Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Olive was gone for three days.
In that time, Ramona worked. She worked and she kept her head down and tried not to go anywhere near filming, if she could help it. They were doing a lot of shots outside recently, as the weather was perfect for it, which meant Ramona spent a ton of time in her car running errands or sorting clothes at the Bonner house, as they were still using the main bedroom for wardrobe and makeup. She had a suspicion that Noelle might be keeping her out of Dylan’s path, but that didn’t sound much like the shark Noelle Yang was known to be, so Ramona just took it as a small blessing from the universe.
Because she didn’t want to see Dylan.
Didn’t even want to think about her.
She couldn’t quite wrap her brain around everything that had happened the last few days. Dylan, Olive, Noelle’s job offer. It all swirled in her mind like soup, a sludge that gummed up her insides.
Plus, news of Dylan and Ramona’s breakup was everywhere.
Every gossip site.
Someone had recorded their argument and put it on TikTok and Instagram.
Even People magazine had a small article about it, the majority of which focused on Dylan Monroe’s tragic flair for drama, most likely stemming from her fraught upbringing.
Ramona’s heart ached when April alerted her to the article’s existence—she immediately wanted to call Dylan, to ask how she was, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.
Dylan didn’t care about her.
Not like Ramona thought she did, at least.
And maybe Ramona didn’t care about Dylan the way she’d thought either. After all, she’d kept her closest dreams from Dylan, the thing that, along with Olive and her mother leaving, had defined her entire life.
“You were just scared,” April said when Ramona said as much. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t love her. It just means you’ve been hurt, Mona.”
Ramona ignored most of that, particularly the L-word.
Everything was a mess, and Ramona just wanted to work. She wanted to do her job and try to clear her head about LA. She hadn’t even told April about Noelle’s job offer, hadn’t told anyone, and every time she slowed down for a second to ponder it herself, she couldn’t breathe.
She wasn’t sure why.
It was her dream, right there, on a plate held out to her with two hands, and yet she felt the moment she reached for it, it would vanish like a wisp of smoke.
Three days after Olive left, after Ramona finished sorting all the suits at the Bonner house for a lakeside shoot the next morning, she drove home, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for days. When she closed her front door behind her, her dad was sitting in his favorite squashy armchair in the living room, reading.
“Hey, Dad,” she said.
“Hey, honey,” he said, slipping off his glasses and looking at her. “You look exhausted.”
She dropped her bag, then slumped down on the couch, rubbed her eyes. “An understatement.”
He hmm ’d, then closed his book. “Have you heard from your sister?”
Ramona shook her head. She hadn’t texted Olive. Hadn’t called her, even though she’d wanted to every free second of every day. But she wanted to give her space too—and, maybe more selfishly, was scared to hear what was happening with her mother. Scared it was going horribly. Scared it was going wonderfully, because if that was the case, what did that say about Ramona? She felt like she was thirteen years old again, lost and lonely and left.
Her dad sighed. “I know this is hard for you.”
Ramona really didn’t want to get into it. “It’s fine.”
But her voice sounded dead, unconvincing, even to her.
He sat up, rested his elbows on his khaki-clad knees. “It’s hard for me too.”
Ramona looked at him, her father, the parent who stayed, who tried his best, who still had a limp from his accident that brought Ramona home all those years ago. His heart must have been broken when his wife left him, left them , but their family had never really gotten into talking about the emotional side of it all. They’d been too busy surviving. Any emotional needs Olive had growing up, Ramona took care of, or at least, took care of as best she knew how.
“She left you too,” Ramona said, stating the obvious, yes, but she’d never really let herself think about that side of it. “I’m so sorry, Dad.”
He frowned, his eyes suddenly shiny. “I’m the one who’s sorry, baby.”
Her chest immediately went tight, her throat clogging with tears. “Dad, you—”
“No, let me say this,” he said. “I put too much on you. I know I did. With me. With Olive.”
“She’s my sister. You’re my father.”
