Chapter 3
Daniel Branch loosened the knot on his black tie and looked at Brittany, then took a drink of the half lemonade half tea she’d
given him shortly after he walked inside the house. Not only was the drink delicious, it was also his favorite beverage, and
he appreciated her thoughtfulness. Thoughtfulness he didn’t deserve. But he was hoping to make up for the years he’d lost
with her. And hopefully, someday, with Amy. If she’ll ever let me.
“Thanks for agreeing to stay here today.” Brittany tugged at the bottom of her white T-shirt. The graphic on the front was
some kind of Japanese cartoon design he didn’t recognize. Manga, he thought she called it. Whatever it was, he’d seen her
draw similar-looking things on her channel that rivaled the commercially sold stuff. His girl had talent, and lots of it.
“I didn’t feel like going out today,” she said.
“No problem.” He shifted on one of two matching sage-green recliners.
Brittany was seated in the other one. He reminded himself that this was no longer his home and hadn’t been for over twenty years. The walls were still the same shade of beige they’d been when he and Amy bought the three-bedroom home back in the nineties, soon after they were married. At that time, the city of Allen was starting to boom, and they’d gotten it for a deal. She was a first-year teacher and he’d just started his mechanic job at a garage around the corner that was no longer in business and was now a nail salon. They didn’t have much money or experience. But they’d had a lot of love... and he’d squandered all of it.
“I’m sorry I haven’t asked you this yet, but is it weird to be here after all these years?” Brittany put her palms on her
knees.
“A little.” More than that actually. There was nothing of him in this house anymore, other than her. He didn’t recognize any
of the furniture, pictures, or knickknacks. His ex-wife had even changed out the country blue carpeting for wood flooring.
This house was all hers now, and she’d made it her home.
He glanced at Brittany. She was rubbing her palms over her knees, something she did when she was a little girl and was upset
or anxious about something.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Her head jerked up. “Talk about what?” She grabbed her glass and drained half of it in one gulp.
“Whatever’s bothering you. Is that why you didn’t want to go out and grab a bite to eat?”
“I didn’t feel like being around...” She sighed and set the drink back on a coaster on top of a square glass-topped end
table. “People.”
“Ah.” He settled back in the recliner. At least she was being honest. She might not have inherited her art talent from him,
but she did have his introversion. Especially compared to Amy, who never met a stranger. “I get it.”
“I don’t.” She stared at her lap, then gave the hem of her shirt one more tug. “Savannah’s getting married.”
Shortly after they started talking to each other a few months ago, Brittany had told him about her best friend. “That’s good,
isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yeah... for her.” She looked at him. “She wants me to be in the wedding.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“I do. But whenever I think about everything that goes with it, I get nervous. And then I feel guilty. The wedding isn’t about
me. It’s about Savannah and Justin.”
While he was glad she was sharing her troubles with him, he was already out of his depth. Their family had imploded when she
was eight years old and Amy had filed for divorce. He hadn’t exactly been present during the prior years either. He’d missed
a lot of time and a lot of milestones. “What does your mom say?”
“I haven’t told her.” A thick lock of curly hair had escaped her ponytail, and she shoved it behind her ear. “I know what
she’d tell me anyway.”
“Do it?”
“Yeah.”
“I agree with her.” He shifted and faced her. “I know it will be hard for you, but Savannah is a good friend.”
“She said it was okay if I didn’t want to.” She lifted her head and met his gaze. “I sound like a child, don’t I?” Before
he could answer, she said, “I’m going to do it.”
He grinned. “That’s the spirit!” At her eye roll he said, “Guess that didn’t sound too hip.”
For the first time since he arrived, she smiled. “You’re forty-eight. You’re not supposed to be hip.” But she seemed more
lighthearted as she took a sip of her lemonade tea. “Are you hungry? I made some tuna salad earlier today.”
He hated tuna salad. But he would eat ten bowls of it if she wanted him to. “Sounds great.”
