Page 14 of Sawyer

I press enter, then close my eyes tightly, clutching my phone in my hand. It buzzes a moment later.

FATHER:

I do not understand and I am very disappointed.

It hurts deeply that he’s disappointed in me. It frightens me that we are finally on good footing, and his disappointment could ruin all of the goodwill between us. For a second—just a second—I consider changing my mind, my fingers hovering over the Reply button. But before I weaken and make anotherdecision I regret, I shove my phone in my pocket and face myself in the mirror.

“No,” I say to my reflection. “You’re staying this time.”

I lift my chin. He’ll get over his disappointment, or he won’t. You can’t let fear of losing his approval make decisions for you. If it’s that easy to lose his love and esteem, you never really had them anyway.

Though I hadn’t started dating Clark Clement Rupert III to win my father’s approval—at least not consciously, anyway—I found that securing it meant a lot to me. For the first time I could ever remember, my father looked at me as though I had worth. After our engagement, I’d even overheard him bragging to some business associates about his daughter who was marrying into the most prominent political family in Alaska. It had made me feel important to hear him say that, especially when he’d added that I was finally living up to the Caswell name.

After graduation, my father and I had spent a weekend with the Rupert family in Juneau. Clark’s and my engagement party had been a veritable “Who’s Who” of Alaskan business bigwigs and local political dealmakers. I couldn’t ever remember a time my father had looked at me with such admiration and approval. His own marriage had been a disaster. Maybe through my smart and sensible marriage to Clark, I could heal something in our tiny family. Maybe my father and I would even grow closer.

Before he left that weekend, he tried to convince me not to spend a final summer in Skagway, and stay in Juneau instead. But I’d won that skirmish, promising him that I’d leave for Juneau at the end of August and start my life as a government intern and blushing fiancée in the fall.

But then Aunt Priscilla got sick, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—honor that promise.

It had made my father livid.

Since then, our conversations—almost exclusively via text—had been combative, with ample reminders that I was becoming a disappointment to him. My brief sojourn in the warm light of his love and approval was starting to fade. Could I bear to find myself alone in the cold?

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it go slowly.

Think about something else.

Memories of my summers with Aunt Priscilla and Uncle Alan flit through my head like a rosy-toned slide show. I owe them so much. My heart would’ve withered away with only my absentee and impervious father for affection. I can’t leave them when they need me most. I won’t.

“I’mnotgoing to Juneau,” I whisper. “I’mnotleaving Skagway. Not this time. Not yet.”

Flipping over my phone, I tap on Clark’s messages, bracing myself for more anger and coercion; my fiancé, who has become my father’s little acolyte over the past year, doesn’t disappoint.

CLARK:

Your father’s really disappointed, Ivy. And honestly, I am, too. You’re hurting me. You’re hurting us. With my family’s political connections and your dad’s business contacts, we could rule this state, and instead, I feel like you’re ruining things for everyone. I feel like you don’t care about us and don’t want a future with me. I hope I’m wrong. I really do.

I re-read Clark’s words, gulping softly. They hurt. I hate it that they do, but the idea of losing him—of losing the life we’ve envisioned and started planning together—scares me.

Clark is by no means perfect, but dating him gave me a sense of place and position that I craved. I liked walking into parties on his arm. I liked the way other students sized us up, staring at us—Ivy Caswell of Caswell Coal and Clark Clement Rupert III, the Lt. Governor’s son—in awe and envy. We were even written up in the campus newspaper as “Couple of the Year.”

Clark’s practicality about our combined social, political, and economic worth appeals to me, too. Clark and I may not be passionate, per se, but wearecompatible, and wedomake sense. The prospect of losing his love scares me almost as much as losing my father’s.

His follow-up message proves how adept he is at pushing my buttons, at hurting me, then kissing it better.

CLARK:

Baby, I miss you like crazy. My bed is so empty without you.

I need my little spoon here beside me.

Come home.

He attached three pictures of the apartment we purchased together, including two of our kitten, Feisty, who’s growing up super fast while I’m away. In one picture, she’s curled up on my pillow. In the next, she perches on a padded windowsill, surveying Juneau’s harbor with its vibrant blues, greens, and whites muted in the background. The last picture is a selfie of Clark, looking preppy and handsome on the way to work at the capitol. His smile pulls at my heartstrings.

I brush away fresh tears, hoping with all my heart that caring for my aunt isn’t jeopardizing the happy ending I want so badly.

ME:

---