Love, Dad | ONC 2024 ✔️

11 | GROWING UP HURTS

Dave and I park the blue Pontiac at South Western Avenue and continue on foot. The more we walk together, hand in hand, the more I realize how very different L.A. is from New York.

New York is this huge, dense metropolis.

L.A. seems more like a bunch of small towns all running into each other.

New York may be the city that never sleeps.

But Los Angeles is an endless sea of wave upon wave upon wave of suburbs.

"We're here, milady," Dave jokes, as we stand before the imposing building that houses the Los Angeles Daily Chronicle, my dad's paper.

"Wow, it's huge," I blurt out, staring at the hulking ton-of-brick behemoth. Its facade is weathered and worn, etched with the grime of countless deadlines met and stories chased.

Narrow windows peer down at us like suspicious, watchful eyes.

"Sure you want me to go up with you?" Dave throws me a questioning look.

Duh.

The truth is, I'm a nervous wreck. Seeing my dad after over half a year brings up a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Will he get angry that I came?

But I got this far. There's no turning back now.

A fierce determination settles in my stomach. "Absolutely. Please stay, Dave." I say firmer than I feel. "I mean, it's only natural. You've been with me every step of the way. I want you to be there and meet my Dad."

"Okay." He nods simply, bathing me in one of those warm smiles I've grown to adore so much. "Let's do this."

We push open the heavy glass doors, a wave of cool air washing over us in a welcome contrast to the late afternoon heat. The echoing clatter of typewriters and the low murmur of voices filter down from somewhere above, and my heart is now fireworks, exploding with joy. Any second now, I'm going to see Dad.

A woman approaches us. She's wearing a dark gray suit, with a perfectly coiffed blonde bob and a name tag that reads Agnes. "Good afternoon. Can I help you?" Her voice drips with practiced politeness.

"Hi." I force a smile. "Um, I'm here.... I mean, we're here to see Patrick Lewis? Please?"

Agnes raises a brow. "Just a moment." She clacks across the foyer in her stilettos, reaching the receptionist desk. "Let's see... A-ha!" she mutters to herself, tapping away at her computer keyboard. After a brief pause, she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that Mr. Patrick Lewis is currently on leave."

"Oh," I stammer, my carefully rehearsed plan dissolving before my eyes.

Dad didn't mention anything about that in his letters.

Dave steps forward, his voice calm and steady. "We came here all the way from the East Coast. Is there any way we can leave a message?"

Agnes hesitates, then sighs. "Well, usually..." She trails off, then leans closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell you what, honey. Are you family?"

I glance at Dave, who gives me an encouraging nod. "Yes, I'm his daughter. April Lewis. I'm visiting from New York."

Agnes' eyes widen in surprise. For a moment, she looks flustered, then reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small piece of paper. "Alright then." She scribbles something down. "Here's his home address in the suburbs. You could look for him there."

I snatch the note from her manicured fingers. "Thank you so much!" I say over my shoulder, already halfway out the door.

As we race back to the car, Dave bumps my shoulder playfully. "See? It all worked out just fine. Good thing I stuck around, too. Your designated driver and all that."