Chapter 53Willow
Chapter Fifty-Three
Willow
The Uber pulls up to the imposing front gate of my parents' sprawling estate. The gate guard leans out of his booth, eyeing the car suspiciously. "ID please," he barks.
My driver looks at me with uncertainty. "Are you sure this is the right place?"
I sigh, rolling down my window. "It's okay, Tony. I got this."
The guard does a double-take as I lean out. "Miss Wilhelmina? Is that really you?"
"In the flesh," I reply with a wry smile. "Been a while, hasn't it?"
He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'll say! Welcome home." He waves us through and the wrought-iron gates slowly creak open.
As we wind up the long, tree-lined driveway, my stomach churns with anxiety. I can't believe I'm actually doing this - coming back to the lion's den after all these years. What the hell was I thinking?
The Uber drops me off in front of the grand entryway. I step out, taking a deep breath as I gaze up at my childhood home. It's just as ridiculously opulent as I remember - all white columns, marble statues, and meticulously manicured topiaries. A monument to the Hargraves family fortune.
Steeling myself, I ascend the steps and knock on the heavy oak door, the dull thud echoing through the foyer.
"Just a moment!" a muffled voice calls from inside.
The door swings open, revealing a familiar face - our family butler, Andrews. His eyes light up when he sees me. "Miss Wilhelmina! What a wonderful surprise!"
I can't help but grin. "Hey Andrews. Long time no see."
"Far too long," he agrees, ushering me inside. "The house just hasn't been the same without you. We've missed you terribly."
"Aw shucks, you're gonna make me blush." I glance around the cavernous foyer, taking in the crystal chandelier, the sweeping double staircase. "Place looks exactly the same."
"Your mother prefers things just so," Andrews notes with a knowing look. "Some things never change."
Don't I know it, I think wryly.
I'm home, for better or worse. Now the real fun begins.
"Wilhelmina? Is that you?" My mother's voice rings out from the top of the stairs. I look up to see her hurrying down, her heels clicking on the polished marble.
Before I can even respond, she's sweeping me into a bone-crushing hug, her perfume enveloping me in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. "Oh, my darling girl! I can't believe it's really you!"
I awkwardly pat her back, trying to extricate myself. "Hey, Mom. Surprise?"
She pulls back, cupping my face in her hands. "Let me look at you. You're so thin! Have you been eating enough? Andrews, tell Chef Dan to prepare something immediately."
"Mom, I'm fine," I protest, but she's already ushering me further inside.
That's when I notice my father standing in the doorway to his study, watching us with an inscrutable expression. Our eyes meet and I feel a pang of something - guilt, maybe, or regret. I'm not sure.
Mom follows my gaze, her smile faltering slightly. "William, look who's here."
Dad steps forward, clearing his throat. "Hello, Willy. Welcome home." He extends his hand and I shake it, the gesture feeling oddly formal after all this time.
"Hi, Dad."
An awkward silence descends, broken only by Mom's overly cheerful voice. "Why don't we all go sit in the kitchen? I'll make us some tea and you can tell us all about what you've been up to."
I trail behind them, feeling like a stranger in my own house. In the kitchen, Mom bustles about filling the kettle and laying out a tray of scones while Dad and I take seats at the granite-topped island.
He clears his throat again. "So, how have you been?"
I shrug. "Oh, you know. Okay, I guess."
Mom sets a delicate china teacup in front of me. "Just okay? Sweetheart, we've been so worried about you."
I wrap my hands around the cup, staring into the steaming liquid. How do I even begin to explain the last few years? The protests, the camps, the fights with my so-called comrades? The constant moving, never settling, pouring my heart into a cause that sometimes feels hopeless?
"I've been... busy," I say lamely. "With the Earth Defenders and stuff."
Dad makes a noncommittal noise. Mom frowns slightly, but quickly replaces it with a bright smile. "Well, the important thing is that you're here now. With family."
Family. The word feels heavy, loaded with unspoken history and expectations. I take a sip of tea to avoid having to respond.
Mom, perhaps sensing the tension, stands up abruptly. "You know, I think I have a different blend of tea that would be just perfect. Let me go check the pantry."
