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Against all odds, Delia is the first one to know. Of course, it’s nowhere near something Lydia planned to have happen. It surprised her as much as her father’s fiancé when, one rare day after school, Delia decided to swing by and give her a ride home. She had noticed a dark mass of clouds brewing all day, and she knew for a fact that Lydia had refused to bring an umbrella with her.
When she’d pulled the car up to the front of the school, she had seen her future step daughter sitting on the steps. Next to her had been a girl with a dangerously similar aura, even if much more difficult to read. She had two braids trailing down each side of her pale face that swung gently over a long dark dress. Just before Delia could honk the horn to alert them of her presence, Lydia had shocked her by darting forward to brush her lips against the other girl’s cheek, hitting a spot much too close to the corner of the other girl’s mouth to be considered innocuous. Both of them had been left twin blushing messes as Lydia pulled away, and it had brought a sincere smile to Delia’s face.
Her smile had dropped in an instant as Lydia had turned to face her, eyes filling with fear as she recognized first the car and then the driver. The fear washed quickly into anger as Lydia had jumped immediately away from the other girl and stomped down the road. She had not obliged Delia by getting in the car.
“Lydia!” Delia had called to her, driving slowly beside her as the girl marched down the road.
The girl had not responded. She had shrugged her shoulders up as though trying to shield herself from view. Her backpack thumped rhythmically against her back with each irritated step. The house was relatively close, though the uphill portion was rather a pain to try to walk. It was of course much easier to drive up the incredibly steep incline. Not that Lydia would let that phase her. No, when the teen was this pissed off she had a tendency to make life miserable for everybody, herself included. Delia was well aware of her habits, which was why she had refused to give in to the teen’s supreme angst.
“Lydia,” she’d tried again. She took a hand off the wheel to gesture helplessly at the air around them. “Lydia, it’s raining. Please just get in the car.”
Lydia had stopped so suddenly that Delia had to slam on the brakes to avoid driving past her down the road. The girl had whirled towards the car, dark eyes laced with suspicion. “Why the hell were you at my school?” she’d demanded.
“I, well, I just thought I should give you a ride home today,” Delia had stammered nervously. Lightning momentarily lit up the sky. A rumble of thunder followed only half of a second after, rattling the vehicle’s windows. “I saw the clouds and didn’t want you to walk home in a storm.”
A sentiment which had clearly worked well. The pattering rain had plastered the girl’s hair to her face. She was beginning to resemble a drowned fledgling raven as she stood stockstill, scowling amidst the torrent. The fabric of her dress clung to her wet skin, allowing Delia to see the small shiver that wracked her thin frame.
“Please get in the car?” Delia had begged.
Lydia had swayed in place for a solid seven seconds. Delia had been sure the girl had been about to either yell or take off running. Instead, she’d pulled open the passenger side door and tossed her bag over the seat to land somewhere in the back row. Then, like a miracle, she’d climbed inside and slammed the door shut behind her.
Delia had glanced nervously between her fiancé’s daughter and the road. The silence filling the car was almost more than she could bear. After accidentally witnessing what she had at the school, the woman had felt the need to speak about it. She’d felt that clarification was in order, or a chance for the girl to lie if that was what she preferred.
Heart pounding, Delia had cleared her throat. “So… Who’s your friend?”
“Yup, not doing this,” Lydia had decided, throwing open the car door.
“Lydia, I’m going forty!” Delia had shrieked, slamming on the brakes so quickly inertia closed the door back up for her. “Jesus! Look, I get that you’re embarrassed--”
“I’m not fucking embarrassed!” Lydia had snapped, glaring at the woman. Delia didn’t think she’d ever seen such anger before, even from the teen. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and there’s nothing wrong with me liking girls!”
There had been a beat of silence, filled only by the hard-dropping rain. Then:
“You like girls?”
The question had hung almost heavy in the air. The anger had seemed to deflate from Lydia all at once and she’d dropped her head in her hands. With a shrug she’d mumbled, “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Aww, Lydia!” Delia had squealed. The girl had looked up, momentarily confused by the pure enthusiasm radiating from her future stepmother. Delia, for her part, had clapped her hands with shining eyes, positively beaming at the teen. “I’m so happy for you! You know, one of the best relationships I ever had was with a girl in college. She was so caring and attentive, and if it weren’t for that boating accident I probably would have married her. She’s dead now, so y’know, it didn’t quite work out. But like my ex -guru Otho always used to say: ‘When one door closes, drive through the neighborhood until you find one that’s unlocked.’ That’s how I met your father! Well, sorta. Speaking of which, we should tell him!”
