Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
The night before opening has always been my favorite. I’m not sure if it’s the nervous jitters that ripple in my belly. Or if it’s the buzzing excitement that I can only describe as how I used to feel on Christmas morning before running down the stairs to open presents. Or if it’s the spellbinding energy that sparks somewhere deep inside me that even four shots of espresso can’t replicate.
Holden chose to give us the night off, citing that we needed rest more than we needed another run of the show and he’s not wrong.
But at seven p.m., I can’t help but find myself at the theater.
I use my key that Holden had made for me and let myself inside, walking the stage slowly and inhaling with each edgy step I take.
I lower to sit center stage, crossing my legs and pull from my purse the program from my first show that my dad had given me and the wrapped gift from Dad’s funeral I still have yet to open.
Inexplicably, tonight feels like the appropriate time to say goodbye.
I take a deep breath and carefully pull the taped card off the simple newspaper the mysterious present was wrapped in.
The comic pages, of course. The wrap job alone is so defining of my father that I can’t help but smile through the tears already filling my eyes.
The front of the card has my name and then in smaller cursive, it states, “Open the present before the card.”
I set the card down, my hands trembling in anticipation as I begin to slowly unfold the wrapping paper. It pulls apart easily, the old scotch tape securing it, long since yellowed and lost its adhesive. Inside is a plain wooden box, stained a dark mahogany. I run my fingers over the smooth finish before gently lifting the lid. Nestled inside is a bottle of amber liquid. I lift the bottle out reverently and hold it up to the light. The liquor swirls inside with a warm glow.
Turning it over, a handwritten label is on the front of the bottle, written in Dad's familiar scrawl. Katherine Pearl Harris Whiskey.
I turn the bottle over in my hands, confusion pulling my brows lower.
Dad had always been a whiskey drinker and he loved attempting to distill his own in the basement.
I open the card and my throat catches at the sight of his handwriting, scribbled on both sides of the card.
My Katie Sprout,
I sit here writing this while you’re in a bassinet beside me and your mother and sister are fast asleep upstairs. You’ve only been with us for two days and I can already tell you’re gonna be a night owl like me.
I just finished mixing up a small batch barrel of whiskey that should age perfectly right along with you. It’ll be ready to drink when you’re twenty-one… but like you, I have no doubt that it’s just going to get better and better each year. And also like you, this spirit is fierce and punchy and sweet.
This whiskey is a piece of your history and a toast to your future. May it remind you of all the wonderful memories we are bound to share over the years. I know you'll go on to do incredible things—just promise your old man you'll stop to celebrate the milestones along the way.
Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you. The world is yours for the taking.
I love you,
Dad
Tears spring to my eyes as I run my fingers over the cool glass of the bottle, realizing this is the last gift my dad will ever give me.
And also the first gift he ever got for me, too.
I twist off the cap, the seal breaking for the first time, and the strong aroma fills the air with hints of caramel and vanilla with a spicy oak finish.
It brings back memories of family gatherings and special occasions and sitting at the pub doing homework while Mom and Dad worked.
I hold the bottle up and whisper into the theater, “Here’s to you, Dad.”
Then, I bring it to my lips and take a small sip, letting the flavor roll over my tongue. It's complex and warm, with a gentle burn on the finish.
This last gift is like getting one more big hug from him; one last chance to sit and have a drink together. I take another sip, closing my eyes this time, and it's as if I can feel him here with me, telling me how proud he is of the woman I’ve become. I make a silent promise to savor every last drop of the whiskey and will forever save it for the most special moments in my life. “Thank you, Daddy,” I whisper out loud.
Behind me, a door slams and I jump, clutching the precious bottle to my chest with a gasp. “What are you doing here?” Holden asks. The normal authoritative bark in his voice is gone, though and all I hear is soft concern.
I swipe at the fallen tear on my cheek as Holden joins me, sitting center stage.
“I was feeling nervous about tomorrow and wanted to come here for a little.”
Holden’s eyes fall to the discarded wrapping paper and the bottle of whiskey in my hands.
I clear my throat and hand it over to him. “A final gift from my dad,” I whisper and slide the card over to Holden as well. “Want to try a sip of the whiskey my dad created for me when I was first born?”
His eyes read the card fast, a serene smile on his lips. “I don’t drink anymore once a show I’m in enters tech,” Holden says and I nod in quick understanding.
Of course.
Me of all people understands why Holden Dorsey stays away from alcohol, especially when acting in a show.
“But,” Holden says, “I think I could make a small exception this one time.” Delicately cradling the bottle, he takes a pull, his eyes drifting closed as he savors the flavor of the whiskey. “Wow. That’s damn good.” Then reaching over, he gently takes my jaw and pulls my mouth to his in a kiss. I can still taste the blend of smoke and sweet whiskey on his tongue as he gently parts my lips. “But the real thing is still better,” he whispers against me, sending shivers down my spine.
Time slows with that kiss and the air around us charges with electricity, his lips tasting of whiskey and longing, his touch gentle yet possessing. The world fades away, leaving only the two of us here on the stage; our home away from home. The very place that brought us together initially has unified us once more… I hope for the last time.
And suddenly, I’m so fucking grateful that he’s here to experience this with me. This was the real gift, the one that couldn't be bought or given, and it was the most precious thing of all.
And what Dad would have wanted for me more than anything.
To have someone to share this whiskey with and celebrate how far I’ve come.
“Have you finished reading my journal yet?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It’s, um, been a little busy.”
He studies my face for a long moment, watching me inhale and exhale. I’m certain he can see every lift of goosebump on my flesh; every shiver rippling beneath my breast; every tingle that surges down my spine.
“Have you heard from Megan yet?”
He shakes his head slowly. “She needs space and I’m trying to respect that,” he whispers. “I can’t blame her for wanting to stay away after that article.”
“I guess not,” I say carefully. It already feels like I’ve overstepped with Megan far more than I should have.
“But?”
But you know me too well , I think.
“But,” I sigh, “I’ve never known you to back down when you want something.”
He gives a humorless snort. “That’s the Dorsey way. Strong arm everyone until you get what you want. I’m trying to not be a Dorsey.”
I tilt my head, giving Holden a sympathetic look. “This is different. This is potentially your son. And you have a right to know him.”
He takes the cap and puts it back on the whiskey, sliding the bottle over to me.
“Give her space,” I say, agreeing with him. “But not forever. Promise?”
I hold out my pinky to him. With a smile, he hooks his around mine and squeezes gently. “Promise.”
He carefully places the whiskey bottle back into the wood box.
Then, standing tall, he cradles the box in one hand and offers me his other hand to help me up. His touch is warm and reassuring as he helps me rise to my feet, our fingers intertwining for a brief moment. The scent of aged whiskey lingers in the air, adding a sense of warmth and comfort to the moment.
“Come on. We’ve got to get you home. You have a lot of reading to do before tomorrow.”
“Are you going to come home with me?”
He struggles for a moment, lost in his own thoughts before brushing my hair back behind my ear. “Not this time, Rose. This is one assignment you have to do yourself.”