Chapter 4 Allegra
Allegra
“Good to see you, A.” Dex smiles warmly when I plop into the chair in front of his desk.
“You too, Dex.” I grin and lean back in the seat. I glance around his soothing, nautical-themed office, and relax. While things are different between Dex and me, I still view him as a mentor. As a kind-hearted guy who looks out for my best interests and well-being.
He hands me an envelope. “Your last paycheck. You sure you’re good? I know things are what they are, but you don’t have to quit working here. Or you could, and I could still help you find a gig at another place in town.”
“Thank you. Truly. I’m good. Levi and I moved into a bigger place and my brother’s helping out now. But I appreciate the offer.” I wave the envelope at him. “It’s nice not to hustle so much at the moment. Spend more time on my classes and at the NGO.”
“And seeing your friends.”
“That too,” I agree.
Dex nods but doesn’t ask about Derek. Even though his gaze is curious, he was serious about not using me as a bridge to his son. I admire his resolve on the issue. I respect his decency. And because of that, I tell him the truth.
“Derek went back to Boston. We’ve been emailing but we’re not together or anything. It’s just…complicated.”
Dex dips his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. About you guys not being in a relationship. How are you doing?”
I shake my head. “Not great. But not awful either.”
His expression softens, his eyes filled with the wisdom of his years. With the shadows of his past. “I’m sorry, A.”
“Me too. But,” I say, standing, “I told him that you’re open to speaking with him. That you’d like to answer any of his questions.”
“Of course, I am. I’d love to.”
“He hasn’t reached out?”
“Not yet,” Dex offers, his words wrapped in the kind of hope I wish I possessed.
It’s got an undercurrent of belief I want to hold on to. The fact that Dex, a man who has endured so much, can maintain his hope fills me with a flicker too.
“I hope he reaches out soon,” I say softly.
“I do, too.” Dex stands and walks around the desk. He wraps me in a hug and gives an extra squeeze. “Don’t be a stranger.”
I pull back and smile. “I won’t.”
But even as I say the words, we both acknowledge that things between us have changed. There’s a subtle shift in his expression that lets me know it’s okay. That he doesn’t expect me to confide in him anymore since doing so would feel like a betrayal to Derek.
“You’re one hell of a dad, Dex,” I mutter.
He barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “Any man would be lucky to have a daughter like you, A. Take care of yourself.”
“See you,” I say, lifting a hand in farewell.
I leave Beirut. As I walk to my car in the parking lot, a walk I’ve taken a hundred times, Dex’s words play in my mind.
Any man would be lucky to have a daughter like you.
Why doesn’t my dad feel that way? Why don’t my parents care about me with the same edge of desperation I already feel for my blueberry?
I slip into the driver’s seat of my car and flip the ignition. The backs of my thighs stick to the leather seats, and I blast the air conditioning, shifting my weight to get comfortable. As the car cools down, I pull up my contact list and dial the number for home.
Even though it hasn’t felt like home in a long time, I haven’t been able to change the name in my phone. Maybe I’ve got more of that delusional hope I accused Dex of hanging on to than I thought.
“Hello?” My father’s voice comes through the line.
I gasp, not expecting it. He rarely answers the phone, leaving housework to my mother.
“Dad,” I breathe out.
Silence fills the line for a long beat.
“Allegra?” he asks after a long moment.
“Yeah, I—”
The sound of the dial tone fills my ear as he disconnects the call.
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes at his rejection. I let out a shaky exhale and lean my head back against the headrest.
He will never open his arms, or his home, to me again. Why can’t I accept that? I glance down at my blueberry. Is it because I’m about to become a mother that I can no longer justify my father’s dismissal of me? Has impending motherhood already changed me?
No matter the reason, I can’t comprehend how my father can be so cruel, so set in his beliefs, that there isn’t any room for mine.
He likes the idea of me—of having a daughter—more than me as an actual person, with thoughts and feelings and opinions.
He doesn’t want me the way he’s supposed to. Not the way Buck and Dex cared for me.
And yet, a part of me keeps trying and hoping for a different outcome. Isn’t that the definition of insanity?
The backs of my eyes tingle, and I blink faster.
“Ugh,” I groan, fed up with my tears. Lately, it feels like I’m on an emotional roller coaster and I can’t get off. A tear leaks out, but I brush it away before it can slide down my cheek. My father doesn’t deserve my tears.
I glance down at my stomach and swipe my fingers over my belly button.
Any woman would be lucky to have you, I think to my little fruit.
This was never part of my plan, and I certainly don’t feel ready to be a mother. But I also won’t shun my child the way my parents have shunned me.
I can be better. Hope swells in my chest and I laugh.
Maybe Dex is onto something. Maybe I should adopt the wisdom he exudes.
Maybe I should keep hoping.
May 6
10:19 a.m.
Derek,
It’s nice to hear from you but I hate how down you sounded in your last email. As delusional, or hopeless, as it may feel, we should try to hang on to the possibility of good.
It may surprise us.
I love that Sarah is writing songs. I like the idea of you mentoring her even more. Didn’t you have a music teacher who changed the game for you? Imagine being that for someone as good and bright as Sarah. Think about how much confidence she could gain from working with you.
My new place is good. It’s light and airy, and Levi and I have settled into a routine.
In a lot of ways, it’s reminiscent of our childhood.
He still takes ungodly long showers and doesn’t put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but otherwise, he’s a lot neater than I remember.
He blames this on rehab—another positive outcome, in my book.
I called my house the other day. My dad answered. I held my breath. He asked if it was me and when I said yes, he hung up. Just disconnected the call. Cut me out of his life like I was a telemarketer.
I don’t want to tell you what to do but I think you should reach out to Dex. You don’t have to have a plan. You don’t have to say anything. I already know he won’t hang up on you.
Allegra
I send the email and lean back in my desk chair. Tears fill my eyes again and I blink them away. A whole day later and my dad’s rejection still stings.
Why doesn’t he care about me? Or love me? Why can’t he be proud of the person I am?
I snort. There’s no chance he’ll embrace me now that I’ve conceived my little blueberry out of wedlock. He’ll never acknowledge my baby as a legitimate Rousell.
For some reason, that hurts more than Dad’s not acknowledging me.
My father’s shortsightedness has cost him his relationship with both of his children and he’s too myopic to see it. Hell, he probably doesn’t acknowledge how much his actions have broken my mother’s heart. How his obstinance also keeps her from having a relationship with her kids.
Dex and Derek have a chance at a real relationship.
They can develop something meaningful. I know Derek’s been hurt, repeatedly, and it’s hard for him to trust another male.
He’s not going to automatically open up to Dex, but Dex isn’t going to cut him off for not making the first step either.
I hope Derek realizes the opportunity he has to know his birth father. I hope he doesn’t squander it.
Shaking my head, a wave of dizziness washes over me.
I reach out and clasp the back of my desk chair before moving to my bed.
God, I’m tired. And emotional. Since learning I’m pregnant, my emotional state has been more affected than my physical being.
My hand moves to my lower abdomen, and I cup my little fruit slice.
He or she isn’t even fully formed and already, they’ve changed my outlook on life. Shifted my perspective. Switched up the lens through which I view the world, my relationships, and myself.
I rest my head on my pillow and snuggle under a blanket as sleep beckons. My limbs relax. The tension in my neck and shoulders seeps away. Derek’s voice, sultry and singing, fills my mind, and I drift off to sleep.
I dream of a luscious garden. It’s brimming with greenery, strong oak trees, and shady palm fronds. It’s overflowing with fruit.
Bright and bold and beautiful.
Luscious and ripe and whole.