“Tell him what, that you have an unresolved traumatic backstory?” Lydia had scoffed. Her tone was biting, but the subtle tug at the corners of her lips was enough for Delia to know that she had, in fact, not meant for any real damage to be incurred.
Feeling brave, Delia had reached over to playfully shove Lydia’s shoulder. “No, silly. I meant, we should tell your father about your girlfriend! And the Maitlands. We should gather everybody up and tell them all the big news. We could make it a whole thing! I can stop by the store and get some balloons. Oh! Barbara and I can make a rainbow cake! But I won’t tell her what it’s for, I promise I’ll let it be a surprise. Oooh, this can be so fun!”
“Please don’t,” Lydia had groaned. She’d actually given the woman a pleading look. “I’ll tell them when we get home, I guess. But I really don’t want it to be a big thing.”
Delia had nodded. “What about the cake?”
Lydia had contemplated it for a moment. Then she’d sighed. “I do like cake. Just please don’t make it rainbow.”
“Done,” Delia had instantly agreed.
Which is precisely how Lydia has come to find herself in the dining room, a slice of sherbert cake on a plate in front of her while Adam, Barbara, and her father all sit at the table around her. Delia, having too much frantic energy to sit down, is standing in the doorway that leads back to the kitchen. She catches Lydia’s eye after the teen observes the pastel ice cream layers in between the angel food cake, fading from peach to vanilla to strawberry and ending with raspberry.
“It’s not rainbow,” Delia winks. “And it’s very fruity.”
Lydia actually strikes a palm to her forehead at that. Her eyes close in aggravation at the obvious pun. And the cake? Although Delia is technically right-- it isn’t rainbow-- it does bear a suspicious resemblance to some of the colors on a very particular pride flag. It’s something that does not escape Lydia’s notice. She should be annoyed. She should find it appalling and disconcerting. And yet…
A smile tugs at her lips. Charles stops mid sentence to gape at his daughter. She’s smiling. Not in a cruel way or a snarky way, but in a sweet and sincere manner. She’s honest-to-god smiling directly over at Delia. It’s a very impressive first.
“Thank you,” Lydia tells the woman.
And she means it. Clearly, his daughter is being sincere in her gratitude.
Charles clears his throat, feeling a slight flare of irritation at being left out of the loop on something obviously very important if it’s making Lydia smile across at Delia. He gives his fiancé a questioning look before turning his attention to the teenager. “So, my unusually delightful daughter, what’s with this cake?”
Lydia’s mouth falls open. She looks desperately over at Delia before bouncing her focus from Adam to Barbara to her father and back. Sensing her discomfort, Barbara jumps in with a sly, “The colors are really interesting.” She gives the teenager a knowing smile, hoping to get the ball rolling for her.
Adam, caught off guard, frowns as he studies his slice of the cake. He glances at his wife in confusion. He knows that tone. It’s her Aha-I-figured-it-out tone. It’s also her I’m-being-subtle tone, too, and right now it’s all wrapped up in a phrasing that has something to do with the cake. She looks at him and nudges her head meaningfully towards Lydia. Adam opens his mouth to talk, but then closes it again. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He goes back to studying his plate as he takes a bite of the cake. All the different ice cream layers work to give it a unique, fruity flavor. He’s still trying to figure out what Barbara means as he looks from the red cherries dotting the frosting to the pastel orange, white, light pink, and dark magenta fade that decorates the cake.
“I actually was wondering about the color choice myself,” Charles admits, turning to his fiancé. “This isn’t one of those period parties you were telling me about, is it?”
“Dad, no!” Lydia yelps. Her face turns a beet red as she twists in her chair to aim a bewildered glance at Delia. “Are those a thing?”
Delia puffs out her chest, and instantly the whole table knows she has a whole lecture prepared on this exact topic. “Period parties are a celebration of womanhood. Some cultures have bar mitzvahs or quinceañeras as a display that a girl is becoming a woman, but even at those kinds of events periods are a banned topic. Most people with a uterus experience at least a few periods throughout their lives, and I think it’s high time we acknowledge that in our society instead of hiding away our “feminine products” and being made to feel embarrassed whenever we start our flow. What better way to throw that shame back in the face of men than to throw ourselves a party where the theme is periods? Most girls even give their first one a name. Mine was Charlotte.”
