UNEXPECTED TIES

COURTNEY'S POV Oh God! I am late again. Honestly, I don't even know why Julia hasn't fired me yet because this is the fifth time this month and the second time this week. I don't even know what happened, really. I've always been an early riser, even as a kid. My mom would practically announce to the whole neighbourhood that I was the easy child, unlike my older siblings. I'm from a family of seven, the baby of the bunch, and I guess that means I was pampered growing up. My siblings took great pleasure in teasing me every single day. It was their favourite sport, and they made sure to let everyone know, back then and still now. I groggily fumbled for my phone to check the time, even though it wasn't necessary considering the sun was practically shining in my bedroom, and my heart did a little panic dance when I saw how late it was. My trusty alarm clock must have been taking a vacation because it didn't make a peep. I rushed through the routine, my hair making a strong case for why I should invest in a wig. Toothpaste splatters and mascara wands missed their targets, turning me into a hot mess in record time. I tripped over the pile of laundry I swore I'd take care of last night. Who has time for laundry when there are reruns of my favourite TV show, right? I swear, Netflix is ruining my life, but I can't quit it. I literally swore last week I was going to unsubscribe after I slept for only thirty minutes before going to work because I was binge-watching Lucifer. After making an Olympic-worthy sprint to my car, I jammed the key into the ignition, and it gave me that all-too-familiar reluctant grumble. "Come on, old girl, just one more day," I coaxed, patting the dashboard like it was my loyal pet. The engine roared to life, and we were off, well, crawling like a snail stuck in traffic. New York mornings, you never disappoint with your gridlock. I flipped through radio stations, searching for something to wake me up, and somehow, it always ended up on that cheesy '80s rock station. Bon Jovi was serenading me with "Livin' on a Prayer" as I sang along off-key, my version sounding more like "Livin' on a Dare." That's pretty much how my life has felt lately—one crazy dare after another. At long last, I made it to the office, parking with the finesse of a NASCAR driver, except without the speed. I stumbled out of my car, trying to regain some semblance of grace, but let's face it, I was never really a graceful swan. Julia was going to chew me out, and I'd have to flash her puppy dog's eyes and maybe offer to buy her coffee. Yeah, she's a sucker for a latte, just like I'm a sucker for procrastinating. The things we do to survive another day in the Big Apple. As I hurried through the office entrance, I glanced at my reflection in the glass door, and it was clear that my makeup had staged a rebellion. But, hey, smudged eyeliner and bedhead were apparently the new office chic, or at least that's what I kept telling myself. Julia, my no-nonsense boss, would likely have a different opinion, but I was armed with an arsenal of witty excuses. No one could beat me in that department. I took the elevator to our floor, praying that Julia hadn't morphed into a dragon lady overnight. She was the kind of boss who measured coffee breaks with a stopwatch and had a radar for office shenanigans. Julia's office door was a portal to an alternate universe where deadlines loomed like dark clouds. I prepared my best innocent face and pushed the door open. Julia, the epitome of corporate efficiency, sat behind her desk, typing furiously. Her perfectly coiffed hair barely had a strand out of place, and I sometimes wondered if she had a secret team of elves helping her get ready in the morning. Honestly, I was jealous because I could never achieve that, even if I were to spend two hours getting ready. "Good morning, Julia," I chirped, though the morning sun couldn't even brighten her mood. She glanced at me, her expression more frosty than my apartment in winter. "Courtney, you're late. Again." I plastered on my best apologetic smile and leaned in. "You won't believe it, Jules. My alarm clock decided to play hide-and-seek this morning. I swear, it has a vendetta against me." Julia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Courtney, we've talked about this. Punctuality is key in our line of work. And that's not the only issue." She slid a folder across her desk. I frowned and opened it, my eyes scanning over the contents. My frown deepened as I realised that this was about the botched presentation from last week. In my defence, PowerPoint and I have a complicated relationship and that projector? It was possessed. I had a sneaking suspicion it harboured a grudge. "Julia, that was a minor hiccup, and everyone loved my improv dance routine. It added a touch of excitement to the meeting," I protested. She sighed, shaking her head. "Courtney, we're professionals, not reality TV stars. We can't afford any more 'excitement.'" I couldn't argue with that logic, and I nodded, trying to look as contrite as possible. But just as I was about to launch into my well-rehearsed apology, my phone chimed with a message. I couldn't resist sneaking a peek, and when I saw the text, I gasped. Julia gave me an exasperated look. "Courtney, we need to discuss this later. Get to your desk and try not to set it on fire, okay?" "Of course, Jules. I promise I'll be a model employee from now on," I replied, already mentally composing my resignation letter. My phone buzzed again, and