Page 61 of Big Daddy

We just have it, whatever it is, we have it.

I look up at Dante and give him an unintentionally sad smile. “I didn’t have a choice.”

He studies me, maybe searching for subtext in my eyes. I don’t make him wait.

“I am drawn to him, the way that Frida Kahlo was drawn to paint and her canvas. The way an astronomer can’t pass up a glimpse of the starry sky, the very same way a musician’s eyes fall shut in symbiosis when they hear a single note of music being played.” I tuck my hair behind my ears, ignoring the heat building behind my eyes. My hands are nearly shaking, and I hold them up for Dante to see. “See? Even talking about the way he makes me feel has me trembling.”

“I never believed in fate,” Dante says, getting to his feet, toeing into some well-worn Sambas. “But I’ve never seen anyone this way.” He ducks down to kiss my cheek. “Especially not you.”

He moves to the doorframe and knocks his hand against the frame. “I’m heading out. But Winnie, it’s gonna be okay. Brielle will understand, eventually.”

I nod, swiping beneath my eyes to hide my nervous tears. “Have fun.”

I want to believe he’s right, but I’m not so sure.

In a week, I will have a graduate degree in graphic design. While my final project isn’t graded, I did receive an email from my professor expressing interest in hiring me for his personal website design later. That’s a good sign, obviously.

Still, with a potential job lined up, a decent chunk carved out of my student loan debt thanks to the egregious amounts of money I’m earning at Parker & Pen, and no more stress of school, I’m miserable.

I’m still on my SSRI’s, too.

But my misery is too strong for Lexapro tonight.

I ended up spending the night at Big Daddy’s place last night. Crying in his arms, showing him a side of myself that I’ve rarely even shown Brielle. Telling him I feel so awful for what I’ve done, while also feeling awful for feeling awful, because I actually love what I’ve started with him.What I’ve started with him—I didn’t say I love him. I was careful with my words.

But it’s there. That feeling. That seed. That hint at forever. It’s in my belly and in my bones, it’s dormant in my ovaries, waiting to explode at the right time. Forever—love—it’s in me. Waiting for him, when he’s ready.

He made me feel better, with his words and his arms, and not a moment of it was sexual. Pure affection and care, whichI reciprocated by promising we will talk to Brielle, together. Augustus and Lance reached out to set up a dinner a week or so after we graduate, and Quincey and I decided together that would be the time we break the news.

For now, I have to break the ghost and apologize for what I’ve done. Baby steps. And I miss my bestie. I miss everything about her—her chipper morning calls and funny texts, our coffee dates and her updates on work—I miss her, period.

Outside of Augustus’s house, I pick at chipped nail polish, staring at the door like I’m expecting something to happen. What, is Brielle going to come outside, see me, and embrace me and be so glad to see me after ghosting her for a week? No.

Of course not.

Still, I sit and stare, picking my nails with worry.

Big Daddy has been texting me like crazy. I didn’t go into the office yesterday, but today is Brielle’s presentation ceremony for film school. I told him to go to that and focus on that, focus on being present and undoing as much harm as possible. Show her he cares, that he respects what she’s built, that he’s proud of her. That him freaking out the other night was a misstep, but that he’s heading overall in the right direction.

I can tell his head is all messed up over her relationship choice, but after I kindly pointed out that he is a hypocritical asshole, he eased up a bit. Still, I know it’s bothering him.

He may be hard-headed and a successful litigator, but one thing he’s gonna learn is to quit fucking judging everything and everyone. Starting with his daughter.

I only hope she still wants to be my friend after all of this.

I make my way to the porch, willing my racing thoughts to slow enough to figure out my words. Do I start with I’m sorry? I knock on the door, and the clack of heels on the other side has my heart racing.

“Winnie?” Brielle cries as she smooths a hand down her elegant black wrap dress. She looks gorgeous for her ceremony tonight, and under normal circumstances, I’d tell her that. Only now, guilt gnaws at my tongue, leaving nothing but a wobble in my chin.

“How could you?” she whispers, stepping forward, still gripping the door handle with one hand. “How could you tell him personal things about me?”

A knot of emotion clogs my throat, and the back of my eyes burn with frustrated, guilty tears. I’ve been the orphan. I’ve been the sidekick. I’ve been the beauty. I’ve been the poor girl. But I’ve never been the bad girl. The girl who people have a reason—a legitimate reason—to dislike.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter just as Lance appears, dressed to the nines in his fitted black suit and pencil tie. He stands in front of Brielle, serving as her loyal protector, and the back of my neck tingles at his defensive stance.

Big Daddy would do the same for me.

“Who are you?” he asks, looking me up and down.

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