My Best Friend's Dad

Elona.

With my heart racing, I approached the familiar house with its elegant architecture and well-kept garden. I raised my hand to knock on the door, butterflies dancing in my stomach. Cris and I hadn’t seen each other over the school break because she had gone with her father on a business trip. While she got to enjoy her break, I was stuck at home, bored. I was excited to see her. Part of the reason I was so excited was that I’d had a crush on Uncle Tristan, her father, since I was sixteen. Whenever I saw him, butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and I would get nervous around him. He was attractive, and his stare could be intimidating.

The door swung open to reveal Cris, her auburn hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Her bright green eyes held a hint of mischief as she grinned at me. “Elona, you’re right on time. Come on in!”

We settled down in the kitchen. I sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter while Cris poured us some grape juice. We were in our final year of high school, yet to embark on a new chapter of our lives next year.

“My dad left to attend some meetings, so I was bored,” I said as she placed the grape juice in front of me. My dad was into real estate, but I was always grateful for the time he still took to be with me. We had a great father-daughter relationship that I didn’t want to ever lose.

“I was going through some research on colleges to attend,” she said, placing the juice back in the fridge before turning to face me. “It’s really difficult to choose which college to apply to. Journalism is my dream, but I don’t want to leave my father here. I worry about him.”

I felt sorry for her; we were both really close to our fathers, so I understood how she was feeling. When I moved here, I had the privilege of meeting her mom, Estelle. Cris resembled her mother, but she had her father’s forest-green eyes. Her mother had passed away three years ago, and it had been difficult for both of them. My mother passed away when I was five years old, and at that moment, I didn’t want to think about it because I was supposed to be cheering up my best friend.

“I’m sure he would want you to live your life and have fun,” I said, smiling weakly at her.

“You’ve seen how he buries himself in work. I’d suggest that he starts dating again, but I highly doubt he would,” she said, letting out a heavy breath.

“It’s his choice, after all,” I replied, taking a sip of my juice. I had to admit that I had a tiny crush on Tristan, but not enough to actually want to pursue him.

“I guess you’re right,” she conceded.

“I’ve been thinking about something I might pursue as a career,” I said, keeping my hand on the glass.

“Please, spill it!” She was always so eager to know.

I smiled nervously. “Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about my future lately. I want to pursue a career in modeling.”

Cris’ eyes widened, a mix of surprise and excitement. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “You’ve got the looks and the confidence for it, no doubt. But you’re still a bit shy.”

I couldn’t help but blush at her words. “Thanks. It’s just that I’ve been researching agencies and talking to people, and I really believe I can make it. I’ll never know if I don’t try, and maybe that shyness will fade over time. I’m still thinking about it, but for now, please don’t tell anyone until I’ve made up my mind and talked to my father about it.”

Cris’ grin widened. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone. I have no doubt that you’ll be great, Elona. And you’ll have me cheering you on every step of the way.”

“That means a lot, and you know I’ll do the same for you,” I said with a smile.

“Of course. Now, I just need to get my dad back into the dating scene,” she joked.

We heard the front door open and close, and I knew who it was. My heart beat wildly in my chest at the sudden feeling of nerves and excitement.

I tensed when I heard Tristan’s voice behind me. “Good afternoon, girls,” he said, and Cris smiled at him over my shoulder.

“Hi, Dad. You’re home quite early,” she said.

Tristan appeared beside me, and I caught a glimpse of him. He was undeniably attractive, with sharp features and a charisma that seemed to radiate effortlessly. It was as if he was accustomed to the spotlight, even within the walls of his own home.

“How are you, Elona?” he asked, looking at me with those forest-green eyes that haunted me in my dreams at times. I cleared my throat.

“I’m well, Uncle Tristan,” I replied with a smile, glancing down at my juice as warmth spread across my cheeks. This sensation was unfamiliar to me, a depth of feeling I hadn’t experienced before.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” he responded. “Have you been researching which college you want to apply to?” he asked Cris as he reached into the cupboard for a glass. I couldn’t help but notice his lean muscles through his black Armani three-piece suit. That didn’t help me, either.

“Yes, I’ve been looking into it, but we have some homework too. We have an essay to write. Is it okay if Elona stays over for dinner? Her father’s out at meetings, and it’s a Friday night. I can order pizza for us,” she said.

When my eyes found Tristan again, he was sipping water from his glass, watching me intently until he stopped. “That’s fine with me. In the meantime, I have some work to catch up on in the study,” he said as he placed the empty glass in the sink and walked away.

My heart raced, and for the first time, I truly saw him, not just as Cris’ dad, but as a man. And as his eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, I realized with a jolt that my tiny crush on him was way more than just that.

The sensation was overwhelming, and I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt towards Tristan. The way he carried himself, the depth in his voice, and those mesmerizing green eyes made it hard for me to focus on anything else. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in his home, about to have dinner with my best friend and her incredibly charming father. My emotions were in turmoil as I contemplated this newfound, and slightly forbidden, crush.

I couldn’t help but replay every moment, every word, and every glance we had shared. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and I found myself irresistibly drawn to him, far beyond what I could have ever imagined.

