Page 21 of At First Flight
“Oh, just the fact that you’re home, and you ended up not marrying that horrid man.”
Her light voice is teasing, but I hear the layers beneath it—the relief, the quiet worry she probably carried for years and never voiced. It was no secret that my family wasn’t exactly fond of Prescott. But I kept hoping they’d come around. That maybe, once they saw the version of him I thought I loved, they’d change their minds.
But the truth is, they were right. And I was too blinded by the sparkle of the life and career he promised to see what was underneath. It’s amazing how love can drown out the quiet whisper of your own instincts. The ones that kept telling you something wasn’t quite right. That you were shrinking to fit into a life that was never designed for you in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, voice thick.
Not just for falling for him, but for believing in the lie, for drifting away from the people who truly loved me while I tried to become someone else entirely.
My mom moves closer, wiping her hands on a dish towel before gently cupping my cheek. “Nothing to be sorry about, Lila. We’re just glad to have you home.”
Her words hit somewhere deep, beneath the surface calm I’ve tried to maintain since stepping off that plane. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Because what do you say when your family greets you with open arms after you’ve disappeared into someone else’s world for so long?
You say thank you. You let yourself be loved, even when you don’t feel like you deserve it yet.
I blink fast, forcing down the tears that suddenly sting. I’d cried enough in Scotland. Enough to last a lifetime. But this feels different. These aren’t tears of heartbreak or fear or shame. They’re something softer, warmer. A beginning, not an end.
So I take a breath and force a smile, letting the air fill spaces in my chest that had been hollow for too long.
I make my way through the small crowd known as my siblings, hugging them and thanking them for being there. I’m sure they think I mean only for the impromptu party, but I mean my life in general. Ashvi is the last in that group that I hug, and I make sure to whisper that she’s in for it before I release her with a smile on my face.
“Hi, Dad,” I say as I wrap my arms around the best man I’ve ever known.
“Hey, Sugarplum.” My heart immediately warms as he uses the nickname bestowed upon me when I was three and gave my first ballet recital. I wore a purple tutu, and the name stuck. “Glad you’re here.” I give him one last squeeze before following my siblings toward the large kitchen table, where Mom places the steaming lasagna dish.
We disperse toward the same chairs we sat in as kids. Ashvi takes the spare seat to my right, and as my father says grace, I feel a twinkle of hope that perhaps everything will turn out okay. In my perfect world, Prescott will move on and leave me be. There will be no questioning from his family about what happened. I won’t suddenly find myself stalked by a crazy wife. And somewhere along the way, I’ll find myself doing my part to save the world.
But as I scoop out the pasta dish and take my first bite, letting the familiar sounds of my family fill the void deep inside me, I have that all-too-familiar feeling that luck isn’t on my side, and my world is about to be flipped on its axis, again.
“Oh, Lila, since you’re home for a little bit, I have the perfect job for you. The poor children just lost their mother.”
“I don’t know, Mom. That’s not really what I’m doing right now.”
Mom reaches out with a gentle hand and rests it on top of mine, clenching the form with all my might. “I understand. It was just a suggestion. I thought it may help you keep your mind off everything for a while.”
From my other side, Ashvi asks, “How old are the kids?”
“Poor things, five and three.”
God, they’re so young, and Mom is right. If anyone could relate to them, it would be me. Falling back into the nanny trap is so easybecauseI love it, but it isn’t the plan I see for my life.
“That’s so sad,” my little sister, Hadley, says from across the table. “You don’t have anyone who can fill in?”
“Unfortunately not. Everyone has their current positions, and then the summer slots are filled until a few come home from college. I suppose I’ll see if I can help out instead.”
“Mom,” I utter sternly, head tilted in her direction. Mom’s been slowly cutting back her hours until she can officially retire. Her best friend, Andrea, has been doing the same until they can leave the business to someone capable of continuing their legacy.
“It’s okay,” she mumbles around a piece of bread she tore from the loaf, dipping it into the tomato sauce on her plate. “It was a last-minute request, and normally, we’d turn it down, but the man seems desperate.”
“Hell, I remember how desperate I was,” Dad says, reminding us all how the situation was very similar to him twenty-four years ago.
The guilt gnaws away at me through the remainder of the meal, and by the time Ashvi and I are ready to head back to her house and drink that much-anticipated bottle of red wine, I feel like every ounce of me has been fed through a wire strainer.
As Mom and Dad hug me, offering to let me stay in my old room on their farm, my resolve slips away.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
