Page 64 of Puck Drop
He squeezes my hand. “It’ll be just a second. I have to sign something for the team.”
I nod and smile, then find myself in the exact situation I was worried about only seconds ago. When a waiter walks by with his tray full of glasses of champagne, I stop him and grab one. I take a small sip, then another one, praying that the alcohol will calm down this weird feeling I have in the pit of my stomach.
It’s odd that I feel this way. Besides the fact that I worked for this organization for a brief period of time, I don’t owe these people anything, nor do they care about me. I had an entry level position there, which shouldn’t mean anything to anyone, so I doubt that I will be approached to talk about it.
But still, I have this feeling that something bad is about to happen, a premonition of sorts.
“Maybe I’m just hungry,” I say to myself just as another waiter heads my way with a tray full of small appetizers. I stop him and awkwardly grab two, hoping they’ll help with me drinking. It would be awful if the alcohol went straight to my head.
I take a bite out of the first piece of food in my hand. It’s really good, so I stick the rest in my mouth. Maybe it was too much, because now I feel weird chewing it. My cheeks are puffed, and I pray that no one comes to talk to me right this second.
Finally, after almost chocking while trying to get it down as quickly as possible, the food is gone, and I take another sip of champagne to wash it all down. Just as I bring my glass down, someone catches my attention out in the distance, more to the side of the crowd.
“Oh my God!” I press a hand to my stomach, now understanding why I had this feeling of foreboding. There really was something not so good heading my way.
“Okay, I’m back.” Logan pops at my side. “Sorry I left you here all alone. I promise not to do it for the rest of the night.”
I turn to look at him, and he must notice the panic in my eyes because now he looks extremely worried as well.
“What’s going on?” He grabs my elbow and gently pulls me to the side, away from the main part of the crowd. “You don’t look so good,” he says. “Are you feeling okay? You weren’t sick earlier…”
He stops talking when I clutch at his forearm. “Logan,” I whisper yell to get his full attention. “My father is here.”
He automatically turns his head to look behind, then around the room.
“I don’t see him,” he says. “But even if he’s here, no big deal, babe.”
I cover my mouth with my hand, ready to cry. “I haven’t talked to him in months,” I say. “We fought so hard before I left New York. He wasn’t nice about it, and I did say some not very nice things to him,” I confess.
Logan’s eyes widen in surprise, but then his entire body relaxes, encouraging me to do the same.
“Lizzie,” he says. “You are an adult. An independent adult now,” he grins at me. “You can meet with him and have a civil conversation. It doesn’t all need to be the end of the world.”
I take a deep breath in as my brain tries to process all the things he’s told me. He is right, but I always had this deep fear of disappointing anyone, especially my father. The only thing that changed that was me falling in love with Logan. I fought my father for my right to be with Logan, and when he tried to stop me, I just left. That was not how our relationship used to be. We’ve never gone this long without talking, and now that I know he’s here, I am scared to face him.
“Are you sure it was even him?” Logan questions as he runs his eyes over the crowd. “There are so many people here, maybe it was just someone who looked like him.”
His words give me hope. “You think?”
“Why not?” he shrugs. “Sometimes, our brains can make us think we saw something that wasn’t there. It’s when your subconscious works overtime. Have you been thinking about your dad lately?”
I frown, concentrating to think. “I don’t think so. At least not while awake,” I joke.
Logan’s eyes light up at that. “Maybe you had a dream about him, and you just don’t remember.”
I feel instantly better. That’s a very good explanation. “That has to be it!”
“There you go!” He opens his arms, waiting for me to step into them.
He hugs me close before letting me go just enough so we can mingle. There are two waiters heading our way at the same time, one has the booze, the other the food. Logan signals for both of them, making me laugh.
“These things are ridiculously small,” he mumbles as he grabs some appetizers. “It’s like toddler food.”
“Well, they do call in finger food in some circles,” I tease him.
Logan holds one up. “These are smaller than any of my fingers, Lizzie!”
I burst into laughter, letting go of the tension from a few minutes ago. Every so often, I glance around, trying to locate whoever I saw who looked like my father, but I never come across him again. That convinces me that Logan was right. It had to have been something in my head, some image of my father that overlapped with someone here who maybe is the same build.
