“You look very nice,” he saysimpassively.
“Thank you.”
Silence.
I see a woman patting the corners of hereyes, she’s been crying. I think she’s one of Alex’s aunts, Iremember her from Emily’s bridal shower. She’s a very nice olderwoman who dresses impeccably and treats her two Pomeranians likethe children she never had. It reminds me of the last time I cried.It was shortly after my mother died. I was ten and it was Christmasmorning, and there were all sorts of presents under the lavishlydecorated tree. But I couldn’t bear to open one. Not without her.My father came downstairs and just looked at me from across theroom. He didn’t say a word. Just stared as I cried my eyes out.Then he forced me to open my gifts, wallops of tears shredding myface. When I was finished, surrounded by piles of soaking wetwrapping paper, he stood up in his smoking robe and slippers,looked down at me and said, “Remember this feeling Alana. It’sweakness. And Remington’s are not weak.” Then he disappeared forthe rest of the day. I was only ten but I was appalled. My fatherwas calling me weak because I was mourning my mother’s death.Someone I loved. And, because I was showing emotion. But I alsoknew if I wanted to survive in this house without her, I was goingto have to man up. So I cried every single tear I could that day,and then never cried again.
I keep thinking about what Ryan said, that hewants to be the father he never had. Someone loving, and caring,and actually there.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough to bethe mother mine once was. Someone tough, yet tender andaffectionate.
Someone who doesn’t need to be the lifelinebetween father and child. Because that’s what she was.
On so many levels I hate this man.
On so many levels I love him.
I won’t lie, lawschool’s a bitch.
Over the last three months I’ve read so muchI’m surprised my eyeballs haven’t fallen out of my head. I’mclosing in on the end of my first semester. It’s no longer warm andsunny in the city, the days have grown shorter and Thanksgiving isjust around the corner. Thank goodness, because I need thereprieve. Not that I don’t love every single second I’m on thiscampus. I do. I’ve just been feeling a little distant lately, frommyself, from my family, from Ryan; I’ve been overly focused onschool. Borderline obsessed. So the days off will be restorative.And with me immersed like this, Ryan battles for every second hecan get with me. I warned him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I thinkthat secretly, he likes the challenge.
I head across campus to the library where I’mmeeting my study group, when I hear my name being called. I turn tosee my uncle John walking towards me. He’s decked out in one of hisexpensive suits; a black three piece with a white collared shirt.He has his coat over one arm and a huge smile on his face. As hereaches me he pulls me into a tight hug. “How’s my girl?” he asks,with so much emotion you’d think I was really his daughter.
“Fine,” I reply happily. “What are you doinghere?”
It’s a nice surprise.
“I had lunch with an old law school buddy,”he grins. “Professor McMillan, do you know him?”
“I’ve heard the name, but he’s not one of myprofessors.”
My uncle John is one of the most renownedlawyers in New York City. All of his clients are A-list, and everycase high profile. He lives every law student’s fantasy. Okay,maybe not every law student’s, but definitely mine.
“Where are you headed?” he asks.
“To the library, I have study group.”
“Looking forward to the long weekend?”
“Yes,” I drop my head back thankfully.
“Are you coming to Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Of course, where else would I go?”
It’s not like my dad’s cooking.
“I just thought you might have otherplans.”
I look at him speculatively, the coolNovember wind blowing the ends of my long, blonde hair around. “Whywould you think that?”
“Emily may have mentioned you have a specialsomeone in your life. I thought you might be spending the holidaywith him.”
I think I just went into cardiac arrest.“Emily told you?”
My uncle fumbles over his words, “It slippedout. Then I grilled her. But I think it’s great. You deserve to behappy.”
I stare up at my uncle John, speechless andslightly panicked. “You can’t tell my father.”