Skies & Florets

Chapter 23

QUENTIN

The morning sun peeks through the trees, casting d a p p l e d shadows across the front yard of my parent's house. I sit on the worn steps leading up to the porch, a steaming cup of hot chocolate cradled in my hands. The warm liquid seeps into my fingers, a comforting reminder of childhood and simpler times. But today, even the rich chocolatey scent can't mask the bitterness that's settled in my chest.

I stare off into the distance, my mind swirling with thoughts of Lilac.

I can't shake the feeling of regret that's clung to me since our brief encounter. I should have handled things differently better, k i n d e r. I should have hugged her before leaving, but instead, I let the years and circumstances create a c h a s m between us.

"Why didn't I just talk to her the day before we left? Ugh, fuck," I mutter to myself, running a hand through my tousled hair in frustration.

The images from yesterday play on repeat in my mind-her cold, hurt gaze as she turned away, the softness of her features marred by disbelief. My heart a c h e s at the thought. I want to reach out, to bridge the gap that has grown between us, but every time I think about it, I hesitate.

Just as I'm lost in my thoughts, the front door swings open, and my dad steps out, a mug in hand. He walks toward me, a warm smile on his face that instantly brings a flicker of comfort to my troubled heart.

"Thought you might want a little comfort," he says, offering me the mug. "Your favorite-hot chocolate. I figured you could use it."

I take the cup, feeling the warmth radiate from it. "Thanks, Dad," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I take a sip, savoring the rich flavor that always felt like home. It reminds me of lazy afternoons spent together, curled up on the couch watching cartoons, or chilly winter evenings when he would surprise me after school.

I look up at him, wanting to share the weight on my heart. "Can I ask you something?" I say, my words tumbling out before I can second-guess myself. "How do I reconcile with someone after so many years?"

His brow furrows slightly, and he takes a seat beside me on the steps, his expression shifting to one of genuine concern. "Reconcile? Is this about Lilac?"

I nod, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten. "Yeah. I saw her yesterday, right? It didn't go well. I messed up, Dad. I didn't mean to hurt her, but I did." I run a hand through my hair again, exasperated. "I can't stop thinking about it."

My dad leans back, taking a moment to reflect. "Quentin, relationships, especially ones with deep histories, are never easy. You two have a past that can't be ignored. But it's important to communicate. If you really want to make amends, you have to be honest about your feelings by facing her."

His words hang in the air between us, and I can feel the w e i g h t of their truth. "I keep blaming myself for everything, Dad," I admit. "I should have hugged her before I left. I should have said something, anything. Now? I don't even know how to approach her again."

"It's understandable to feel that way," he replies, his voice steady and reassuring. "But you can't change the past. You can only move forward. If you feel like you hurt her, then the best thing you can do is acknowledge that and apologize. Just be sincere."

I nod, absorbing his advice. "What if she doesn't want to talk to me? What if she doesn't care?"

"Then you've done your part," he says firmly, his eyes meeting mine. "You can't control how she reacts, but you can control your actions. And trust me, if she cares about you even a fraction of what you care about her, she'll want to talk."

A flicker of hope ignites within me, mingling with the apprehension that still lingers. "I just. . . I want to fix things between me and Lilac, Dad. I want her to know that I'm not that kid anymore. I've changed. I really want her to see that."

My dad smiles, the warmth in his gaze easing the weight on my shoulders. "Then you have to show her, son. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable. That's where true connection lies."

I take a deep breath, feeling a surge of determination swell within me. "You're right," I say, looking down at the mug in my hands. "I need to be brave. I need to face this head-on."

"Just remember, it's a two-way street," he adds, his tone shifting to one of caution. "Be prepared for any response, good or bad. Sometimes people need time to process their emotions."

"Yeah, I get that," I reply, nodding. "I just hope she's willing to give me a chance."

"Just take it one step at a time, Quentin," he advises, standing up from the step and stretching his legs. "But don't forget to take care of yourself, too, alright? You can't help anyone else if you're not taking care of your own well-being."

"Thanks, Dad," I say, feeling a rush of gratitude for his wisdom. "I really appreciate it."

He pats my shoulder affectionately before turning to head back inside.

As the door closes behind him, I sit in silence, my mind racing with possibilities and uncertainties. The weight of the past still hangs over me, but now there's a flicker of hope-an ember of courage ready to ignite.

"Alright, Lilac," I murmur to myself, determination flooding my veins. "I'm coming for you."

With that resolve solidifying in my heart, I know it's time to take that leap. I'll find her, talk to her, and whatever happens, I'll face it head-on. I can't keep running from the past-I owe it to both of us to try and make things right.

Today marks the beginning of a new chapter, and this time, I'm ready to face it with honesty, vulnerability, and hope; even if she's not ready to forgive me, I'll do my part to show her how sincere I truly am.