They took their drinks into the kitchen, and he tried to keep his expression impassive. Just like the living room and foyer, everything was different except for the paint. He wasn’t anything close to an interior designer, as his sparsely furnished, bare-walled, one-bedroom efficiency would attest, and he had no idea what Amy’s style was, other than cozy. There was a serene, comfortable vibe throughout the space. They hadn’t had much of that during their short marriage.
Brittany quickly made the sandwiches, adding a pickle spear on the side of each and a small serving of ridged potato chips.
While he choked down the tuna, they talked about her channel, and a little more about the wedding.
“I’m proud of you, Brittany,” he said.
“Thanks, Dad. But why don’t you call me Britt like everyone else?”
“I don’t know.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “You’ve always been Brittany to me.” He glanced at his watch. “Sorry,
I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Oh.” Disappointment flashed in her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you could come over. Next time we’ll definitely go out.”
He was about to tell her that it was okay to stay here at the house, as long as Amy wasn’t around. Not that he didn’t want
to see her. He was dying to. But she didn’t even know he was back in town, and Brittany wasn’t ready to tell her they were
talking. He was allowing her to guide their relationship. She’d let him know when the time was right to reach out to Amy.
Then again, he didn’t want to encourage her reluctance to leave the house. That was one thing he was concerned about—she had
a fear of social situations. He wasn’t a fan of them either, so there was a level of understanding there, along with more
guilt. When Brittany revealed she’d been in counseling on and off for her anxiety, he knew he was partly to blame, even though
she never said so. Considering how he’d abandoned her, he had to be.
“Right. We should go out,” he said. “There’s a new barbecue place in Plano I want to try.” When she nodded, he was relieved. Maybe in the near future he would ask her about returning to counseling. Lord knows it did a lot for him. But not now. He didn’t want to do anything to shake up their tenuous relationship.
He stood and took his dishes to the sink. After washing his hands, he tightened his tie. It was already approaching ninety
degrees outside, and he’d left his jacket in the car. But he didn’t want to forget about the tie. He had a strict uniform,
and there was no deviating from it.
He turned to Brittany, who was wiping crumbs off the counter with a dish towel. “When are you telling Savannah?”
She paused, then folded the dish towel neatly into fourths. “Tonight,” she said with a sharp nod. “I don’t want to keep her
waiting any longer.”
“Good idea.” He smiled, his heart full of pride and love for her. “By the way, you don’t sound like a child. You’re not acting
like one either. When you do something that’s hard on you to make someone else happy... that’s maturity.”
She tilted her head. “That’s really wise. Thank you.”
He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her how much these moments meant to him. She was doing another hard thing by
allowing him to prove she could trust him again. But he held back. They hadn’t hugged yet, just shook hands the first time
they met in person after he contacted her through direct message on her channel. There would be time for hugs. Right now,
he would take anything he could get.
She walked him to the door and opened it. A barely year-old white Jaguar was parked in the driveway. “My dad, the chauffer.”
He frowned a little. “Does that embarrass you?”
“Of course not. It’s pretty cool. I don’t know anyone else who drives a Jag.”
“It is my boss’s, remember.” He wasn’t going to mention that this was only one of his cars, and it was the cheapest and most common looking. He didn’t dare drive the Bentley or the Bugatti by himself. He’d ridden in the Bugatti once, when his boss had driven it to the country club. Daniel had ended up parking it for him. Beautiful, amazing car. But driving the Jag was great too. “I better get back. He’s got a meeting in two hours downtown.”
“All right.” She stood in the doorway as he went to the car. When he opened the door, she said, “Call me later.”
He grinned. “Of course.” He got inside and drove off, the rich interior cooling down quickly as he mulled over how good his
life was now. A great job, fantastic boss, an apartment that suited him, and a relationship with Brittany. He would never
have dreamed he’d be at this point in three short years. There was only one thing missing.
Amy.
All he could hope for where she was concerned was eventual civility. She had every right to be angry with him. Hate him, even.
But he wasn’t the same man he’d been twenty years ago, or even three years ago. He’d changed for the better. He also had bridges
to rebuild, and it was past time he did that.
***
“Oh, Britt, thank you! If I were there, I’d give you a big hug!”