Lydia shovels a bite of cake into her mouth. “I’m not naming any of my periods.”
“So,” Barbara prompts, drawing out the word so that it has closer to three syllables. She doesn’t seem to be in the least bit phased by Delia’s outburst. She waggles her eyebrows at Lydia, inconspicuously pushing around her plate with her slice of cake. “What is it you wanted to tell us?”
Lydia takes a deep breath. “Well, I--”
“OH!” Adam suddenly exclaims, unintentionally interrupting the nervous girl. He turns to Barbara excitedly. “I get it now! The cake has the same colors as the lesbian pride--”
“I have a girlfriend!” Lydia announces quickly, before anyone else at the table manages to figure out her secret thanks to Delia’s “lowkey” dessert. She lets out the breath she’s been holding since Delia had started her rant about periods. “I, uh, I’m a lesbian. And I have a girlfriend. I… yeah. I’m dating a girl.”
Delia lets out another delighted squeal. Lydia briefly glances over at her, grateful for the support. Adam and Barbara hold each other's hands while they beam at her from across the table. Charles, meanwhile, clears his throat and pushes back his chair.
“Well,” he coughs, “that’s a, uh, new development.”
“One that we’re very glad to hear about,” Barbara quickly adds. She actually shoots Charles a warning look before returning her gaze to Lydia. She smiles warmly at the girl. “Really. It’s absolutely wonderful to hear, Lydia.”
Charles stands then, picking up his plate and walking it over to Delia. His slice of the cake remains completely untouched, his fork pristine. “Will you please take care of this? I have some work I need to catch up on.”
It feels like her heart actually drops as Barbara watches the man abruptly leave to bound up the staircase. She hopes Lydia hasn’t picked up on her father’s irateness, but the hurt look on the girl’s face as she gazes at the steps tells her that she has. A protective motherly instinct swells in her chest as she gets up from the table as well. She reaches out a hand to ruffle Lydia’s hair as she passes by, doing her best to put on a ditzy, ignorant grin.
“I’m just going to talk to him for a minute,” Barbara announces, forcing herself to sound nonchalant. Then she walks up the stairs, each step fueling that rising tide of anger she feels at Lydia’s father for treating this moment like some insignificant ordeal. By the time she reaches his closed office door, she’s positively seething at the man.
He glances up when she walks inside, and it does nothing to quell her when she sees a matching look of irritation in the man’s own eyes. “Good,” he states curtly, and he moves a stack of papers on the desk. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
Barbara softly closes the door behind her before whirling around on the man. “What the hell, Charles?”
“What?” Charles challenges. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest. “No really, do tell me what you think of my parenting skills at this moment. Please, seeing as you have such an abundance of experience in this area.”
“She’s your daughter,” Barbara snaps. She’s elected to ignore Charles’ dig at her infertility, despite the amount of hurt that his comment causes. Right now, she’s more focused on Lydia’s pain. “And she’s decided to share a big part of her life with you. The least you can do is act like that affects you!”
Charles slams down the record book in his hands. It lets out an echoing boom throughout the room as he narrows his eyes at the woman. “Oh, believe me. This affects me, and I am well aware that it does!”
“Then what the hell is wrong with you?” Barbara demands. She wraps her arms around herself in an attempt to hide her shaking hands as she stares the man down. “Do you not remember any of what happened this past spring?”
“If you’re actually insinuating that I don’t recall my daughter almost throwing herself off of the roof--”
“You weren’t there!” Barbara shouts. And now she’s trembling so badly that she has no way of hiding it. She paces the room, shaking her head at the memories clouding her brain. “You didn’t see her standing on that roof, Charles. You didn’t see that desperate look in her eyes, but Adam and I did. I can tell you with absolute certainty that she was going to jump. The only reason she didn’t is because Beetlejuice of all things managed to stop her. You weren’t there for her, but an actual demon was. And if after everything she went through you still can’t find a way to be there for her then you should know that I think very little of your methods of parenting.”
Charles stands up then. His brooding face is clouded over with anger as he leans across his desk until he is inches away from Barbara’s own. “I care about her,” he growls, locking eyes with the wrathful woman, “and I will do what I need to do to keep her safe.”
