The Hollywood Waitress

Chapter 23 - Scott

                                                                         

Scott

New York.

Papa’s house was always a little shabby – even though he had decorated the walls sunshine yellow and added a few new bits of furniture, Mom swore it was jinxed and after they divorced a few years back she was more than happy to leave Valmont Cottage behind.

He did his best to turn the place into a replica of the cottage where he was raised back in Italy but despite a few similarities it didn’t make up for the strange feel of the place.

My parents did share some happy memories in the house but I always knew deep down Mom couldn’t wait to get away from it all.

I always thought it was me; I was the problem. And growing up I carried this heavy feeling around with me everywhere I went.

‘You’ll look after me when I’m older won’t you son?’ dad would ask after he’d stumble in from The Whisky Cross – I remember it vividly because I would have to wait up half the night to heat up his dinner as Mom would be too tired from looking after my baby sister and I all day long.

I didn’t mind though, just me and Pa, talking until the early hours of the morning; he’d tell me all about his childhood and once the alcohol had soaked up he’d pat me on the head ordering me to go to bed.

It wasn’t long after I had decided to buy the café from Mark that I got a call from Steph, my sister informing me that Dad had taken a turn for the worst. He had parkinsons and it was only a matter of time before it would corrupt his body and he would have to go into full time care.

I did all I could to stop that from happening, remembering the promise I had made to him as a young boy. ‘I’ll look after you Daddy. I promise.’

So not long after the deal with the café had gone through I booked one way flights to New York to be with him.

I refused to tell anyone, especially Jennifer. I didn’t want that Jason guy with his flashy ways and mediocre fame to look somewhat better than I did. Pa taught me to be proud. ‘Son, even if you only have a dollar in your pocket walk with your head up high. So high you get whiplash.’

So with a heavy heart I packed up my things, ignoring all communication with Jennifer; it was for the best. I mean how could I subject her to it all? It wasn’t exactly the glitz and glamour she so badly craved.

A promise of red carpet and fame was what she wanted; she made that very clear. Not some guy who looked after his dying father, pretending to be an entrepreneur. Yes, I bought the café and was looking around New York for a similar buy but I wasn’t a patch on Jason and she deserved so much more than what I had to give.

 As I made the final preparations for my father’s burial I remembered his last words – ‘Go get her son. And stop being a cop out all your life. Grow some balls will ya?’

This kind of advice was typical of Pa, and most people disliked that about him; they thought he lacked a certain amount of sensitivity, but for me it was packed with a punch I so desperately needed.