Chapter 32
“Okay,everyone, scooch in closer. Pete, I can only see your shoulder. Marlee, you don’t have to smile, but at least use your facial features to make it look like you don’t want to kill anyone.”
“Yes, she does have to smile if she wants to keep her job,” Pete says mildly.
I chuckle along with everyone else and watch on my phone as Marlee rolls her eyes and flicks her newly purple-tinted hair over her shoulder.
“Is she smiling, Junie?” Pete asks.
“I plead the fifth.”
“Marlee!”
“Fine, I’m smiling.” Marlee does, in fact, smile, but crosses her eyes at the same time. I snort but try to shove the rest of my laughter away. In truth, I don’t care whether Marlee’s smiling or not. I only care that she’s here. Her and all the rest of these people gathered in front of my little house.
They’re all here on this perfect spring day. All of my friends. Our friends. Mine and Owen’s.
Six months ago, I never would have believed I could keep this many relationships intact for longer than a few months, but here I am. I gaze at the view through my phone at each of their faces individually. Owen, Shane, Pete and his wife and niece, the new friends I’ve made at work, Summer, Indigo, and Averie, and, of course, Kiera. Maybe to some people, this gathering wouldn’t seem like anything to be impressed over, but to me, they are living proof of how much growing I’ve done.
“You better get in this picture too, Juniper,” Owen says.
A tiny shiver races down my spine like it always does whenever he calls me by my full name. It never gets old. I share a look with him. A look that kind of turns into a moment. The kind of moment where I’m envisioning what I want to do with him later after everyone else goes home.
“Whew, is it getting hot in here, or is that Junie and Owen?” Shane says.
“Ew, please stop. My poor ears,” whines Kiera, semi-joking. She makes a face like she’s going to be sick, and everyone laughs while my cheeks erupt with heat.
Summer comes to my rescue. “Come on, let’s take the picture!”
“Yes, before the pastries cool off too much,” Pete’s wife says.
“The sun’s in my eyes; I don’t know how much longer I can smile like this,” Marlee whines.
Shane points at me. “If I don’t get a warm pastry, someone’s getting fired.”
“Yeah, yeah, Boss.”
That’s another change I’ve had to get used to.
After confirming that we would not be breaking up anytime in the near future, Owen and I had a long chat about the situation at work. Company policy wouldn’t allow me to work under him if we were going to be dating, but he didn’t have another opening I was qualified for. The idea of completely quitting and getting an entirely different job made me sick to my stomach though. For a while, we didn’t know what to do, so we ended up talking to HR about the situation, and it was actually Summer who came up with the solution.
I could work under Shane.
Since he runs an entirely different side of Em3rge, it wouldn’t be violating any policy. Owen wasn’t thrilled about the idea at first (due to the whole briefly dating thing), but once I convinced him of all the perks of me staying at Em3rge, he agreed it would work. It didn’t take much convincing to get Shane on board either.
Although he and Owen are completely different bosses, it hasn’t been that big of an adjustment. Owen calls the way Shane works “annoying,” but I find it oddly entertaining.
I used to think Shane was kind of flippant and a little too casual. Where Owen was streamlined and focused at work, Shane was true to his golden-retriever-like personality, bouncing from one thing to the next like a dog chasing a tennis ball. He’s always bobbing his head to music blaring in his office, swiveling around in his office chair, and writing ten new sticky notes before he accomplishes the one sticky note I told him to focus on that day. He’s laid back and easily distracted.
But now, I see that what I mistook for flippancy was actually his highly intelligent brain constantly moving from one thing to the next. He’s constantly thinking of new ideas for the company, and he always has a new string of code he’s working on “for fun.”
I’ve had to learn how to go with the flow, and at the same time, how to help him focus when he needs to. It’s a challenge, but one I’m enjoying. And, whenever I feel a little overwhelmed or I’m having a bad day, I know I can always take the elevator upstairs to pop in on Owen and his new, much older, no-nonsense secretary.
Am I going to be a secretary forever? I’m not sure.
But I’m happy with the stage of life I’m in, so I’m not worried. I’ve even started taking a finance class online. Everything in my life feels like it’s finally settling into place.