“Safe from what?” Barbara questions, accidentally laughing in his face. Not that she finds any part of this conversation even remotely funny. Quite the contrary, every argument Charles has so far tried to make has only served to further infuriate her.
Before the man has a chance to respond, there’s another knock on the door. He and Barbara glance at each other, silently agreeing to table the discussion for the time being in case it’s Lydia on the other side. He settles himself back into his chair before raising his voice to say, “It’s alright, you can come in.”
The door opens to reveal Adam and Delia, both wearing rather sheepish expressions as they enter the room. Charles raises a brow at the two. They exchange looks, and Delia takes a step back. Adam sighs, rubbing a nervous hand on the back of his neck. He gazes at his wife with sympathy. “Uh, so we could kind of hear you. Not any words, thankfully, but we all heard the yelling. So, y’know, it’s safe to say Lydia knows you’re not up here helping her father work.”
Delia nods in confirmation. She gestures behind her at the open office door. “Listen, I think it’s best if we all go back downstairs and enjoy some more cake? I mean, I’d hate for her to think anybody was upset given her recent announcement. If we dawdle for too much longer she might think we don’t approve of her or something,” she suggests with a nervous laugh.
“Exactly,” Adam agrees, pointedly glancing over at Charles.
Charles, who merely shrugs in response to the silent challenge the other man offers and says, “I don’t.”
Delia gawks at him, hoping desperately that she’s misinterpreted the man. “You don’t what?”
“I don’t approve of my daughter dating a girl,” he snarls at her.
The room has gone silent as the other three adults stare at him. Delia has a look in her eyes like she either wants to demand an apology or offer one up. Adam mostly looks shocked, like he doesn’t quite believe that he heard the man right. Barbara on the other hand is still in mother-bear mode and she aims her most withering glare at the man, unable to comprehend his audacity at this moment.
“Oh, don’t give me those looks!” Charles roars at them all, slamming a fist down on his desk. “I didn’t want her to marry a demon, either. Yet I stood back and let her, trusting that she knew what she was doing. And then she had to kill him! And after that, another demon showed up wanting to drag her back to the Netherworld! In all of that there was nothing I could do to protect her. This? This I can stop. You can all try to bully me out of it and make me out to be the bad guy all you want. But I just want my daughter to be normal! Is that really such a crime?”
“Normal?”
All four of the adults freeze. None of them want to turn to the open door. They all know what they will see when they do. Who will be standing there, clearly having heard every harsh word. Barbara is the first to brave the sight, twisting around to see Lydia standing in the doorway. Her arms are folded tight across her chest. Her face betrays no emotions as she seems to size her father up.
Charles sighs in defeat. “Lydia--”
“What the hell do you know about normal?” Lydia demands. Her eyes flash a hint of anger as she steps one foot into the room. “Was Mom normal? Was her getting sick and dying so young normal? ”
“Look, I didn’t mean--”
“How about when you got engaged to another woman less than a year after your wife died?” Lydia spits, trembling now as she holds herself together. “Does that count as normal to you, Dad?”
“Lydia, stop!” Charles demands. He takes a breath, forcefully lowering his voice back to a less intense volume. “What you heard, it was out of context.”
Lydia tilts her head, not looking anywhere near confused about things. She shrugs, keeping on a mask of indifference as she asks, “What was the context?”
“What?” Charles says, caught off guard.
Lydia narrows her eyes at him. “You said it was out of context. So please, Dad, please fill me in. What the hell was the context?”
Charles opens and closes his mouth several times. It gives him an uncanny resemblance to a fish left out of water, gills flapping wide in search of respite and finding no mercy on land. He turns his head, looking between the Maitlands as though for help.
“Don’t you dare bring Adam and Barbara into this,” Lydia snaps, following his gaze. She shakes her head at the man and sucks in a breath. “I thought you said--”
“I don’t know what you want from me!” Charles yells, tossing up his arms in frustration. “Is it communication? Huh? Are we back to that? Well here’s something: you’re right. I don’t want you to be gay. I don’t want you to parade around with another girl and think that that’s normal! It’s not! And after everything that’s happened--”
“After everything that’s happened, I would’ve thought you’d want me to be happy!” Lydia cries. The Maitlands and Delia and Charles all expected the anger from the teen. It only makes sense to them that in a situation such as this, Lydia would feel like she has to defend herself. What none of them expect are the tears that suddenly fall from her eyes. It’s like there was no time for them to form; they simply appear on her cheeks, trailing down like large, sorrow-filled raindrops.
