Her Perfect Gift

Chapter Three

Seth

December 22nd

I hate waiting at the airport alone, it’s a vulnerable experience for me, now that everyone knows my name and face. The worst part about being famous, the bit that I never bothered to consider before, is that everyone feels like they own a piece of me. I don’t always mind, but sometimes I would just like to be anonymous. Even while there are other celebrities about, there seems to be something about me that draws people in.

I need something to hide my face behind, to keep those peering eyes from staring at me so intently. So, I grab a newspaper from the nearest stand and pay rapidly before finding a seat in the corner to sit in. I don’t even need to read it; I just need to block my face out from the rest of the world, while I try to prepare myself for going home.

What the…? Oh my God. As soon as my eyes click on to the third page, my heart stops beating. It’s my name on the page. I suppose that’s to be expected, this isn’t my first time spotting a story about myself, but I don’t usually see my picture next to one of my father… back in his hay day.

People don’t really notice it much back at home, they just know Dad as Rich. Its been so long since people knew him as Richard Bishop, the front singer of one of the hottest glam rock bands in the eighties. However, every so often I am reminded that I’m not the only one who the public thinks that they own a piece of. It’s him as well. Even now, a long time later when he’s been out of the public eye for years and years, they still go after him.

“What the fuck?” I mutter angrily as I see what’s being written. This isn’t some journalist being nice about me and my father. It’s comparing us in an unfavorable way. Just because I haven’t settled down yet, doesn’t make me the womanizer that my father was. I find that very offensive. I mean, he really was a playboy, he has even admitted that to me, because he was famous in the era of sex, drugs, and rock n roll. He had a different woman in his bed, or on the tour bus, every single night. Often more than one, at the same time, and he loved it. There wasn’t the same judgement attached to it as there is these days…

Just because all of my relationships have been short ones, doesn’t mean I’m the same as him. I see women for who they are, not what I can get from them. I’m not just all about sex. I am not the same as him, and I certainly don’t want to be viewed that way. That’s not who he is now though.

What the author of this shitty article doesn’t seem to realize is that my father changed his behavior, even during his wild days, he wasn’t always as he seemed. Once he met Cressida, the hippy chick who blew him away, he completely changed. He fell in love hard, and committed without a moment of hesitation, r

eady to give up everything for her. Apparently, he was over the moon to find out as she was pregnant with me. It changed his outlook on life… just a shame that it didn’t have the same effect on her. She took off the moment I was born, probably the same day, and I haven’t met her since. Never in my life. Not even once.

I don’t know what happened, I’m not sure why my dad wasn’t enough, and I certainly wasn’t enough for her either, but I can’t agonize over that forever. I did all that in my youth, looking up abandonment, social pressures, mental health issues… trying to find out what sent her away, but of course until I hear it directly from her mouth, I will never know. Perhaps one day I will find out what pushed her over the edge, but until then, there isn’t anything that I can do other than get on with my life… presumably the same thing that she’s doing somewhere out there in the world. Living the hippy life, traveling the world, or finally finding what she’s looking for. She could have settled somewhere with another family of her own even, who knows.

Anyway, because Cressida took off like that, Dad kept their fleeting relationship, and me, a secret. At least for as long as he could, so he wasn’t happy to hear that I sought out fame myself, even if it is in a different area. I get it. And I really get it when I’m looking at articles such as this one, but I’m still doing what I love. I can’t let the negatives overshadow the positive because otherwise I lose all of my dreams. I can’t have that.

“Oh, fuck off,” I spit out once more when the writer suggests that I might also have a string of children dotted about the place. There is the assumption that my father didn’t know about my existence until I was an adult which isn’t the truth at all, but no one knows that, do they? They just want to make a good story out of nothing.

I am very clever about protection anyway, I’m not stupid. I know that I don’t want a child with anyone that I don’t love because I like the way that my life is. I don’t want to make any of the mistakes that my parents clearly did, so there is no way that I will have a child without a real relationship. This writer knows nothing. I mean, why not make some phone calls? Do some fact checking? Aren’t newspapers obligated to at least try and tell the truth these days? I thought that there were standards, I should have been contacted about this. Or at least my father, since this paints him out to be even more of a shit than he actually was. It isn’t fair.

I slam the paper down on the seat and allow the anger to fill me up. I can almost feel the redness circling through me. If I could find this journalist, I would go mad and maybe spill the family truth. Not that I want to. It’s been a secret for years, and I’m not going to be the one to let it all out.