Britt grinned as she FaceTimed Savannah, who was in Springfield with Justin looking at houses. Despite her anxiety over being
maid of honor, it was worth it to make her best friend happy. She was glad she’d talked to her dad about it today. Confiding
in him was a brand-new thing. As soon as he left, she decided to tell Savannah before she chickened out.
“I’ll be home this weekend,” Savannah said. “We can discuss all the details then. Oh, Justin says hi.”
Justin’s face appeared on the screen. “Hey, Britt. Thanks for making my girl’s day.” He grinned and disappeared from view.
“Isn’t he the best?” Savannah put on her large-framed sunglasses. “We’ve got another appointment for a showing. This is the
sixth—”
“Seventh,” Justin corrected.
“Okay, seventh house we’ve looked at today. It’s all running together.”
“Any promising ones?”
“Not yet. But we’ll find the perfect house, I’m sure. Thanks again, Britt. Talk to you soon!”
After Britt hung up, she went upstairs to her studio and looked at the large calendar on her wall. She had one more video
to make this week, but she hadn’t figured out the content yet. She was still fielding comments and messages about the last
one she’d uploaded two weeks ago when she had admitted the need for a change.
She’d surprised herself by saying those words, and she had considered editing them out of the video. But she didn’t, mostly
to keep herself accountable. Now that they were out in the public domain, she needed to stand by them. Regardless of her father’s
excellent advice, she still might not have called Savannah and told her she would be her maid of honor if she hadn’t been
honest with her audience.
She sat down at her desk and started to doodle, something she did when she was looking for inspiration. But she wasn’t thinking
about videos. She was thinking about her father.
He always seemed uncomfortable when he walked into the house, no matter how much he tried to play it off. Although she was only eight when he left, she could remember the fights with Mom, the times he didn’t show up to school or church events, the empty beer cans that littered the floor around his chair when he fell asleep drinking after work. There was one time when she got up before her mother, saw the cans, and picked them up so he wouldn’t get into trouble. She was, what, five? Six?
Her heart pinched, and she stared at the doodle that wasn’t a doodle at all. It was a pencil sketch of her father’s eyes.
Clear, bright, engaged. Like he was today. She hadn’t expected him to figure out she was struggling with something. He’d told
her he’d changed, and she could see it. But she also knew not to trust him—not yet. Even he’d said it would take time to build
up their relationship. So far, it had been time well spent.
She did a quick fill-in of the rest of his features and set the drawing aside. She still didn’t have a topic—she’d done many
tutorials on faces and portraiture—but she didn’t panic. There were endless ways to find inspiration. Eventually she would
land on an idea, or several, she would want to explore.
Britt opened her laptop and went to her channel dashboard. One hundred new comments from yesterday, and twenty DMs, all from
her “confession video” as she now referred to it. The unread DMs weren’t all recent. Several of them arrived shortly after
the video, and after the first three creeped her out, she’d avoided reading the rest. She was almost to the point where she
wanted to turn off DMs. But not all of them were inappropriate or bad. There were good and kind people who complimented her
art and gave her encouragement. It had also been the way her father had gotten back in contact with her.
Maybe some music would make the process of going through her messages less painful. She slipped in her earbuds, found one
of her beloved yacht rock playlists, and jammed while she opened her inbox.
Hello dear. I like you videos and you are beiutyful. I am African prince with one billion dollers to give you...
Delete.
Dear Britt—while I do enjoy your videos, I wish you would do something about your hair and makeup. You would be so pretty
if you would just add a little lipstick and mascara, and for the love of God buy a straightener—
Delete.
Wow look at u. So famous. Remember me? We went to elementary school togthr. U know, I have this business where I make 25k
a day. U can too, just click here—
Delete.
“And I’m not famous,” she muttered, even though she knew the message was a spambot. She didn’t consider having a large audience
being famous. She was just teaching what she knew, and she was glad other people were enjoying it.
The rest of the messages were similar, and she deleted all of them until she got to the last one.