With a scoff that turns into a sob on the way out of her mouth, Lydia takes a step backward out of the room. A look of pain is etched on her face as she spins around and flees back down the hall. Delia is the first to recover from her shock at seeing the girl cry, and she hurries out after her. The Maitlands look first at each other and then to Charles.
“She’s fine,” Charles says, looking entirely unconvinced. “She’ll run to her room and cut up some old family photos. By morning, she’ll have forgotten all about this.”
Even from upstairs they can all hear when the front door creaks open and then immediately slams shut.
Adam and Barbara don’t hesitate to rush out of the room and look over the banister. Delia peers up at them with a panic-stricken face. “She’s gone!” Delia calls, alarm ringing her every word. “She took off down the hill!”
“Where would she be going this time of night?” Adam wonders, worried.
Barbara shakes her head as she races down the staircase. “It doesn’t matter. We have to find her!”
“You can’t go out there!” Delia reminds her, aghast. “It’ll only end with you being eaten by a Sandworm!”
Barbara opens her mouth to argue, but stops as Adam drops a firm hand on her shoulder. She turns to face him, not wanting to hear it. He tells her anyway, “She’s right. We’re stuck inside.”
“I’ll go.”
Charles appears at the top of the staircase. He rubs a hand on his chin and takes the stairs down two at a time. The others watch him descend, each with their own mixed expressions. He comes to a stop beside Delia, giving the Maitlands a reassuring look. “I’ll go after her,” he says again.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Barbara warns him, crossing her arms as she gives him a glare.
“She’s my kid,” Charles gently reminds her. “Besides, I know where she’s going.”
“You do?” Delia questions.
“Where?” Adam asks.
Charles chuckles at that. “Where else would someone like Lydia go when she’s upset?”
There’s a bench that rests on top of the rolled cemetery hill. Once upon a time it was made from mahogany planks and wrapped with a bronze arm rest on both sides. Now, years of weather have rusted away the metal. Too much rough treatment has snapped away the arm rests completely and two of the wooden planks are missing. It resembles more of an eerie floating stump nowadays. It’s where Lydia sits, her eyes jumping from one tombstone to the next, her gaze flitting amongst the headstones at the bottom of the hill.
“See any ghosts?” Charles jokes.
Lydia doesn’t react. She keeps her sight fixed firmly on the dead, refusing to acknowledge the only other living person in attendance. It’s easier for her this way. She hates crying, and if she looks at her father now she worries she’ll burst back into tears.
The bench groans as he sits down beside her. He taps a hand nervously against his knee, drumming out the beat to a song neither of them know. Lydia still stays silent. She doesn’t even blink in her efforts to keep her father out of focus.
Charles sighs. “I remember when Emily and I first brought you home from the hospital.”
Lydia flinches, hearing her dead mother’s name. She doesn’t yet spare him a glance, but the subtle shift in her posture lets her father know she’s listening. He presses on with his story.
“You were so tiny,” he recalls, the ghost of a smile teasing up the corners of his lips. “I was too scared to even try to hold you. I thought if I did one thing wrong-- one -- that would be it. Emily and I would lose our only daughter.”
Lydia tries to scoff at that. The noise that leaves her lips sounds suspiciously closer to a laugh. It makes Charles fight back a small grin.
“It took almost a week before she could convince me to pick you up. When I did… Lydia, the moment I held you in my arms, I knew I would love you no matter what. Until the day I died, I knew I would fight the whole world just to keep you safe. And that feeling, the one of messing up and losing you, well, it never went away. Emily got sick, and I couldn’t save her. After she was gone, I felt you slipping away and I didn’t know how to fix things. Then that demon showed up and chased Delia and I out of the house and we left you behind. I thought I’d lost you then, but it was nothing compared to seeing you jump through that glowing door when I came back to get you. I thought my heart would burst from the fright. And I don’t mean that metaphorically. When you stepped across that threshold, I felt this physical, searing pain rip right through my chest. It was horrible,” Charles explains.
Without turning her head, Lydia says, “I think that’s called a heart attack.”