this time, the message was from my father. I tapped it open and read the words that would turn my already chaotic day into an even crazier rollercoaster ride. It said, "Courtney, we need to talk. Meet me at the café on 5th and Elm Street. Today." I couldn't help but wonder what had my father so worked up that he wanted to meet me in the midst of my epic office debacle. Dad wasn't one to send cryptic messages, so this was a definite deviation from the norm. Julia's stern voice broke through my thoughts, "Courtney, are you still here? Deal with whatever that was later. Work first." With a quick nod and a promise to myself to find out more about that mysterious message later, I scurried away, making my way to my desk. Today, I needed to prove I could be a responsible employee and leave my chaotic life for later. As I settled into my work and tried to push aside the intrigue of my father's message, my mind kept wandering back to it. My father was not the kind of man who dabbled in surprises, so his request was unusual, to say the least. The minutes inched by, filled with the usual office cacophony. My colleagues, like busy bees, buzzed around me, engaged in their daily routines. But today, my thoughts were fixated on the upcoming meeting with my father. With a half-hearted attempt at work, I couldn't help but sneak a peek at the clock every few minutes. It was almost as if time had decided to slow down just to torment me. Finally, the clock ticked its way to lunchtime, and I couldn't focus on spreadsheets or presentations any longer. I excused myself to Julia, who gave me a look of resigned understanding. It was a look I'd grown all too familiar with in my time at the office. I made my way out of the office, a whirlwind of curiosity and nerves coursing through me. The café on 5th and Elm Street was just a few blocks away. With every step, I couldn't help but wonder what my father had to say that was so important he'd disrupt my already disruptive day. Entering the café, I scanned the room and spotted my father at a corner table. His stern, bespectacled face was a familiar sight, but today, there was an unusual gravity to it. I approached with a mix of curiosity and concern, taking a seat across from him. "Dad, what's going on?" I asked with a genuine curiosity, leaning forward, and flashing a smile that mirrored his in its warmth. He sighed but returned my smile with a twinkle in his eye. "Courtney, I have some news. It's about a decision I think you need to make." "Decision? What decision?" I leaned in closer, intrigued by his words. My father took a deep breath, his gaze steady and reassuring. "Courtney, our family friend, Mr. Anderson's son, has made an offer. He's willing to marry you and raise your triplets as his own. Now I want you to know you're a good mother but this is a lifeline, a way to secure a stable future for you and your sons." As he spoke, I couldn't help but think about the text I'd received from my sons' principal earlier this morning. She believed my boys lacked discipline and that they needed a father figure in their lives. I knew she meant well, but it still stung. The offer my father was presenting could indeed be of help, not just for me but for my sons' well-being as well. Those three created havoc every day like their lives depended on it. The weight of this decision bore down on me, and the chaos of my life suddenly seemed much more complicated than missing alarms and botched presentations. It was a tangled web of surprises and unexpected turns, and my father was there with me, guiding me through yet another twist in the tale, just as he always had. "Dad, I appreciate Zachariah's offer; I really do," I began, choosing my words carefully. "And I understand it could be a great help, especially with what happened at the boys' school today. But you know me, I can't just marry a man I don't love. It wouldn't be fair to me or him." I mentally slapped myself because my dad didn't know what happened yet and I wasn't planning on telling him. My father nodded in understanding. "I know, Courtney. I would never want you to do anything that didn't feel right. But remember, love can grow in unexpected places, and sometimes, these things work out." I knew he was right, and I appreciated his support more than words could express. Yet, I couldn't help but think about Zachariah, Robert Anderson's son. I'd met him on several occasions, and while he was undoubtedly a beautiful specimen of a man, I felt nothing more than friendship for him. Our personalities didn't exactly click, and I was wary of entering into a marriage without that deep emotional connection. It wasn't that I was expecting a fairy tale romance, but the idea of a loveless marriage didn't sit well with me. "I'll meet with Zachariah," I finally said, breaking the contemplative silence that had settled between us. "I owe it to myself and my sons to at least try to get to know him better. But, Dad, I won't make any promises. It's got to feel right for both of us, you know?" My father smiled, a mix of pride and understanding in his eyes. "I couldn't ask for a better daughter. Whatever you decide, your mother and I will support you every step of the way." "Thank you, Dad. That means a lot to me." This is the reason why I love my dad. This man would do anything for me, even after all the disappointments I've brought to our family. I know he is doing all of this because of his religious beliefs but he would never go against me. I swear I won the lottery when we were choosing dads.