my father and I always thought it was because she didn’t want to traumatize me when I was younger, but I think she did it also to protect herself.

I was seven when my father died. I remember him but I was still young enough to not feel the melancholia when I think about him. He is all my favorite memories, and I can understand my mother not wanting to contaminate them with tears and suffering. She did a great job protecting me, but I always had this lingering feeling of wanting closure. There’s always been a lot of mystery around his death and talking about that day with Aaron helped me to make peace with his absence.

“Is he angry with me for what I did?” she asks after a long silence.

“No. He never once thought you were in the wrong there. On the contrary, he felt guilty for not being able to help you more. To save Dad, even. But he understood you were desperate. And I can understand that, too. I would probably react the same way if something happened to him. You are human, Mom. You were allowed to grieve and hurt. You were young and a widow, nobody expected you to be strong and carry on like nothing happened. But you were able to make this tragedy more bearable for me. I survived Dad’s death because you made it easier, and it’s time for me to be strong for you. When you decide to talkabout it, I will be there every step of the way,” I tell her, and I see a smile appear on her face.

“How old you are? Twenty-four or forty?” She smiles and caresses my cheek.

I laugh, amused. “So many of you ask me that, I’m starting to ask myself.”

The atmosphere lightens the weight I carried with me when I left Los Angeles this morning. As much as I know that I am not doing anything wrong with Aaron, I needed to clarify things with her.

“Do you promise me that you will tell me if you are not happy?”

“I’m happy, Mom. You don’t have to worry about me. And I would really like it if you would come to Los Angeles to visit me sometime. If you want to stay in a hotel there is no problem, but there are plenty of rooms at Aaron’s house, and I bet he would like it, too.”

“I promise I’ll try to take a few days off and join you, okay?”

At the moment, this promise is enough for me. We will not be able to magically change our relationship with a conversation. It will take some more time to accept that this is my life, that it is not something temporary. But I’m sure that if she comes to Los Angeles and sees how much I love my job, that I’ve found stability and a future, she’ll be convinced that this is not just a little girl’s dream but a career I can really pursue.

“Can I post the photo of you wearing your floral shirt on social media? You’re cute!” Dakota has been teasing me since last night when she returned from visiting her mother’s house, and surprised me with an old photo she found in a folder I completely forgot I had in my home office.

I don’t know how to take this new step in our relationship. While I’m happy that she clarified our relationship with her mother and found the answers she was looking for, I know it’s time for me to have a chat with Isabella, if only to reassure her of my relationship with Dakota.

“If you want me to shut down all your social media accounts, post it,” I threaten, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her on the couch before slipping between her legs and lowering myself to kiss her.

Dakota squeaks and bursts out laughing when I start tickling her. We just finished having breakfast, and the idea of going to the office hasn’t crossed my mind once. The absurd thing is that I wouldn’t have thought of skipping a day’s work until a few months ago unless I had been hospitalized. Yet now, I don’t feel even the slightest sense of guilt.

“Stop, please! I’m about to vomit breakfast,” she begs amid the laughter that fills this house.

The bell rings, catching our attention. “Are you waiting for someone?” I furrow my forehead and study her expression which is as disoriented as mine. The fear of opening the doorand finding myself in front of her mother crosses my mind, and I shudder. I want to have this conversation on my terms, not through an ambush.

She shakes her head, and when I get up to open the door, she follows me in silence. I find myself in front of my father’s lawyer, who greets me courteously with a severe face.

My perplexity soon turns into irritation. It’s not my pleasure to deal with my father’s lawyers, especially at eight in the morning when I decided to spend my day home with Dakota.

“Can I enter?” he asks when he sees that I show no sign of moving from the threshold.

I step aside and let him enter the landing without continuing further. I’ve never enjoyed surprise visits, and I don’t want to make him more comfortable than necessary. The less he stays here, the more my day improves.

“Is there a reason why you came here?” I ask through gritted teeth.

He lowers his gaze slightly and swallows nervously, turning my discomfort into apprehension. I’ve never seen him struggle as he is doing right now, and I’m starting to think there’s something to really worry about.

“Can we speak in private?” he asks, nodding to Dakota.

“No, we can’t. If there’s something important to say, have the courage to do it in front of her. Don’t ask me to give her shitty messages,” I reply, furious when I’m pretty sure my dad concocted some of his bullshit against Dakota. There is no other explanation for the presence of this man in my house.

“There is no easy way to say it…this morning, your father was in an accident on his way to the airport. A garbage truck had a problem with its brakes and hit his car at the intersection. Hewas taken to the hospital, but unfortunately, his injuries were too serious, and he didn’t make it. They couldn’t even get him to the operating room. Aaron… your father died less than an hour ago.”

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