“Okay, okay.” I set my phone on the tripod, adjusting its height, and yes, I did buy the tripod for this exact occasion. “Oh, Kiera, you’re too tall. I can barely see Summer. Move over there beside Shane.” Kiera pauses like she might argue, but then moves where I asked, avoiding a couple of puddles left over from a recent spring rain and settling in beside Shane.
After a bit more shuffling, everything looks perfect. I’m about to hit the button and run to my spot, but Pete waves his hand.
“Hold on, hold everything. Almost forgot.” Then, from behind his back, he pulls out a red ribbon and the most enormous pair of gold scissors I’ve ever seen.
My jaw drops. “Pete! You didn’t have to bring those! It’s a housewarming party. I’m not opening a business.”
No one else seems surprised at this turn of events, and the people in the front help stretch the ribbon out.
“Who cares?” Pete says, shrugging, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to use these ever since the opening of my own place. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Yeah, and you and Owen put a lot of work into this house,” Summer comments, holding the end of the ribbon in her hand. “It deserves the grandest opening it can get.”
I shake my head, trying to ignore my own embarrassment, but she’s right, we did put a lot of work into this place. At first, Owen wanted to hire a crew to come in and do everything for me, saying it would be easier and more time efficient.
But once I realized how much hiring someone would cost, I put a definitive foot down on the matter. I wasn’t hurting for money the way I’d been when I’d first started at Em3rge, but I’m still a frugal gal. Once he realized he couldn’t convince me, Owen said he’d help however he could. That’s why, for the last three months, he’s spent every weekend over here helping me with the renovation. We finally finished the kitchen, redid all the flooring, painted, put up tile, and even, at Owen’s insistence, replaced all the windows with ones that actually lock.
Through all this, I was still living in the apartment across from Owen’s above Em3rge, and to be honest, I’m a little sad to be moving out of that situation. It was kind of nice knowing I could literally walk across the hall to kiss my boyfriend any time I wanted to.
Last night, Owen even asked if I’d move in with him. I almost said yes. A big part of me wanted to.
But this… This will be good. It was always the plan, after all. And I don’t know if I’m ready for that level of commitment yet. I hope someday I will be though.
I set the timer on my phone. “Get ready, everyone. Here it goes!”
I press the button and run for the group, hopping over one particularly large puddle. Pete shoves the giant scissors into my hands. I set the phone up to take a series of ten pictures, so I’m not too worried if the first shot isn’t perfect.
“Smile!” I yell as my phone beeps.
Then I hear the little clicks, signifying the pictures are being taken. With one big and satisfying cut of those giant scissors, I slice through the red ribbon. The ends fall to the ground around my feet, and everyone cheers as my heart bursts with happiness.
Owen’s hand wraps around my waist, and the other pulls the scissors gently out of my grasp. With a slow dip, he kisses me to the chorus of more cheers. My lips tingle and buzz at the contact, and I’m once again imagining being alone with him.
“Alright, that’s enough. Move along, people,” Kiera cries, and Owen and I smile against each other. Sometimes, I think that’s half the reason he kisses me when she’s around, to get on his sister’s nerves. Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll take any excuse to kiss the guy I can get.
As he starts to pull me upright, the sound of a car pulling up to the curb registers. I glance over as the unfamiliar vehicle stops, and the door opens. My dad steps out of it.
Apparently, the shock of seeing my dad here combined with the recent, knee-melting kiss is too much for my brain to handle.
When Owen lets me go, I’m still not completely vertical, and I lose my balance. It wouldn’t be bad, except somehow, the ribbon has gotten tangled up in my feet, and when I try to right myself, I’m thrown off-balance even more. I cry out. Owen reaches for me, but he doesn’t make it in time.
Instead, I go careening forward, straight into the giant puddle.
From my new position on the squishy, dirty ground, I glance up at my dad, who’s now staring down at me, looking equal parts confused and concerned.
“Um, hi, Dad. Welcome to my housewarming party!”
Then I shoot off the ground and into my house, leaving a trail of dirty water across my beautiful, new flooring, all the way to my newly tiled shower.
One hot shower later, I’m in fresh clothes, pulling a brush through my hair as I try to steady my still-racing heart.
