Page 9 of A Brilliant Spring

“That did not go as planned,” Riley finally says. My eyebrow twitches as I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her and say, no shit. “What the hell happened up there?”

My expression contorts, and my mouth opens and closes a few times without as much as a sound coming out. Finally, I throw my hands in the air and shake my head.

“Like fuck if I know, Riles. I started off reading the stupid page, and then something inside me broke. It’s like my brain malfunctioned or something. I can’t explain it. I was standing there, telling myself to shut the fuck up while I was talking, but my mouth wouldn’t stop moving. Like my subconscious knew I finally didn’t have to pretend anymore. And you know what? I think it kind of felt…liberating.” Riley’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I kind of think I did lose my mind. But you know what? I don’t care. I finally feel like I can be me. No more having to live my life for my father, no more worrying about his disappointment, no more trying to prove myself to him, to prove that I’m worthy.

No more trying to prove that I’m worthy…I never have to prove myself to him again. I don’t have to try and earn his love, affection, and pride. I’ll never get the chance…to prove to him that I’m worthy of his love, affection, and pride. My mind is muddled and jumbled with thoughts. I close my eyes, blocking out Riley’s judgemental and concerning stare, and my head shakes slowly, trying to loosen these thoughts from my mind to no avail.

My heart sinks, and it finally hits me. Is there a reason to continue with everything I’ve worked so hard for if there’s no Harold at the end, finally being proud of me? If I’m not chasing my father’s attention, just who the hell am I?

A warm arm slides around my arms, pinning my hands to my side, and I stand there, cold and frozen, despite the radiating warmth of the body next to me. The charcoal grey of a sleeve in my peripheral and a familiar wintry scent does nothing to calm my mind.

I find my strength and push myself off Brandt’s chest until we’re a few feet apart. Both Riley and Brandt’s eyes swim with worry, and I swear I see a tear roll down Riley’s cheek. But I can’t focus on that, or the growing sound of movement beyond the heavy doors, signalling that the service is over and people are preparing to leave. All I can hear is my panicked breathing, and all I can focus on is the prickle in my gut that’s begging me to shatter. To collapse and hide from the world because the world only knows Elissa as her father’s daughter, heiress to the Black media empire, an image of what her father wanted her to be. But who am I without my father’s crushing disapproval?

I wish Lana was here, but her son Knox is sick with a fever, so she couldn’t be here. I’m ever thankful my best friend is here right now. My eyes connect with Riley’s and she gives a solemn nod. My best friend doesn’t need words to know what I’m thinking. “Go. Take the driver and go,” she whispers. My body responds, and without saying anything, I shove past Riley and Brandt and make my way to the front entrance, pulling my phone out of my clutch and texting Arthur.

I stop and lean against a railing on the way down the stairs and kick off my heels, holding them between my fingers so I can run the rest of the way to the car. I need to get out of here, fast, before the church empties and everyone sees me fleeing my father’s funeral. Arthur pulls up just as I’m slipping my heels back on and hopping down the salted concrete stairs toward the car. The door slams as he gets out, walks around the side of the black sedan, and opens the door for me.

I slide in and he closes the door behind me, and when he gets back into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t ask where we’re going, he just goes. I feel his eyes shift to the rearview mirror to check on me a few times as we drive through the chaos of downtown Toronto traffic. As my eyes swivel from one spot to the next, I shiver as I sympathize with those who have nowhere to go, sitting on the sidewalk, or huddling over the TTC subway grates for a small chance of warm air puffing through. I go to pull my coat around my neck to warm myself, and I realize I forgot it at St. Patrick’s.

Without getting any directions of where to take me, Arthur glides to a stop and parks the car in front of a tall glass building. I peer out the window and look straight up. It feels like the building will never end. My shoulders are heavy as I press my forehead against the cool glass, creating a circle in the fogged-up window.

“Why are we here, Arthur?”

His deep, wise voice touches something inside me that calms me down.

“Because you need closure, Ms. Black. And I think it might be here.” I look over to meet his gaze in the mirror. His amber eyes see me and his stare pierces my soul as my fingers wrap around the door handle. Arthur tips his head and tells me he’ll be here when I’m finished.

“Thanks, Arthur.” I climb out of the car, swing the door shut, and my keys jingle as I pull them out of my purse. My skin pebbles against the chilly wind as I twist my key in the lock and make my way inside. I nod my head at the security guard and make my way to the elevator, its muted humming the only noise in the lobby. When the doors slide closed, my finger hesitates over the button for my floor, but my finger seems to be magnetized to my father’s floor.

I step into the dark corridor as the elevator closes behind me. It’s eerily quiet, and only the natural light floods into the hallway from the windows. My heels echo in the open corridor as I walk to my father’s office. His door is open, and everything looks normal. I half expect my father to turn around in his chair at any moment. I hear his hard, cold voice in my head from the last exchange we had, and a chill skates over my skin, raising the hair on my arms.

It’s hard to focus when it feels like Harold is lurking around the corner, just waiting and biding his time to step out from the darkness and chuckle, like it’s all some big joke. Even now, knowing he’s gone, I still feel his presence. Maybe he has unfinished business and is haunting his office right now. Can you see me, Father?

Pathetic. I’m talking to a ghost, a nonexistent ghost. I walk over to the large bookcase behind my father’s desk and notice a picture of my parents and me at one of the obligatory family barbecues on Canada Day, years ago. I think I was around ten years old. My parents are standing on either side of me, and my father’s black hair is short and slicked back, no noticeable greys. My mother’s hair, very much like my own, is in a ponytail, with copper ringlets dangling down. She must have thought it would look more wholesome to have us matching, down to the white sundresses we’re wearing, complemented by the khaki shorts and white linen shirt my father is wearing. My face is tight with a forced smile as my toes dig into the sand.

I remember that day clearly…

Chapter

Nine

Elissa

Lana had to bribe me in order to get me to go to the company’s Canada Day party. I am lounging on the couch, on my stomach, with one arm wrapped under my chin as the other dangled off the edge, flipping through a magazine in our downtown Toronto apartment when she sneaks up behind me. Her hands wrap around my shoulders and she yells, “Boo!”

I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart is racing and I struggle to catch my breath. I realize that I tore a page out of the magazine in fright. “Lana,” I shriek. The sun is pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, glittering off all the glass and shiny surfaces in the apartment. The cream couch I’m on is warm from the sun, and the heat prickles my skin.

“C’mon, kiddo. Time to go get ready for the barbecue.”

I groan and scramble my legs, flailing and throwing a temper tantrum. “I’m not going, Mom. I don’t want to, it’s so boring.” Lana clicks her tongue, her arms folding tightly and her foot tapping on the floor.

“Go get ready, Elissa. Your parents are expecting you. If you listen and get ready, I promise we’ll leave early and go do something fun. What about if I take you to get our nails done afterward?” She piques my interest with that one. My mouth purses, considering this negotiation.

“Only if we can pick up Riley on the way.”

“Deal,” Lana says, sticking her hand out, waiting for me to take it. A grin twists on her face and when she shifts, the sun glints in her dark, almond-shaped eyes, and I can see the crinkles in the corners. I spring off the couch and sprint to my room to put on the clothes my mother had Lana lay out for me. Lana knocks on my door before entering, then walks in, turns on the curling iron, and gets to work on my hair. I sit in front of the vanity in my room as Lana brushes my hair, scraping it up into a high ponytail.

I stare at our reflection and wish that she was my mother. That it was just the two of us. And I know it’s normally just the two of us anyway, but sometimes I wish there was no Harold or Collette, or Black & Wells Publishing and Press.

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