I wondered if he could ever see me as more than just Cris’ friend. Would he ever notice the way my heart raced when he was near or the way my cheeks flushed when he spoke to me? My infatuation felt like a secret I carried around, hidden deep within my heart, only occasionally surfacing in stolen glances and bated breaths.

But I knew, deep down, that this crush was an unattainable dream. The age gap, the family dynamics, and the respect I had for Cris’ father all formed an insurmountable barrier. It was a painful realization, one that often left me in a state of inner turmoil.

I tried to redirect my focus toward other aspects of my life, like my modeling aspirations and our upcoming graduation, but Tristan’s presence remained a constant distraction. It was as if he occupied a significant space in my heart, one that was not easily vacated.

Elona.

I couldn’t get that look out of my head—the one Tristan had given me. His stare was now ingrained in my mind, quickening my heartbeat and deepening my feelings for him, intensifying my crush. It felt wrong, especially considering my age and my close friendship with his daughter. I was sure he felt nothing for me, but that stare gave me different vibes.

I was staying over for dinner, and it would be just the three of us. Maybe I should just go home after we finished our homework. Cris and I sat in the lounge, our English books spread open before us. Positioned on the rug, we had cleared the coffee table of its contents to create a makeshift workspace. It was always the lounge, the kitchen, Cris’ bedroom, her dad’s study room, or my house where we did homework. Cris was great at creative writing, so ideas flowed easily for her. I, however, tended to be more practical than creative.

I stared at my blank page, tapping the pen against it. I had no clue what to write about. The instructions were to write a short story of a thousand words, but I didn’t want it to feel forced. I looked up at Cris, who was writing away. I let out a heavy sigh and then looked down at my blank page again.

The only subject available for writing that I could think of was Tristan. Omitting his name ensured secrecy; not even Cris would suspect. This essay was crucial for our grades, so I delved into describing him. As I poured my emotions onto the page, Cris finished her work before me.

“I’m done. I wrote about my mother,” she said, and I looked up at her with sympathy. She was very close to Estelle, and there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Writing helps sometimes,” I told her as her eyes glazed over.

“Yeah, it’s just the first time I’ve written about her. Even though I say I’m okay, I keep those feelings inside. I don’t even tell my father because I know he misses her and still grieves, even after three years. Who am I to tell him to date? It’s wrong, and I won’t force him to move on so fast. He should take the time and space he needs to heal on his own terms,” she said, wiping away a lone tear that ran down her cheek.

“That’s why my father hasn’t dated in years. Everyone processes grief and moves on at different speeds. It may take longer for some. Both of our fathers loved and lost their soulmates. I hope one day we both have that kind of love they shared with them. A love that’s true. It will be okay, but you won’t forget her, and neither will he,” I said softly.

“Hopefully, we can move on from the pain,” she smiled. “Anyway, I need to order some pizza,” she said, standing up and heading to the kitchen.

I leaned back against the edge of the sofa, my legs crossed as I still held my pen in my hand. “What’s your essay about?” My heart leaped in my chest as I jumped, startled, and looked to my side as Tristan walked around the sofa behind me. He looked at me, his waistcoat and jacket removed, leaving him in a white shirt with the top unbuttoned. His shirt was tucked inside his black dress pants.

He looked at me again with those forest-green eyes. “Um…we’re writing an essay, and the topic can be about anything. It gets added to our grades,” I replied, trying to be nonchalant.

He now stood close to me, but as I looked up, my gaze fell on his crotch. The bulge was big, but I quickly looked back at my essay. “So, what topic did you choose?” he asked.

“I chose to write a little story.”

“What’s it about?” he asked.

“It’s about a girl falling in love with someone and how she hopes to be with him someday,” I said, glancing up at him—well past his bulge this time. He was already looking at me with a smirk. I wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Keep up the good work, and you can succeed at anything,” he said, then walked around the coffee table and stood in front of me. I looked at him as he folded his arms over his chest and noticed what he was staring at.

He was reading Cris’ essay. My heartbeat slowed this time because this was a sensitive topic—his deceased wife. I looked up at him as he read it. I could see how his facial expression changed. Pain was etched deeply on his face, a sight that shattered my heart for both him and my dear friend. His wife’s passing came in the aftermath of a tragic car accident on a stormy night. Losing control on the slick roads, she collided with an oncoming vehicle. Despite Tristan’s desperate arrival at the scene, she lingered briefly, fighting against her injuries, before succumbing to the inevitable.

He was devastated at her funeral, and everything about it was heartbreaking because this family was built with so much love. I understood why Tristan didn’t want to date; he had already lost the love of his life. I hadn’t seen them for three months after the tragedy, but Cris and I had communicated via text. I wanted to give them the space they needed to grieve. She would always text me just to tell me that she would hear him sob at night, which devastated her because she didn’t know how to comfort him.

As time went on, things became better, but not to the extent of fully healing to move on. As I continued to watch Tristan read Cris’ essay, I could see the devastation becoming evident on his face as he forgot I was sitting there, watching his mask of being strong slip.

“I called the pizza place. I’m starving,” Cris said, pulling Tristan’s attention away from the essay. He stepped to the side, looking at his daughter. He tried to compose himself, making sure the mask was back on. He looked at me as Cris packed up her things, his pain still etched a bit on his face. He knew that I had seen his mask slip away, and then he walked into the kitchen without another word.