“You sure you don’t want me to ask him to leave?” Owen asks. He’s leaning on the bathroom door frame, his eyebrows bunched together in concern.
“I’m sure. I mean, I did invite him after all.” I was extending an olive branch. An olive branch I never thought he’d be able to receive since I knew for a fact he was out of the country.
We still hadn’t talked since our big fight. At least, not really. He kept calling and texting regularly, and at one point, I did message him back, thanking him for reaching out, but that I still needed space. After that, he resorted to texting me a couple of times a week and calling every Sunday, not that I ever picked up.
“But I thought you said he wasn’t coming. He was in Finland or something like that.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”
To be honest, I’m still mad at him. Those things he said to me still feel unforgivable. And, in a way, I think I’m experiencing all the pent-up anger I’ve been holding against him for years. After all this time, I’m actually letting myself feel it. That is what my new therapist has been encouraging me to do, after all.
Now that he’s here, I want to keep being mad at him. I want to yell and throw a fit like a child and maybe rub it in his face that I’m still with Owen and we’re perfectly happy, thank you very much, and none of those awful things he said have happened or ever will happen.
But…that might make things worse.
And I do want to make things better. Eventually.
He is my dad, after all.
So, I decided while I was in the shower that I’ll try. I’ll be civil. But if he tries to say those things to me again, I won’t take it. I’ll throw him out of my house. Or have Owen do it if I have to. I hope it doesn’t come to that.
I take a deep breath, staring at myself in the mirror. Owen comes behind me, sweeping my hair to the side and kissing my neck. I sigh, letting his warm arms circle me and soaking in all of his positive energy.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “You can do this.”
Out in the living room, music is playing from a portable speaker, and everyone is talking and eating. As I walk through them, they say hi and comment on how nice the house is and how they particularly like this or that feature. Eventually, I make it through them and to my dad who is chatting with Pete.
When he sees me, though, he immediately stops talking. Pete claps him on the shoulder and excuses himself. Owen squeezes my hand, then he’s gone too. It’s Dad and me in this little corner of my house while everyone else politely ignores us.
I clear my throat. “Hi, Dad. Um, I thought you were in Finland or something.”
“Norway. Exploring some old Viking villages.” He shakes his head. “But that’s not important. What’s important is… Junie, I…” He trails off, and then suddenly, he’s hugging me.
Really hugging me.
I’m too stunned to react at first, my arms hanging limply at my sides.
“I’m so sorry, Junebug.” His voice is muffled against me, but despite that, I can still hear the emotion choking his throat. “I’m sorry for everything I said, everything I did. Not just back in February, either.”
He lets go and backs away suddenly, as if afraid I’ll be upset at him all over again.
“You were right about everything. I didn’t put you first, and I unintentionally taught you not to trust people. I was hurt by what your mom did to us, what she did to me, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. I hurt you. More than I ever even realized. And then you tried to tell me how happy you were, and I wouldn’t even listen. I was thinking of myself again and letting my own stupid issues get to me. I was selfish again.”
He goes silent, eyes on the floor, and I notice again all the little wrinkles on his face. Deep grooves beside the corners of his mouth, small ones beside his eyes, and long lines across his forehead. I always thought they were smile lines from years of living his life the way he wanted to and never letting anyone or anything stop him. But now I see that although many of them were probably formed from joy, they are also there from sorrow. Deep, heart-wrenching sadness that goes deeper than any physical wound could go.
Here is a man who was hurt so badly, he could never truly recover. A man who had to hide his despair from his only daughter, who he had to care for and raise on his own.
I always thought he was invincible.
But it turns out, he’s as easily wounded as I am.
I cross my arms over my chest. “You should have gotten help instead of moving us around all the time.”
Dad nods, tears in his eyes. “I know. I know, Junebug. But I was stubborn. I lied to myself for a long time, telling myself I was happy and it was better that way. I told myself you’d be alright. That the way I was raising you would actually do you more good than bad. But I realize now that I was wrong.”
I look down at the floor, rubbing my socked toe against an invisible scuff mark. “It wasn’t all bad, you know. I didn’t turn out all bad.”
“No, you sure didn’t. But I’d be willing to bet you turned out so well in spite of me, not because of me.”
