Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Blue
Two Weeks Later
It's been two weeks of quiet since I last saw my dad.
Whenever his name comes up, or I glance at my phone, not sure what I'm looking for, then realize I'm searching for his funny texts or messages checking in on me, it feels strange but necessary.
It's like a bone that finally healed after being broken wrong for years.
So when he shows up, standing outside my office with a coffee in his hand, it knocks the air out of my lungs.
The first thing I notice isn't the coffee. It's his face. He looks like he aged ten years in fourteen days.
The sharpness is still there, but it's dulled now, softened by lines that weren't there before. They're deep around his mouth, and exhaustion is carved beneath his eyes.
His shoulders are heavier, his posture less certain, as if the weight he's been carrying finally stopped being theoretical and became personal.
For the first time in my life, he doesn't look untouchable.
He looks human. And that terrifies me more than the man he used to be.
He cautiously asks, "Can I come in?"
My skin crawls with anxiety. I hesitate, then agree. "Okay."
"Got this for you," he says, and sets my favorite latte in front of me. It's from the little café three blocks away. The one that foams the milk just right and dusts the top with cinnamon instead of cocoa.
"Thanks." My hands stay on my desk, fingers splayed against the cool surface. The hum of the building wraps around me in that familiar workday way. It's normal, safe, and predictable, but my heart doesn't get the memo. It starts racing like I'm running for my life.
"I miss you, Blue," he offers.
I take a deep breath and admit, "I miss you too." I pick up the cup and take a sip. "Thanks for the latte."
He smiles and nods.
I wrap both hands around the cup and inhale the warm and comforting scent. Even though it's familiar, my desk suddenly feels like a boundary line. I gently ask, "What do you want to talk about, Dad?" The words feel sharp on my tongue. Fragile, like it could break him if I press too hard.
He exhales slowly, as if he'd practiced it. Then he states, "I wanted to apologize to you. Properly."
I don't interrupt. Red told me about their discussion at the office. I've wondered when he would reach out to me and try to make things right.
Dad continues, "I've already apologized to Red. It doesn't erase anything. I know that. But I need you to hear this from me directly."
My fingers tense around the cup.
"I was wrong about how I handled things. I want to think I know what is best for you simply because I'm your father, but I see that I don't," he admits.
The silence stretches. I know how hard it is for a man like him to admit he's wrong.
I should start talking to make him feel comfortable, but I don't. I have to stop pretending things are fine when they aren't and deal with them in the moment.
So I let the tension build, waiting for him to say more.
"I didn't see how much you were hurting," he adds, voice lower now. "And that's on me. Not you. Not Red. Me."
Something inside me loosens just a fraction. It's enough to hurt.
He states, "I never wanted to scare you. I never wanted to be someone you were afraid of."
I let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Trying to kill the man I love is a funny way of showing that."
He agrees immediately. "Yes. And I hate that I put you through that."
"And Red?"
He arches his eyebrows.
"You hate that you put Red through that, too, Dad. Correct?" I ask.
He clears his throat. "Yes."
I take another sip of the latte.
He leans forward, hands clasped. "I've spent my life believing love meant protection. Force, if necessary. I see now that what I was really doing was protecting myself from fear. Fear of losing you and of not understanding you."
My throat tightens.
He adds, "I can't change what I did, but I can change what I do next."
I study his face. The familiar sharp lines. The eyes that have always loved me now search for answers instead of demanding them.
I ask, "What does that look like? The future?"
A moment passes. Then he answers, "It looks like listening. It looks like respecting your boundaries even when they scare me. It looks like trusting that you are capable of choosing the right person for yourself."
My pulse stutters. I quietly ask, "And Red?"
His jaw flexes. "Red loves you. That much is clear. And he makes you steadier. I can see it."
I swallow hard.
He looks at the ceiling for a moment, gathers his emotions, then pins glassy eyes on me. "I won't pretend I understand everything. But I accept him and the fact that you chose him."
The words land gently with gravity. Still, I stay silent.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm asking for a chance to do better," he says.
I stare down at the coffee, imagining the lid is off and I can see the faint swirl of foam settle.
A week ago, this would've shattered me, sending my thoughts spinning, my chest caving, and my skin itching with too many feelings at once. Now, it still hurts. But it doesn't break me.
I carefully choose my words. "I need consistency, not promises or grand gestures."
He nods. "You'll have it."
I peer closer at him. "And if you ever try to control my life again, you lose me. No more warnings."
He flinches. "Understood."
I take a sip of the coffee. Then I softly add, "I'm not fixed. I'm working on my mental health, but healing isn't linear. Some days are harder than others."
"Then tell me so I can help you. That's all your mom and I want...to be able to help you so you aren't struggling and in pain on your own." His eyes tear. He looks away and grinds his molars, blinking hard.
The silence that follows is different than the ones we've shared before. It's real in a way I've always wanted but was scared to imagine.
I breathe ten times then softly reply, "Thank you. That means a lot."
"I mean it," he says, meeting my gaze again.
I smile. "Okay. Good."
More silence fills the room. He finally stands, then hesitates. "Can I hug you? Please?"
Tears well and fall. I rise and lunge into him.
He wraps me in his arms tight, telling me in Russian he loves me and is sorry.
