Daddy Dearest

For a Long, Long Time

MELODY

The pungent scent of fresh ink and paper filled my nostrils as I stepped out of the quaint Parisian bookstore, cradling a brand-new book by my favorite author, B.C. Davenport. The warm sunlight bathed my face as I stroked the front cover fondly, my thoughts drifting to Lottie and Charlie, Ben and Waverly’s children. It had been years since we last spoke, but I still missed them from time to time.

“Who else would Ben Davenport love ‘for a long, long time’?” I mused aloud, my fingers tracing the dedication page. The words evoked a bittersweet pang of nostalgia, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was meant for Waverly Davenport, Ben’s wife. Even though their names were never mentioned, something about the language struck me as familiar - the delicate phrasing reminiscent of lyrics to a song by Linda Ronstadt.

My heart ached with the realization that I may never experience that depth of love again; the kind that consumes you and leaves you drowning in its wake. I clutched the book tighter to my chest, the weight of memory and loss threatening to capsize me.

“Excusez-moi,” a stranger murmured as they brushed past me on the crowded street, snapping me back to the present. As I continued walking, the vibrant colors of the city unfolded before me like a painting, each brushstroke etching itself into my soul. The way the sun cast golden hues across wrought iron balconies, the aroma of freshly baked baguettes wafting through the air, the faint sound of laughter echoing from nearby cafés – it all served as a balm to my wounded spirit.

“Maybe this is where I’m meant to be,” I whispered to myself, entertaining the idea of starting anew in this city of light and love. “Perhaps Paris can heal me.”

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t the city that held the key to my healing. It was accepting the past, embracing the present, and daring to face whatever lay ahead with courage and grace.

“Je suis prête,” I told myself, my fingers gripping the book as if it were a lifeline. “I’m ready.”

And so, with memories of Lottie, Charlie, and the love I had thought unattainable, I ventured into the heart of Paris – a city where anything seemed possible. As I wandered through its labyrinthine streets, I couldn’t help but wonder what B.C. Davenport or Waverly would think of this new chapter in my life.

“Would they be proud of me?” I asked the wind, hoping for an answer on its gentle breeze. But only silence replied, leaving me with my thoughts and the unwavering certainty that, no matter where my journey led, I carried their love with me always.

***

As I walked along the Seine, my thoughts meandered back to Madi, my younger half-sister who now lived in New York with her partner. We were connected by our shared father, Harry, but our family ties were unconventional and complicated. Madi was borne out of an affair between Harry and Waverly Davenport, Ben’s wife. I had been raised by Nancy, my stepmother, who filled my life with creativity and love after my mother’s passing.

“Isn’t it strange,” I whispered, as if speaking to Alex, “How life weaves such intricate tapestries?”

I knew he would have smiled, his golden hazel eyes reflecting the sunlight that danced on the water. The memories of our travels together, how we explored the world hand in hand, warmed my heart despite the chill in the air.

“Let’s revisit some of our favorite places, shall we?” I suggested, smiling to myself as I embarked on a journey through the Paris we once knew.

First, there was the Louvre, its grandiose glass pyramid standing as a testament to human ingenuity. We used to spend hours wandering the endless halls, lost in the stories painted by the great masters. I could still feel the wonder, the awe that had filled me as I gazed upon the Mona Lisa for the first time.