Page 30 of Off Script
“Okay. But I’m telling you, Brent Benjamin, that I am going to want to meet you in person, so if you try to wiggle your way out of this, we’re done for good,” she warns sternly, reminding me of how my mom used to scold me as a kid.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Now that the crisis has been narrowly averted, I walk into my house, throwing my keys and wallet onto the kitchen counter before heading into my study. Sitting at my desk, I open the calendar app on my computer and pull up next weekend's schedule. Miraculously, I have most of Sunday available, except for a studio meet and greet in the evening. I block the rest of the day off, so Jo won’t fill it with anything else.
“Let’s plan for next Sunday during the day. I have a business commitment in the evening, but my day is free. Does that work for you?”
“It does. What do you propose we do at this meeting?”
“You can call it a date, Carlisle,” I chide her. “Isn’t that what it is?”
“I suppose so.” She pauses. “But if it turns out that you’re a 55-year-old mechanic living in Idaho with a wife and four kids, then it is not a date.” Carlisle adds emphatically, “Not a date!”
A loud laugh escapes my throat. I lean back into my leather chair and put my feet on my desk. “Wow, that’s oddly specific. But I promise you that I’m none of those things. So, I think it’s safe to say that we’re going on that date next week.”
10
Carlisle
Itake my lunch outside to eat in the sunshine. I plan on calling Harper to update her about the talk I had with Ben last night as I eat. She’s going to flip out when I tell her. I know I’m flipping out. After Ben and I hung up last night, it took me hours to fall back asleep because I was so excited at the prospect of going on a real date with him.
As I pull my phone out of my purse, I feel it vibrating from an incoming call. Assuming it’s Harper beating me to the punch, but hoping it might be Ben, I’m supremely disappointed to see it’s my stepmother calling.
Chastising myself for my negative attitude, I answer the phone. I should be grateful that she’s reaching out. My relationship with my dad has been strained since my mom died, and my stepmother is my only conduit to him now.
“Hey Monica.”
“Carlisle! It is so good to hear your voice!”
I cringe at her over-the-top, falsely jovial delivery, yet I adopt the same tone. “Same, Monica. How are the twins? How’s Dad doing?”
“Well, you’d know that if you ever came home, wouldn’t you?” Monica admonishes, which only makes me grit my teeth.
She knows that I rarely visit them because they always give me some excuse as to why it isn’t a good time to make the trip—the house is getting remodeled, they’re busy with charity events, the twins are having a sleep regression so now isn’t the time to upset their routine. But with the holidays coming up, I’m hopeful that I can reconnect with them. As complicated as my feelings are for my dad, I miss him and want things to be different between us.
With Thanksgiving fast approaching, I don’t have the funds to make last-minute travel arrangements, but I still have time to book a trip home for Christmas. “I doubt I can make it for Thanksgiving since I haven’t bought a ticket yet, but—”
“Thanksgiving is cray-cray this year, girlypop” Monica chimes in, reminding me that she’s closer to my age than my dad’s. “We’re going to celebrate with my family in Georgia for the whole week. My sister and brother are both bringing their spouses and kids, so it’ll be the first time since the twins were born that our whole family will be together for Thanksgiving.”
Ouch. Monica didn’t even think of including me as part of her whole family. Not unexpected, but it still stings.
“Umm, okay. Well, I’d love to come see y’all for Christmas then. It’ll be great to be back home. I love living in Los Angeles, but there’s just something special about being home for the holidays.” I force a chuckle, hoping my faux levity covers my rising hurt. “Sounds cliché, doesn’t it?”
Monica pauses, and my heart starts beating erratically, sensing that she’s about to deliver more bad news. “That’s why I’m calling, darlin'. One of your daddy’s clients offered us the use of his vacation home in Mexico over Christmas. It’s right on the beach in Tulum. The photos look positively dreamy!”
“Oh, wow. Okay, that sounds great. I’m glad I didn’t already buy my plane ticket then,” I stammer, disappointed not to be going to Mississippi and experiencing a homestyle Southern Christmas. But as rocky as my relationship with my dad is, I can’t be picky about where I spend time with him. All that’s important is that I get time with him to see if we can salvage what’s left of our relationship.
Not to mention trying to get to know the twins better. Growing up as an only child, I’d always dreamed of having siblings. Even though there’s a huge age difference between us, I really would love to play an active role in my little brothers’ lives.
“Right. So, as I was saying, the house is a quaint, little two-bedroom beachfront cottage. I’ll send you the contact information in case you need to get ahold of us while we’re out of the country. We’ll sure miss seeing you, but I know you’ll have such a great time celebrating the holidays with all your new friends in California,” Monica explains, quickly dashing my hopes of spending Christmas with the only family I have left.
My heart sinks. I should have expected something like this would happen, but it’s taken me by surprise. Monica seems to enjoy widening the gap between my father and me whenever possible.
“I’ll text you later with our travel details,” she trills, seemingly oblivious to my disappointment. “And don’t be such a stranger, Carlisle. Ciao.”
Monica’s phone call zapped my earlier excitement. I slump dejectedly on the bench, wallowing in my sadness. It dredges up the old memories that I fight to forget about my dad.
It sucks having only one living parent, and it sucks even worse coming to terms with the fact that my dad doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I spent twenty years erroneously believing thatmy dad’s love for me was unconditional, and I’ve spent the last three years unpacking the pain of figuring out how wrong I was.