I cry in his arms, then gather my emotions. I pull away. "Thank you for my latte. It was a perfect surprise."
He gives a small, sad smile. "Anytime." Then he leaves quietly, shutting the door behind him.
I sit back down slowly, my heart racing from the strange, fragile feeling of something old finally loosening its grip.
Making peace doesn't feel like surrender. It feels like breathing.
I finish the last of my work on autopilot.
Emails get answered. Fabric swatches get filed.
I say goodbye to Mom and promise I'll see her tomorrow, my voice light even though my chest still feels tender from the conversation with Dad.
But it's the good kind of ache. It's the kind that comes from something old finally shifting into place.
When I step outside, the air feels lighter. The city seems to breathe with me instead of pressing down on me.
Red opens the door for me when I approach his front door. His eyes twinkle. "Hey."
"Hey," I reply, smiling before I can stop myself.
He studies my face like he always does, checking in without asking. "Good day?"
I nod. "Yeah. I talked to my dad."
His shoulders ease. He doesn't push for details. He never does unless I invite him in. Instead, he kisses my temple, then murmurs, "Good. Because I'm taking you out tonight."
Excitement hits me. I blink. "Out out?"
"Hot date." He grins bigger and winks.
My heart skips. "Should I be nervous?"
"Always," he teases. "Go get ready. Put on that sexy black dress you just got."
That's all it takes for me. I rush to the bedroom and shower longer than necessary, letting the hot water calm the adrenaline buzzing through me. I finally turn off the water, wrap myself in a towel, and go into my closet.
I find the black dress and stare at it. It's the one that hugs my waist and skims my hips. The neckline is low enough to feel daring but elegant enough to feel like me. And the fabric is soft and fluid, clinging in all the right places without making me feel trapped.
I do my hair and makeup, get dressed, then slip into my favorite stilettos, secure the thin straps, and admire the dangerously high heels that make my legs look endless. I stare at my reflection.
Impractical and unapologetic.
Perfect.
When I walk into the living room, Red goes still. His eyes darken in that way that makes heat bloom low in my stomach. "Jesus, Bluebird."
I laugh, my nerves fluttering. "Is that good or bad?"
He steps closer, his hands settle at my waist, making the heat fire hotter in my core. "Very good."
He steers me out of the condo and into his car. The ride is filled with music and easy conversation. He keeps one hand on my thigh like a tether, grounding me when my thoughts start racing.
I tell him about my dad and his apology, the hug, and the way it felt like something inside me finally exhaled.
"I'm proud of you," he says softly.
When we pull up to the restaurant, my breath catches.
Solstice is a new restaurant I've wanted to try, but I haven't had a chance to make reservations.
It's all glass and warm amber light. The exterior is covered in greenery that climbs toward the sky. Inside, flickers of candlelight, polished wood, and sweeping arches make the space feel intimate and grand all at once.
I breathe, "This is stunning! I've wanted to come here forever."
"I know," he says.
We're greeted at the door and escorted past the main dining area toward the back. The farther into the restaurant we go, the faster my pulse races, but I don't know why.
The host opens a set of double doors, and the world tilts.
Everyone I love is here. My parents and my siblings, whom I didn't even know were in town, all beam at me. All the Ivanovs gather in the room with drinks in their hands.
One long table, with soft lighting and flowers in deep reds and pale blues woven together, decorate the entire center.
I stop and turn toward Red. My voice catches. "What is happening right now?"
Nerves flutter across his expression, then he kneels.
The sound leaves the room all at once. My own heartbeat turns loud and erratic. My thoughts crash into each other too fast, bright, and full of hope, all tangled together.
"Blue," Red starts, his voice steady even though his eyes are shining. "You are the kindest, bravest person I know."
Tears blur my vision. My insides quiver with adrenaline.
"You feel deeply. You love fiercely. You survive things that would break other people, and you do it with honesty and fire and heart." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the ring. "Until you entered my life, I didn't know what was missing. Now I do." He opens the box.
A ring steals my breath. Deep red garnet glows under the light, rich and alive, surrounded by a delicate halo of blue sapphires. Everyone around us disappears. There's only Red, me, and the ring that screams our names.
My brain does that thing it always does when something wonderful happens. It spins into pure, unfiltered optimism, every fear temporarily drowned out by possibility. Weightless, electric, glee hits me, and dizziness sets in. I reach for his shoulders to steady myself.
Red continues, "I love you. I choose you. Every version of you. Will you marry me?"
I'm crying and don't realize it. Laughing too, while shaking my head like my body doesn't know how to hold this much joy.
"Will you?" he prods.
"Yes!" I manage to breathe out. Then babble, "Yes. A thousand times, yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!"
He grins and slips the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. Then he stands, pulls me into his arms, and every dream I've ever had with him flashes before me.
The world fades back in slowly as applause, laughter, and tears fill the air. I stay wrapped around Red—my future husband—my forever. I press my forehead to his chest, heart full in a way that feels terrifying and miraculous.
An ecstatic high hits me. I realize this is me at my most Blue.
Hopeful. Open. Alive.
Then a new, wonderful realization hits.
I don't feel like I'm waiting for my happiness to be taken away.
I know true love and joy is finally mine.
Forever.