Page 2 of Beach Bum Billion-Heiress
A formal handshake. With his own fucking daughter. We were finally back on familiar ground.
I fought to keep the tears from showing in my eyes over his callousness and his challenge. He'd never understood me growing up, and it appeared he never would.
Pulling my feet under me, I stood, brushing aside his outstretched hand. "I'll give some consideration to your terms and let you know within twenty-four hours."
Then I spun on my heel and stormed out, wishing for wood floors or non-piston regulated doors. Everything in this goddamn home office was as plush and silent as a fucking tomb. When you felt like smashing someone's face in, it really helped to be able to stomp around and slam doors. Silent dramatic exits didn't really cut it.
Fuming, I made it all the way to the kitchen, which was no small feat in this McMansion, before I let out a scream that bent me in half. I came back upright and shook out my whole body, trying to wrestle out the invisible beast that was every conversation with my father. A few deep breaths and the anger was fading away, leaving me discombobulated.
I had twenty-four hours to figure this dilemma out. Would I follow my father's wishes and bury all my hopes and dreams for the dangled carrot of riches? Or would I slam the door in his face and strike out on my own, leaving my family behind?
No biggie.
"Sage?" My mother's voice interrupted my conflicted thoughts. She must have heard my scream and come running. She clutched at her pearls and even her Botox-frozen face showed an expression of concern.
"Sorry, mother. I'm fine. Just letting off some steam after talking to father. Did he tell you?"
"Tell me what, honey?" Her face smoothed out and her hand dropped the pearls. It was a common thing around here for my father and I to clash. She would listen, nod her head in sympathy, and then do absolutely nothing to help me out. She'd never go against my father, even so much as to simply question him. The feminist movement hadn't quite made it to my mother yet.
"He wants me to go to California and oversee a job out there. If I don't do it, he'll take away my trust fund." Maybe, just maybe, this would be the one time she'd see how crazy my father was and stick up for me.
"Quit slouching, dear. Shoulders back."
I sighed. So much for that idea. "Okay, mother. Thanks for listening."
I left the kitchen, my shoulders back and my posture as dignified as I could stomach. When decisions had to be made, I needed to be outside to have any chance of making a good choice. Something about fresh air made my body come alive. In my bedroom, I changed out of my long skirt and threw on a pair of leggings and tennis shoes. I grabbed my cell phone and my Bluetooth headphones and made my way outside to my favorite running trail. It was still hot and muggy out late in the summer in upstate New York, but I was willing to risk the heat stroke.
I started out walking, taking deep, measured breaths in through my nose and out my mouth. With each step, the weight on my shoulders became lighter. When I felt loose and limber, I took off into a jog. There was nothing like a good jog to work up some sweat and get my creativity flowing.
By the time I made it back to the house, I'd come full circle in more ways than one. I'd have to suck it up and do what my father wanted. Then I could get my trust fund, refuse to take over the company, and set off to do what I wanted with money in my pocket. That was the only sensible thing to do. I couldn't just walk away from millions of dollars. Besides, there was a very small part of me that wanted to prove to my father that I was capable. To have his approval, just once.
Suck it up till I was thirty, then walk away and do what I wanted. One more year.
That was my plan.
California
My plane landed in Orange County and I followed the herd to baggage claim. I only had one suitcase for the entire year I planned to live in Huntington Beach. Never much into fancy clothes, I figured I'd see what everyone wore out on the west coast and purchase more clothes accordingly. When in Rome, and all that.
From there I took a taxi to a little car rental shop off the airport property. While I was low maintenance with clothes, I was definitely high maintenance with cars. I may be following my father's plan, but I was going to do it in typical Sage style. I'd secured a vintage green and white Volkswagen Bug for the entire year I'd be in HB. The owners had even humored me by placing a string of yellow daisies hanging from the rearview mirror. And this is why I wasn't giving up the chance to get my trust fund. Enough money could buy you exactly what you wanted.
I climbed in, started her up, and grinned from ear to ear as she rumbled. The sun was out, the sky was clear, and I was about to finally prove myself to my father once and for all.
My good mood lasted just long enough to make it to the 405 freeway. Traffic was bumper to bumper and not even my favorite old school rock could make this fun. While parked on the freeway, I pulled up the map on my phone and saw that if I took an exit up ahead, it would take me all the way down to the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH), which ran up and down the coast of California. Decision made, I waved, honked, and cursed my way over to the exit, happy to finally be going over five miles per hour.
My first view of the Pacific Ocean brought my smile right back. It was huge and blue and sparkling in the sunlight. A few surfers dotted the waves. People were laid out on towels, tents erected, and fire pits smoking. An airplane flew low, showing its banner advertisement to the beach goers. Everywhere I looked, I saw activity. I rolled down the windows and let the briny air flow into my lungs and curl the ends of my hair.
Now this I could get used to.
Have you ever been to a place that screams 'home' on a primal level? The sights and smells that just hit you in the gut and make you realize you were never home before and only just know now that you're meant to be there? That was how I felt entering Huntington Beach for the first time in my little VW bug, the sun shining bright, and the wind whipping my hair.
Further down PCH I saw a viewpoint turnout. It was a bit of a cliff overlooking the beach with an old lifeguard tower breaking up the wide expanse of sand. I absolutely had to get a picture of that to commemorate my first day. I swerved into the left lane so I wouldn't miss the turn lane for the viewpoint.
Unfortunately, I was so enamored with my surroundings, I failed to notice a big silver truck in the left lane. I swerved, he honked, I made it safely into the turn lane. The shot of adrenaline bubbled into a laugh and I raised my hand to him in the universal car language of 'sorry'. The driver stared me down as he zoomed by but didn't give me the finger so I figured we were all good. Who said Californians were rude?
I parked the car in the turnoff and hopped out. A tourist couple were there taking in the view so I asked them to take a photo of me. I leaned on the hood of my ride, the ocean my stunning backdrop. Breathing deep came easy here.
As they took the picture, freezing this moment in time, I also captured the feeling I had in my chest and locked it away. I wanted to always remember how I felt today. The freedom, the openness, the air of possibility. It was so damn refreshing, and I knew deep in my gut this was the feeling I should be striving for. Not to please my father, or to gain riches, but to live life well, on my own terms.
One glimpse at the beach and I was thinking of turning my life upside down. Question was: could I actually follow through?
