Page 37 of Perfect Composition
I love that my daughter feels that way. “Then let’s just say he wanted to know why I went from being a snotty teenager to being one with a dreamy smile on her face.”
My daughter lifts the pile. Her intake of breath leaves no air in the room for me. I stand as still as a statue as she flips through the 8x10 glossies.
When she’s done, she carelessly tosses the pile on top of all the other meticulously laid-out information. “Well, he always has been a photogenic bastard, hasn’t he?”
I reach for her. “Austyn…”
“Beckett Miller is my biological father.” Her voice is flat.
“Beau Beckett Miller is, yes,” I confirm before my head drops. Why didn’t I realize how much it would hurt to admit my shame to the one person who I swore shouldn’t suffer for my mistakes?
There’s an eerie silence in the room. Her footfalls don’t make a sound. My eyes drift to see her feet are planted firmly in place. I follow the path upward to find her arms akimbo, her jaw tight. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.”
“There were reasons…”
“None of them are good enough right now! How could you not tell me sooner?” she shouts.
I recoil at the lash of her anger but keep my own temper in check when I respond calmly, “Did you really want this burden while you were growing into the woman you are now, Austyn?”
“It would have been better than answering ‘I don’t know’ all the fucking time to my friends when I was asked if I knew who my father was. It would have been better than the fake support I endured. Knowing would have been better than not.”
I spring to my feet. “Would it? Would it really? Would it have been better when you confided in just one of your friends, and every time they saw his face on a tabloid they gave you such a pathetic look of sympathy you wanted to curl up and die? Or maybe when it was when he was on the cover of StellaNova as the Sexiest Man Alive? Or maybe walking down the red carpet with a different beautiful woman? Because trust me, baby girl, that’s exactly what I’ve endured from your uncles for years.”
She falls back a step. “So Uncle Jess and Uncle E know?”
“Yes. And you want to talk about feelings, Austyn? Deal with those,” I yell.
She nods as she moves further away from me. “At least you had them to confide in. Who the hell did I have?”
Frozen, I can’t move a muscle as she races for the hotel room door. It isn’t until long moments later when I’m finally able to choke out, “You had me.”
Right before my legs give out beneath me and I succumb to tears.
I wait the entire next day without hearing from Austyn. I analyze the situation from her perspective, and after all that’s been said and done, I come to the same conclusion I did when she asked me about her father a few years ago.
I wouldn’t have done anything differently.
I opened the door for her father to walk through. When he chose not to come through it, I wasn’t subjecting my daughter to the innuendos and speculation that Beckett seems to thrive under. Moving over to the file of clippings from last month alone, I flip through them.
All-night booze fest at Beckett’s! Cops called by building security.
Beckett in a love triangle with favorite lead guitarist Mick and drummer Carly.
What’s the real reason for Beckett Miller deciding not to tour this year?
My fingers flip through article after article; every blip and bite about his life fills my hands. Finally, I get so frustrated, I hurl them across the room. “When am I going to just be able to let you go? When does the pain end?”
“Mama?”
Shit. I didn’t even hear the door open. I keep my back to the door even as relief fills my voice. “Austyn. I’m so glad you’re back.”
“I had to be completely clearheaded before I could say what I needed to say.”
I turn around. “Say it.”
“Right now, I just need you to be my friend and not my mother. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” God, it’s going to be next to impossible, but I’ll do it.
