Painted

Chapter 20

Monday had been exhausting, the lunch Rebecca had been forced to endure having made it all the worse. Both she and Sarocha were on tender hooks as time ticked by that afternoon, desperately needing to escape to their bubble for comfort and reassurance. The steady rhythm of Rebecca's work had just started to become soothing when her phone buzzed with a call that made her heart skip. It was her father.

"Becky, sweetheart," his deep, familiar voice greeted her, warm and full of paternal pride. She could almost picture him sitting at his desk back at the firm, his tie slightly loosened, as he often did when he spoke to his children.

“Hi, Dad,” she replied, keeping her tone light despite the nervous flutter in her chest. “What’s up? Did you forget something at lunch?"

“Oh, no, it's nothing urgent,” he said, though Rebecca knew better than to believe that. Her father was the kind of man who rarely called without purpose. “I just wanted to say how nice it was to see Torfan. It was such a pleasure catching up with her.”

Rebecca stiffened slightly in her chair. “Yeah, it’s been a while since she was around,” she said carefully, her words measured.

“Too long, if you ask me,” he continued with a chuckle. “Your mother and I always liked Torfan. Such a bright, lovely girl. And the two of you always seemed to get along so well.”

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose, already anticipating where the conversation was headed. “We did, Dad. But that was a long time ago.”

“I know, I know,” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial. “But it’s never too late, you know? Sometimes timing just needs to work itself out.”

“Dad…”

“What? I’m just saying,” he replied, feigning innocence. “Your mother and I were talking, and we were so happy to see her again. It got us thinking that maybe—”

“Dad,” Rebecca interrupted firmly, though she kept her voice calm. “I appreciate the sentiment, but Torfan and I have both moved on. We’re just colleagues now.”

There was a pause on the other end, long enough to make Rebecca feel a pang of guilt. Her father finally sighed, a sound filled with reluctant acceptance. “Alright, alright. I won’t push. But I do hope you make the right connection, Becky. That's all we want for you.”

Rebecca’s chest tightened at the words, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing against her. “I will, Dad,” she said softly, though the truth felt more complicated.

“Good,” he said, his tone brightening again. “Now, don’t work too hard, alright?”

“Sure Dad. Take care." Rebecca said before ending the call.

She set her phone down with a sigh, her mind racing. The conversation had left her unsettled, not because of Torfan herself, but because of the implications. Her parents clearly still adored Torfan, and the idea of them finding out about Sarocha—her passionate, beautiful, complicated Sarocha—felt daunting.

Rebecca and Sarocha arrived together to the apartment that evening, just after sunset, the tension from the day still clinging like the clothes to their backs. The moment the door opened, Rebecca stepped inside and wrapped her arms around her lover, burying her face in the crook of Sarocha’s neck.

“Rough day.” Sarocha agreed intuitively, her hands rubbing soothing circles on Rebecca’s back.

“My dad called,” Rebecca mumbled. “He… well, let’s just say he still thinks Torfan and I are a great match.”

Sarocha stiffened almost imperceptibly, though she quickly masked it with a quiet hum. “And what did you say?”

“I told him we’re just colleagues,” Rebecca said, pulling back to look at Sarocha. “But it’s more than that. They’re already so fond of her, and I don’t know how they’ll react if they find out about us.”