She hurries out, leaving me and Dad alone. I fiddle with my cup, suddenly fascinated by the hand-painted violet pattern.
Dad clears his throat, and I brace myself for the inevitable lecture. But when he speaks, his voice is surprisingly gentle. "Did Lawrence tell you to come home?"
I look up, startled. "How did you...?"
"He called me," Dad admits. "Came clean about your engagement. Said he was more worried about you than about whether I'll sign onto his pipeline."
I blink in surprise. "Larry said that?"
Dad raises an eyebrow. "He cares about you, Willy."
"He told me not to come," I blurt out. "Said he didn't want me to sacrifice my ideals just for him."
A flicker of surprise crosses Dad's face, followed by something that looks suspiciously like approval. "I like him," he declares.
I snort. "Of course you do. He's just like you."
The words come out harsher than I intend, and I instantly regret them. But Dad doesn't seem offended. Instead, he leans forward, his eyes searching mine.
"Willy, what's really going on?"
I feel the familiar prickle of tears behind my eyes. Damn it, I promised myself I wouldn't cry.
"Things have been... tough," I manage, my voice wavering. "Since I left, I mean. And now..."
I trail off, unsure how to put the turmoil in my heart into words. How do I tell my father, the man I ran away from because my ideals didn't align with his, that I've fallen for someone who represents everything I'm fighting against?
Dad waits patiently, his expression open and nonjudgmental. It's that look, more than anything, that breaks me.
"I'm in love with him," I whisper, the tears finally spilling over. "With Lawrence. But he... we... we have such different ideals, and I don't know what to do."
There. It's out. The truth I've been running from, laid bare in the warm, homey kitchen of my childhood. I feel raw, exposed, like a nerve ending waiting for the inevitable pain.
But Dad doesn't look angry or disappointed. Instead, he reaches out and takes my hand, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle.
"Oh, sweetheart," he sighs. "Love is never easy, especially when it comes to matters of the heart and the head."
I sniffle, using my free hand to swipe at my tears. "What do I do, Dad? How do I choose between my principles and my feelings?"
Dad is silent for a long moment, his gaze distant and thoughtful. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but filled with conviction.
"You know, your mother and I went through something similar when we first met..."
"I remember Mom told me once she was a lobbyist."
My father snorts. "That's the diplomatic way of putting it."
I blink in surprise, my tears momentarily forgotten. "You and Mom? But you two are like... the poster couple for true love."
Dad chuckles, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "We are now, but it wasn't always that way. When I first met your mother, she was a firebrand activist, protesting against her family's very company, which I was working for at the time.”
My jaw drops. "No way."
"Way," Dad confirms with a grin. "We argued constantly, debating environmental policies and corporate responsibility. But somewhere along the line, between the heated discussions and the shared moments of laughter, I fell head over heels for her."
I try to picture it: my parents, young and idealistic, on opposite sides of the battle lines. It's a startling image, but also strangely comforting.
"So what happened?" I ask, leaning forward eagerly. "How did you two make it work?"
Dad's expression softens, his eyes distant with memory. "It wasn't easy. We both had to compromise, to find a middle ground where our love could flourish. Your mother taught me to see the world differently, to question the status quo and fight for what's right. And I like to think I showed her that change can come from within, that sometimes the most effective way to make a difference is by working together."
I let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope ignite in my chest. Maybe there's a way forward for Larry and me after all.
"Thanks, Dad," I whisper, squeezing his hand. "For sharing that with me. It... it helps, knowing that you and Mom went through something similar."
Dad smiles, pulling me into a warm hug. I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave and letting the comfort of his embrace wash over me.
"So," he murmurs, pulling back to look at me. "Are you going to stay for a while? Give yourself some time to figure things out?"
I hesitate, torn between the desire to run back to Larry and the need to sort through the tangled mess of my emotions. But in the end, I know what I have to do.
"Yeah," I say softly, managing a small smile. "I think I'm going to come home for a bit, until I can figure out what my heart really wants."
Dad nods, his expression proud and understanding. "We'll be here for you, sweetheart. Always."