“But I’ve called you that forever, and it describes how I feel about you so well.”
And that was a Mack-truck level whack to the gut. “What?” She gasped. “Disappointed by my size just like Mom had been?”
“God no,” her dad said, his voice cracking with emotion as he reached out to her, taking her hands in his own. “I started calling you Muffin Top because it’s the best part of the muffin. And as time went on, I shortened it to Muffin. It was never about your size.” He pulled her in for a tight hug that she felt all the way down to her bones. “Lucy,” he said, his voice shaking with sincerity. “I love you no matter what you look like because you’re my daughter—and the best one I could ever imagine anyone having. I’m so sorry that the nickname I started using before you could walk has sounded like a dig at your size. I’ll stop using it. Now. Today. Right away.”
And there went the tears, washing away all of that built-up resentment about her most hated nickname. Her friends in elementary school had heard her dad use it and picked it up, too. And it had followed her straight through high school. Hell, people in this town still referred to her as Muffin Kavanagh. And she was sure they used the nickname for a very different reason. That didn’t mean it was her dad’s fault, though.
“Dad, you don’t have to.”
He took a step back, keeping his hands on her shoulders, and looked her straight in the eye. “I never want to do anything to make you second-guess what an amazing woman you’ve become. I’m so very proud of what you’ve done with your life. I know I wasn’t always the best father—”
“Dad,” she broke in. “You were great.”
And because he looked like he was about to argue the point, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head against his neck, breathing in the woodsy-sugary scent that she always associated with him.
“What do you think of Sweet Pea? No, that’s food again. What about Lulu?”
Chuckling, she took a step back and used the back of her hand to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks—thank you, world’s best waterproof mascara—and gave him a smile. “How about Lucy?”
He opened his mouth, shut it, and then gave her a chagrined look. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re not my little girl dancing around in the kitchen anymore, are you?”
Again, a giant thanks going out to whomever invented waterproof mascara because she was about to lose it again. Here she had been dreading coming home because she couldn’t help but fall back into those same patterns and face the same demons she had while being a half-bratty, half-lost fifteen-year-old and all her dad saw was the fourth-grader in pigtails jamming out while she emptied the dishwasher. Going home again wasn’t without dangers—she looked at her dad, gazing at her with such love and hope that she gave in to the tears—but it wasn’t without rewards also.
“I may not be dancing in the kitchen, Daddy, but I’ll always be your girl.”
And she would. Some things a person didn’t outgrow, but the real blessing of getting older was finally learning which old hurts to hold onto and which ones to let go.
“Have fun tonight,” he said, giving her a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
By the time she stepped out onto the front porch, her eyes were dry, her makeup repaired, and her spirit lighter than it had been in a long time.
“Everything okay?” Frankie asked as he handed Gussie over to her dad and walked her to Scarlett, where he held open the door for her.
God, how to answer that? She had a million possibilities but, looking up at Frankie as she got into the passenger seat, there was only one that seemed to fit this moment. “The only thing that could make it better is if Constance decides to stay home.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll decide not to come,” Frankie said with a grimace.
“It doesn’t matter.” And it really didn’t.
That’s what she’d been missing all this time, and it was past time that she realized it. The conversation with her dad, though, helped settle some of the emotional flotsam and jetsam that had been swirling around inside her for as long as she could remember.
Sure, that girl who’d walked through the halls of Antioch High School still lived inside her. However, she had grown up, learned to stand up for herself, and had prospered with a great job and amazing friends. Coming home again didn’t change that. If Antioch hadn’t changed while she’d been away, well, there was nothing she could do about it. But she wasn’t giving up all she’d gained just because she’d crossed the city line.