“And you’re my child,” he said firmly. “I was lost, I’ll admit that, and didn’t know what else to do, especially after the accident. But I hated it every day, Ramona. I hated that you had to come home. Had to give up your life like you did. I wish it could’ve been different. That I’d had another option.”
He blinked, looked down, and Ramona was sure her father was on the verge of crying.
“Dad,” she said. “Look at me.”
He did, wiped at his face.
“I love my life,” she said. “Every second I’ve spent with you and Olive. I wouldn’t change anything.” And it was true. Getting to be part of her sister’s life like she had, not everyone got that. Not everyone got to see such an amazing person, a beautiful, kind, smart person bloom into being right before their eyes.
“I know that, honey,” he said. “But the fact is, you’ve sacrificed too much. And now with all this hullaballoo with Dylan Monroe.”
She cracked a smile. “ Hullabaloo? ”
He laughed, shook his head. “I just want you to be happy.”
“I am,” she said softly. And that was true too.
And it wasn’t.
She took a deep breath, picked at a string on a rip in her jeans. “Noelle Yang offered me a job in LA.”
She said it fast, the first time she’d said it out loud at all since Noelle’s offer.
Her dad blinked, his mouth falling open slowly. The words hovered between them for a second, the reality of them.
“Of course she did,” he finally said. “And you’re taking it.”
It wasn’t a question, but when Ramona opened her mouth, there was still doubt on her tongue.
“I’d have to be in LA by the end of the month,” she said. “And Olive”—her throat went a little tight—“Olive’s not due at Vanderbilt until the middle of August.”
She couldn’t miss it—couldn’t leave in July, letting Olive and her dad settle her into her dorm room without Ramona. It was a moment , one of those Ramona wanted to be a part of, and she couldn’t seem to see around it.
Her dad simply shrugged. “So take her with you. She’d love to see LA and where you’ll be living. Then you two can fly home, my treat, and you can drive with us to Tennessee. Fly out of Nashville later on.”
Her eyes brimmed. Such an easy solution, but it felt so huge in her heart. And there was also April, her best friend since she knew what a best friend even was. Ramona wasn’t sure she could get on without her. LA was so big, a different world from her small-town life. She’d be lost.
She’d disappear.
“Dad,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “I’m…I think I’m scared.”
His eyes went soft. “You’d be a fool not to be. But this is your time, sweetheart. You’ve spent years choosing other people over yourself. Enough, baby. You’re taking the job.”
He said it gently. Not a command, just a fact.
And in that moment, Ramona knew the only answer to Noelle’s offer was yes. She’d miss her town, her father, her best friend, her sister when she came home during school breaks, but Ramona had to go. She and April would always be just that—Ramona and April. When April was still at RISD, after Ramona had come back to Clover Lake, they still talked and texted all the time. And nothing could keep Ramona from checking in on Olive at Vanderbilt, probably to an annoying degree.
Her dad was right—it was time.
She nodded, and then they simply sat in silence for a while, father and daughter, the reality of Ramona leaving settling between them, bittersweet and right.
“I’m going to go to bed,” she said finally, standing. “I need to process all of this.”
“Of course, honey.” He stood too, then held out an arm. Ramona went happily, letting herself be held by her father.
“I’m proud of you,” he said into her hair, rubbing her back like she was a little kid. “Always have been, always will be.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” she said, her throat thick. She breathed him in, Old Spice and cotton, that Dad smell that made her feel young and soft and innocent.
They’d just broken apart when the front door opened and Olive walked into the house, her duffel bag on her elbow, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes a bit red.
Ramona and her dad parted, but he kept a hand on her arm, his fingers tightening in anticipation.
“Hey, Ollie,” Ramona said softly. “How—”
But before Ramona could ask a thing, Olive dropped her bag and hurried across the room, diving in between them, her face buried against Ramona’s chest as she started crying.
She caught her dad’s eye, his expression just as sad as hers felt, but neither of them asked about Rebecca or the visit. They just held Olive between them, their little family of three, and told her they loved her.