Her blithe remark causes an unexpected chuckle to fall from his lips. Charles shakes his head, relief flooding through him to hear such a casually sarcastic remark from his teenage daughter. “I suppose you’re right,” he concedes. He risks reaching a hand over to place on her shoulder. It earns him another flinch, but she doesn’t pull away.
They stay like that, watching the stars twinkle over the graveyard. Neither of them say a word for what feels like an eternity. The breath of silence stretches miserably between them, waiting for one of them to speak and end its suffering. Eventually, Charles gives in.
He turns to his daughter, a frown creasing his face as he takes in her appearance. Her puffy eyes and teartracked face are all telltale signs that her weeping didn’t cease when she left the house. His heart twitches painfully in his chest as he takes in the damage he’s created. A sigh filled with remorse falls from his lips and he shakes his head at his own stupid actions. “God, Lydia, I never meant for you to hear all of that. I-- Please believe me; I love you. Okay? I love you no matter what, no matter who you’re with. There is not a single thing you can do that will ever change that.”
She finally turns to look at him, and the pain in her eyes is almost more than her father can bear. She’s searching his face, desperately looking for the truth in it. Tears well in her eyes once more as she stutters out, “What the fuck was the context, Dad?”
It hurts him more than anything else in the whole world to see her questioning his love like she is. He regrets his words, regrets his entire stupid rant, and he throws both arms around her, holding her flat against his chest as his breaths start coming in shallow and quick. There’s that feeling again, that horrible anxious feeling that he’s losing her all over again and all he can think about are those burnt remnants of a suicide note that he found on the roof after they’d dispelled that perverted demon. He tightens the arm he has wrapped around her back, his other hand pressing gently on the back of her head as he cradles her in a futile attempt to protect her from all the darkness in the world.
“I’m just so scared for you,” he admits. Before he can gain control over himself, his tears fall heavy from his eyes.
Lydia shoots back from him, looking over him with concern and apparent shock. “Dad…”
“You’ve always been so fearless,” he tells her, wiping his eyes, “but I worry everyday that something will happen to you. You’re so young, and you have no idea how cruel the world can be. And of course I want you to be happy, but the number of people out there who will see you holding hands with a girl and then hate you before they learn anything else about you-- and the number of people who will act on that hate… No father would want that for his daughter. None. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. It doesn’t mean I’m disappointed in you or that I’d ever try to change you . I’m just so scared for you. And I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to watch as the world tries to break your spirit anymore than it already has.”
Lydia chews her bottom lip as she stares at him thoughtfully. There’s this faraway look in her eyes that makes Charles’ heart sink. He’s already lost her. And this time, he’s probably lost her for good. He never should have tried to justify himself, he should have just apologized and told her he was proud of her. He’s never been good at articulating his feelings and he should’ve known better than to try it now during such a complicated conversation. She’s going to stand up and she’s going to walk out of his life and he’s never going to see her again. He’ll spend the rest of his days knowing it was all his fault while he wonders what became of his beloved daughter.
As if reading his mind, Lydia stands up off the bench.
And she launches herself into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” Charles sobs, giving up on trying to control the flow of his tears as he returns his daughter’s lovingly relieved embrace. “And I’m so proud of you. God, I wish I possessed just an ounce of your bravery.”
Lydia snuggles into him, sinking further into his arms. “Even if it’s not normal?”
Charles laughs, and he rests his chin on top of her head. “Maybe a little strange and unusual is alright every now and again,” he concedes. He tilts his head down, planting a wet kiss in her hair.
After a moment, Lydia pulls away. She wipes roughly at her eyes, smiling up at her father. “I guess now’s not a great time to mention that my girlfriend’s name is Wednesday?” she tests.
Charles’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Wednesday, as in the day of the week?” he clarifies. He honestly can’t tell if the teenager is joking or not. But she nods her head, and he doesn’t sense one fiber of mocking in her. “That’s… Well, erm, that’s unique. She sounds like a, uh, good match for you.”
Lydia smiles at her father’s approval. “She is,” she agrees.
Charles stands and holds out his hand to her. She hesitates, but only for a second. Then she accepts, slipping her hand into his and he helps guide her steps through the dark all the way down the hill until they reach his car. He opens the door for her and she smiles again at him as she gets in. Somewhere along the way they both manage to figure out a relative normal for this new chapter in their lives, each finding that they’re more than willing to give the other a second chance as they head back home again.