Page 20 of Role Play
I let out a low growl of frustration. “No, Dad, what I want is for you to take me under your wing. I want to sit down and do writing sprints with you. I want to drink whatever brand of coffee you do so I can also piss excellence. But every single time I bring up this topic, you shut me out. Do you realize how cruel that is? You’rethe J.P. Cooper. Your only daughter can’t get her author career off the ground, and you could help me if you wanted to, but instead you’ve left me in the dust.Why?”
Dad plants both elbows on the table. He wraps one hand around his fist and rests his chin on his knuckles. He takes a few steadying breaths. “You want my advice?”
“Desperately,” I reiterate.
“Quit.”
One word clobbers my heart and it shatters into a million pieces. “Quit?” I echo in a weak whisper. What are the chances that Dad actually picked up a romance book I wrote, read it, and then decided the only solution to my problem was throwing in the towel? “Because I’m that bad?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what kind of writer you are, Sora.”
“If only there were a simple solution to that,” I snark.
He ignores me and continues, “But what I can tell you is that you’re too much like me. You’re looking for validation in all the wrong places, and this career you want is going to ruin your life. The odds are against you, and failure is all but imminent. If there is anything else in this world you can do that will bring you a sliver of joy and satisfaction…do that instead. Don’t torture yourself.”
I don’t even bother fighting my tears. I let my eyes water so Dad can see what he caused. “Thanks, Dad. Great advice.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you?—”
“It’s fine. I asked for honesty…I got it.”
The silence between us becomes deafening. I finally addressed the elephant in the room, but it didn’t go away, it only got bigger. I’m no longer in the mood for dessert. I really just want this evening to be over.
“May I give you your birthday present now?”
I could be a petulant adult child. My dad hurt my feelings and I think I’m well within my right to make a scene. But I can’t ignore the fact that he’s here. I’m well past childhood. My father owes me nothing. Yet, he’s trying to connect. How many daughters would kill for their father to make an effort?
“This dinner is more than present enough. It means a lot to me that you flew all the way here to spend time with me.”
His lips twitch into a smile as he reaches into his pocket. “Dinner is dinner. This is your present.” He dangles a set of keys before setting them on the table and sliding them toward me.
“Please tell me these unlock a treasure chest,” I joke as I scoop up the two silver keys, identical in shape.
“The brownstone. It’s yours.”
My soul floats right out of my body. For a few moments I swear I’m staring at my own jaw, mopping the floor of the restaurant. When my speechless, catatonic state simmers, I croak out, “Are you serious?”
“I am.”
Dad’s brownstone in the West Village was worth millions when he bought it after the divorce. In the twelve years since, it’s doubled in value. “Where are you going to live?” I ask.
“LA, for the time being. The studio wants me to stay close as a consultant on set when filming starts.”
“It’s a lot of house for one person,” I mention.
“So fill it. But with people, not stories.”
“What?” I ask, rotating the keys in my hands, watching the dim glow of the overhead chandelier reflecting in the silver.
“I spent so much time lost in the fantastical worlds I built on page, I forgot to live my real life. While I have brief moments of happiness, like tonight, I’m not a happy man. Don’t be like me, Sora. Be better.”
I don’t understand the sadness in his eyes. He sacrificed a lot for his career, but it paid off in spades. Dad has fame, fortune, and a legacy that every author alive envies.
What the hell could he possibly be regretting?
chapter 6
Sora