Tears sting my eyes and nose. I blink rapidly. “That’s not true.”
“No need to try and spare my feelings now, Juniper Tree.” Dad steps forward and places a light kiss on the top of my head. “I’ve been sufficiently humbled and am now well aware of my shortcomings. I only wish it didn’t take me so long to realize them.”
I keep my arms wrapped tightly around my chest, unsure how to answer.
After a long moment, Dad sighs. “I need to catch another plane. It’s alright if you’re not ready to forgive me yet. I… If I call, will you at least answer next time?”
I sniffle and nod.
From the corner of my eye, I see him nod too. Then, after another brief, one-sided hug, he walks away and out of my house.
Owen is at my side immediately. His hands rub my arms up and down, up and down. “Junie? You alright?”
I nod, then shake my head, then nod again. The tears won’t be held back any longer, and they flow down my cheeks. Owen hands me a tissue, and I blow my nose, but I can’t stop crying. My chest hurts, and regret floods me.
I can’t believe I let him walk away like that. I can’t believe I didn’t hug him back and I’m perpetuating this fight. I can’t believe I’m holding on to this anger. I glance out the window where he’s almost to his car.
Owen seems to understand. “Go to him, Junie. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”
I shove the gross tissue into Owen’s hand—yeah, he must love me because he takes it without hesitation—and run out the door.
“Dad! Dad, wait!”
He’s almost closed his door, but at my words, he opens it, standing up. “Junie?”
“Dad!”
He rounds the car, and we meet, hugging each other tightly. We don’t say anything. Nothing else needs to be said. Maybe things aren’t perfect, maybe our relationship will never be the same again, but also, maybe that’s a good thing.
“Once a week,” I say as we pull away from each other. “I want you to call me once a week. No matter where you are or what you’re doing. Okay?”
His eyes scan mine, and I can tell what he’s doing. He’s calculating and debating, running over all the various scenarios that could and will get in the way of keeping this promise. All the remote places he travels to and the long trips.
“Once a week,” he promises, kissing me again on the top of my head. “I’ll call you once a week. No matter what.”
A few minutes later, when I’m back in my house eating a reheated but still delicious raspberry pastry, sitting next to Owen and surrounded by all the people I love, I sigh, leaning my head against Owen’s shoulder.
“Are you happy?” he whispers.
“Yeah. Super happy. It feels good to have that off my chest.” We’re quiet for a minute, watching Summer and Marlee, who’ve started a game of charades. “Do you think you’ll ever make up with your parents?”
Owen is quiet. Like me, he hasn’t talked to his parents since they spoke to me so rudely a few months ago. But, unlike my dad, they haven’t tried to contact Owen either. According to Kiera, they seem to think they’re punishing Owen with their silence. Owen, however, has been enjoying their absence from his life.
“I don’t know,” he says after a while. “Your dad was a good person to begin with. In my opinion, it was only a matter of time before you two made up. But my parents could give the devil himself a run for his money.”
I chuckle and elbow him in the ribs.
Summer acts out what looks like a sad penguin looking for its lost shoe while Marlee looks like a bored impression of a child reading a book. I’m not sure if she’s actually playing charades or not.
“Juniper?” Owen murmurs against my ear.
“Hm?”
“Do you think I’ll ever be able to convince you to marry me?”
I turn to him, shock making my eyes wide. I half expect him to be holding a ring, but there is none, and I’m kind of glad. A public proposal isn’t something I’d want, and Owen knows that. I take a moment to ponder his question.
“I think you might be able to convince me. After we’ve been dating for a little while longer.”
“How much longer?” He nuzzles my neck, his lips trailing kisses up to my jawline.
“Mm, maybe a few more months?”
Owen groans, a sound I can feel all the way to my ribcage. “Fine. I’ll try to be patient. But I want you to know I’ve already bought the ring.”
“You have?!”
“And I’ve got it stored away in a special place for when the time is right. You will let me know when the time is right, won’t you?”
I tilt Owen’s face up so his lips are a breath away from mine. “Yes, Owen Ferguson. I’ll let you know. Now, tell all of these people the party’s over so I can kiss you properly.”
He growls, his fingers pressing into my waist with delicious pressure. “Yes, ma’am.”