I glance around the room and I feel like eyes are on me from every single angle. They aren’t, I know that rationally, there isn’t a chance in hell that everyone is so interested in me, but that article has made me paranoid. I feel like people are making judgements on me based on the words of other people. It sucks.

I slide my eyes closed and try to block it all out, but instead of clearing my mind, I can’t stop thinking about my mother. I don’t do that anymore, because I don’t want to get sad. Of course, the only image that I have of her is the one photograph my father has. It seems that they weren’t as selfie obsessed in the eighties – which isn’t what she’ll look like now, but it’s all I have. Her hair all crimped and big, a denim jacket, neon leggings. bright red lipstick…

Why did she leave my dad? I can’t help wanting to know. Why did she just vanish into thin air? I don’t know if my father has ever put any real effort in to finding her, but I know that I can’t. I asked for his help once, but he shut me down by saying that he isn’t going to search for someone who doesn’t want to be found. I don’t know if that’s the reason he doesn’t want to see her again though. I think he’s scared of seeing her because he hasn’t ever gotten over her, and he doesn’t want to see her with someone else. I think that might actually kill him. To see her happy while he has been hanging on, clinging to something that will never happen.

Ever since my mom left him, my father has been single. It feels like he has given up on the whole institution of love. I recall him even sitting me down one day, just after my eighteenth birthday, and telling me that playing the field is better than love, because putting your heart out there on the line only leads to sadness. That speech just made me upset for him. I have wanted him to move on ever since that chat, but he hasn’t. I don’t like to think of it too much because I feel guilty for leaving him alone. He may understand that I need to live my own life, but that doesn’t make it feel right, does it?

I wonder what state I’m going to find him in when I get home. I don’t think he really believes me that I’m coming back. I suppose I have said it a few times and let him down so there is no real reason to trust me. But I am, and I’m going to make sure that he has a great Christmas. I have got some Christmas gifts for him, to make up for all the years where I haven’t been back, but I’m also going to be giving him my time because I know that he will appreciate that most of all. God, I’m looking forward to that.

Finally, my plane is announced, and I head past all the crowds to step in to first class. I love flying more luxuriously because I get more privacy and it’s more comfortable. I can afford to, so why not? It’s a relief as I take my seat and I think about going home. Back to real life, to my friends as well as my family. I still have a lot of high school friends living in my hometown, and a lot who always come home for the holidays. For the legendary Christmas carnival most of all. The thing you love as a kid for the festival magic, you have fun at as a teenager sneaking alcoholic drinks, and then as an adult because it’s leading towards a positive new year…

Not that my last ‘new year’ became anything. But then, as far as I know Darcy McNeill is still living in our hometown, and judging by some of her social media posts, which I scoured for hours last night, she usually attends the Christmas carnival. So, I may see her again. Of course, I will still be going back to LA so it can’t be any kind of romance, much as I would love it to be, but I can apologize and make things up to her. Maybe see if we can get our friendship back on track because we were amazing mates. It would be awesome to have someone in my life who doesn’t just think that she owns a part of me, but actually knows me. I don’t think that I have my head in the clouds, but if anyone can keep me grounded, it’s the people who knew the guy that I was in high school. I can’t wait.

Chapter Four

Darcy

December 22nd

“So, yes… everyone laughed at me, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Harry tosses his head back and chuckles throatily as if this story is really funny. I try join in, but I can’t even fake it. This story is too boring for words. “It was a very funny day in the office. One of the best that I have ever had.”

Adam joins in heartily with the laughter, proving that it was one of those events where you just had to be there to get the humor of it. Ivy leans on her hands and grins at her boyfriend, so in love with him that she will find anything that he says amazing. I’m not annoyed by that, more jealous. I want that. I might like feeling like the independent woman who doesn’t need a man to make her happy… but in reality, I just want to love and be loved, like Ivy is. It must be so lovely to have that heartwarming feeling all the time. Even sitting here in my all too familiar hometown bar with a fire roaring next to me, I feel a little lost and cold.

Unfortunately, I already know that I’m not going to ever get that with Harry. He’s a lovely guy and I like him a lot… but there isn’t any spark there. Not even from the beginning. Instantly, as soon as I walked in the door and I spotted him, my mind went to Seth. I compared him to the one man who I can’t have, and it kills me.

“That sounds funny,” I reply thinly. “Really funny. I don’t get office humor working for myself.”