Hi Britt. I hope this doesn’t seem weird, but I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated your last video—the one where you talked about making a change. I can so relate. It’s easy to stay stuck in a rut, even when it’s uncomfortably comfortable. I’ve got some changes to make, but I’m not sure how to make them. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I just stumbled across your videos a little while ago. I’m not an artist. I can’t even color in the lines.
Anyway, I’m rambling. Just wanted to say thanks and good luck with your art and the channel.
H.
P.S. That beachscape you drew was very cool. Made me want to go surfing.
Britt looked at the small circle to the left of the message. H’s avatar was a digital drawing of a planet surrounded by purple,
pink, and silver space dust on a black background. Then she read the message again. This wasn’t the first time someone had
written the words “I hope this isn’t weird.” It almost always was. And there were other people who messaged her and wondered
why they were writing to her or confessing something. But there were two words in H’s message that made her pay attention.
Uncomfortably comfortable.
That was her in a nutshell. She had nothing to complain about. She lived in a nice house, her mother treated her like an adult—most
of the time—and she had a good job that was building a great nest egg. It helped that she didn’t have too many expenses, although
she did pay rent to her mother and footed her own bills for her phone, insurance, gas, etc. Not that she drove her secondhand
car too often. Like everything else in life, driving gave her anxiety. She’d barely made it through the process of getting
her license. She wouldn’t have done it without Savannah’s and her mother’s encouragement.
Britt closed her laptop and went to the window. The bonus room she’d turned into an office six years ago faced the street and gave her an overview of the neighborhood. Beyond the house across from hers was a nice neighborhood park that had a pond complete with ducks, a walking trail, and a sand volleyball court, along with the requisite playground equipment for kids. When was the last time she had gone to the park? Or gone swimming?
Her best friend was getting married, and Britt was... uncomfortably comfortable.
The playlist on her phone ended, and she started up another one. She’d never been into hip-hop, rap, or any pop music past
2000. Savannah always teased her about her “boomer music,” but Britt didn’t care. She smiled as a Seals & Crofts tune played
in her ear while she opened her laptop again and reread H’s message. She decided to respond.
Dear H,
She stopped, having no idea if H was female or male, and then realized it didn’t make a difference.
Thanks for reaching out to me. I’m glad you liked the video—beachscapes are relaxing to draw, even though I’ve never been
to an actual beach. One day I’d like to go, just to dip my toes in the ocean and collect seashells. I know that sounds boring
compared to surfing.
I’ve discovered over the years that people who say they can’t draw or paint or do any kind of art just haven’t found what
suits them. Coloring in the lines isn’t easy, no matter what medium you use. I still miss the lines myself sometimes. And
that’s okay. You have to give yourself the freedom not to be perfect.
I hope you’re able to figure out how to make your changes. I’m still working on mine.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Now who was confessing things? She quickly signed off the message, and after a second’s hesitation, hit Send. She’d probably never hear from H again. That happened too, where she liked a message enough to respond to it. Those were almost always requests for art help, and if she was able to offer advice, she gave it. It always surprised her how many people didn’t bother to say “thanks” or “I got your message.” She didn’t want them kissing her feet, but a response in return would be nice.
She did some more doodling and internet searching, finally landing on an idea for her next video—a ten-minute art challenge.
She’d done a thirty-minute one before and it was fun. She took out her planning notebook and decided on the subject—a seashell.
She made some production notes, a list of supplies, and a timeline, then practiced drawing a pale-pink scallop shell with
pastels, all while timing herself. When she got down to ten minutes, she stopped, made a few notes about how she was able
to accomplish the speed drawing, then began to shut down for the day and start on supper—a nice cobb salad with homemade dressing.
On hot days like today, she and Mom preferred to eat light meals.
Just as she was logging off her channel, she saw a new message pop up. She paused, thinking it was probably another spam DM,
then clicked on it.
Britt—I didn’t really expect you to write back, so it was nice to get a response. I’ve got a few things to do before I head
to work, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to message you later. I’ve got some questions about art. Maybe you’re right—I just
haven’t found the right thing yet.
She smiled and looked at the sign-off name. Hunter.