Page 21 of A Miracle for the Reserved Flyboy

“It’s more than that, honey,” he said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Maybe it’s time you let someone else take care of you. You’ve been leaning on your mother and me too much.”

Krista stilled. The words feeling like a betrayal she hadn’t anticipated. “Daddy… it’s not like I’m not trying. I want to build my own life—I just… I’m scared, all right?”

“Sweetheart, you put all your hopes into Tommy, and when that fell apart, you retreated. You built walls around yourself, thinking that’d protect you. But you can’t keep hiding from love. You’re pushing thirty, and you’re still alone.”

She forced herself to laugh, although it sounded hollow to her own ears. “How do we always end up talking about my life, my ‘eggs in a basket,’ every time I need your help?”

“Because I worry about you, baby. I won’t always be here. And as much as it hurts to say, neither will your mother.”

“Please, don’t say that,” she murmured, her heart sinking at the thought.

“It’s the truth, Krista. You’re the last one in your high school class who hasn’t settled down and doesn’t have a little one tugging at her skirt. Even Beary got married. I mean, who’d have thought that little grease monkey would tie the knot before my beautiful daughter?”

“I’m just waiting for the right person,” she whispered, almost to herself.

“No, Krista. You’re not waiting; you’re afraid. And there’s a difference.”

Silence settled between them like a thick blanket, stretching out uncomfortably until she forced herself to bring it back to the play. She could feel her father’s resolve softening, but not enough. “We’ll find a solution at dinner tonight, all right?” he said finally. “I promise I won’t leave you in the lurch. Now, I have to go, baby. See you tonight.”

“Daddy… please…” But the line had already gone dead.

Krista looked around the room, feeling a swell of frustration rising within her. Costumes were scattered everywhere, half-finished props strewn across tables, and the faint smell of freshly painted backdrops filled the air. Her dream of a seamless, heartwarming production was slipping through her fingers.

“What else could go wrong?” she muttered, instantly regretting the question as her phone pinged with a text from her mother.

Dinner at five, sweetheart. I made your favorite.

Krista took a deep breath before replying.Mom, please talk to Daddy about being the Rat King. I really need him to do this. I’m drowning in last-minute details, and I don’t think I’ll make it home by five.

I’ll talk to him. See you at five.

She sighed, rubbing her temples as she texted her friend Mary, who’d been coordinating the blind date she needed to cancel.

Mary, hey, it’s Krista. So sorry, but I need to cancel Gary’s blind date tonight.

The response came swiftly, with the subtlety of a slap.

Are you serious, Krista? Youbeggedme to set up this ‘perfect date with a mysterious pilot.’ Casablanca vibes and everything. And now, you’re canceling? Really?

DON’T YOU EVER ASK ME TO DO ONE OF THESE THINGS AGAIN!

Krista’s heart sank as she read the words, the sting of her friend’s frustration prickling her eyes with tears. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, her phone beeped with yet another text.

Desperation gripped her as she glanced out the window, almost expecting to see the first few snowflakes falling, as if fate had a twisted sense of humor. The air felt colder suddenly, as though even the weather was conspiring against her.

Was it too much to ask for something to go right just once?

“Now what?”

Hey Krista, I know we talked about discussing things over lunch, but I’ve got to get a few things done before flying out. Can I take a rain check for who knows when?

A sob tore through her as she read Gary’s text. He wasn’t going to be available before he left to sit down and talk again. Coffee last night at the Cozy Cup had been the last time she would see him alone. Last evening had been so wonderful, so nice, that she thought there might have been a spark there as they chatted. His beautiful eyes seemed so warm, so gentle and understanding as they cracked jokes, laughed, and then realized some of their conversations were growing strangely serious. It had been so easy between them, and now it was gone.

Of course. I’m buried with the play anyhow. Hope you have a great evening and be safe when you get back home.

Her fingers hovered over her phone’s screen, her nerves a live wire as she debated the words. The truth she wanted to send was too raw, too vulnerable, and maybe just too late. Instead, she settled on a simpler message, her heart thudding hard in her chest as she typed, fingers shaky.

Let’s keep in touch – eh? I would love to keep talking to a friend, even if that friend is across the world.

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