Chasing Butterflies Chapter 45: Stepping Outside (Patreon)

Olivia stood in the center of her room, the late morning light streaming through half-lidded blinds. Her flute's pure tones filled the small space as she played through the second movement of the band's marching show. A lilting, mysterious melody drifted upward, the birds outside raising their voices as though to sing along. All the while, an audience of plastic model figurines listened attentively from the shelves above.

After a final sustain, she took a deep breath and set the instrument down on the desk. The red and ivory homecoming dress lay across the back of the chair, too delicate to go through the wash yet not quite belonging in her closet with the other clean garments. Maybe she'd be able to get it dry cleaned? That was probably her best chance to keep the pearlescent spheres dotting its surface intact. Then again, was it really even worth it if she may never wear the garment again? As beautiful as it was, wearing the same dress to multiple dances was practically taboo, and it was far too nice to don for any regular day...

Her thoughts meandered back to the previous night's events. I had fun. Trisha had fun. But still... was it really right for me to enable her like that? The responsible thing would've been to keep her away from the party altogether. The less hypocritical thing. Assuming I even could have done that, of course. And that it wouldn't ruin the timeline even more than I already have, especially considering the Wyatt thing...

Olivia winced. It was just the sugary soda talking, she told herself. Between the dance itself and the party afterwards, she'd ended up consuming far more of the stuff than she would have liked, although all the socializing had managed to cover the effects until now. The resulting brain fog of negativity still had her reeling, making her wonder if being hungover would've been a better fate.

No. Absolutely not. And not just because that would've made me a liar to my dad.

She sighed. That doctor’s appointment was coming up this week. She didn’t think it would give her any solutions, but it might give some answers. If she was lucky. For now, though, she just had to try and get a handle on herself. At least until she felt a bit better.

Olivia picked up her flute again and resumed practicing. The melody drifted forth once more as she started from the beginning. She wrapped herself in a cocoon of sound, letting it drown out the nagging doubts that tried to shout her down. It was almost meditative in that way.

Yet here, too, she found herself struggling a bit. Not with the actual notes—this movement was slow and ponderous, a complete contrast from the frenetic pace of the first. From a technical standpoint, it was easy enough that even her fellow freshmen already had a pretty good grasp on it.

No, she could play the song perfectly well. But making it as musical as she wanted? That was an entirely different matter.

She winced at a slight hiccup as she jumped in pitch. Rather than stopping, she pushed through. It didn’t really matter. This section right here was actually a solo, something that most of them wouldn’t even be playing. Auditions were still a week away, but they were practically a formality. Everyone knew that Naomi would get the part.

Not that Olivia intended to even try out for the role. She just liked how it sounded. Even if there was no point to actually playing it.

...That's the sugar talking again.

She forced down the encroaching nihilism with another repetition. It wasn't about the judges or the performance or anything like that. It was about making music. Right now, that was all she wanted.

Her fingers danced across the instrument once more. She focused on the music, trying not to think about the almost accusatory stares of the figurines above. There were more unopened boxes of the things in the closet, she knew. Ones that the old her would have probably been putting together on a day like this. But she hadn't touched them once. Instead, she'd been spending her free time with her dad, browsing the internet for period-relevant information, or playing flute.

It shouldn't have felt like such a big deal, and it hadn't before. But now she couldn't help but see all of the different ways she continued to diverge like this. All the ways she'd gone astray without even meaning it. Maybe it was because she'd consciously made that decision now.

Olivia was taking another small break when a knock interrupted her. She set her flute down and looked over. "Come in."

The latch clicked as her dad peeked his head in. His tanned brow shone with sweat that adhered little flecks of dirt to it like manifold freckles. He smiled tiredly, the bags under his eyes standing out even more clearly in this light.

"Hey, sweetie." He wiped at his forehead, smudging dirt across it.

"Hey, dad. What's up?"

"Not much. Just checking in. I'm surprised to see you up this early."

Her eyebrows rose. "Me? I slept in. I'm more surprised that you didn't."

True to his word, her dad had stayed up until she got home. And true to hers, she'd made it back without any incidents or missing a single check-in. He hadn't even complained about the hour, just staying up long enough to ask if she had fun and make sure she made it to bed. And yet he'd still been awake before her, already hard at work in the yard by the time she rolled out of bed to scrounge up some breakfast.

He shrugged. "Old habits die hard. I couldn't get back to sleep, so figured I'd make the most of it."

Olivia smiled. While she didn't doubt his statement, it was also a testament to his work ethic. She'd never known her dad to slack off much when there was work to be done.

"...Thanks again, dad. For letting me go.”

“Of course, sweetie. Thank you for checking in and getting home safe.”

“It’s the least I could do. Though even with that, I’m honestly still surprised that you let me go," she admitted. It was something she'd been meaning to ask about last night, but simply hadn't gotten the chance. They'd both been too tired. Now, though? She studied his expression carefully.

He just shrugged again, seeming all too relaxed. "Honestly? The fact that you told me at all is more than I can ask for. And like I said, I trust you. Especially after you were so honest with me."

"That doesn't mean you had to let me go," she pointed out. "You're my dad. You can just say no."

Her dad snorted. "Yeah. I'm sure that might work, once. And what about next time? It's only a matter of time before you decide to ask for forgiveness instead of permission. At least if I say yes, you might keep me in the know about this stuff."

At her unconvinced expression, he sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "Olivia... You're a responsible young lady. As much as I worry about you, you've proven that you've got a good head on your shoulders. You're growing up, and as much as I want to watch over you every step of the way... it's also my responsibility to step back and let you figure things out yourself. Everyone needs to spread their wings at some point. For you, it seems like that point is high school.

"It's not easy, lemme tell you," he let out a dry chuckle. "You're growing up faster than I ever thought possible. It feels like I hardly blinked, and now… Now, you’re so independent all of a sudden. I want to tell you to slow down, of course. But that's just the dad in me talking. I know it's gonna happen sometime. At least this way, you can still know to count on me if you ever do find yourself in a spot of trouble. As mature as you’re getting, I want you to know that you always can—and should—ask me for help if you need it."

Olivia swallowed thickly. He didn’t know how right he was. Still, even without knowing her rather unique situation, the amount of faith her dad had in her was nothing short of touching.

Has he always trusted me this much? Or is it just another thing that's changed?

Maybe. She'd never been one for pushing boundaries or taking unnecessary risks. At least, not at this point. Or maybe her actions this time around had let too much of her maturity bleed through too quickly. Either way, she found herself fighting back tears.

"Thanks, dad."

He smiled. Olivia thought that might be the end of it, but he hesitated in the doorway before speaking up again. "Actually... one more thing. You want to practice downstairs today?"

She blinked in surprise. "Downstairs? Why?"

He seemed to think for a moment. "Well... I love hearing you play, but I can't hear you when I'm in the garden. That's all."

It caught her a bit off guard. He’d never asked her to play for him. Sure, her dad had attended every concert, every competition, every event that had even the slightest amount of her playing her instrument. And he'd always said he liked hearing her play, of course. But that was what a parent was supposed to do. It was the kind of thing that always had her uncertain about whether or not he was being entirely honest.

Combined with her crippling self-doubt, she'd always remained rather self-conscious about her playing. Hence why she retreated to the privacy of her room. No one else hearing had been the entire point.

But that was back then. Now...

I get it now. It's the same reason why Jason and I covered the fridge with so many scribbled crayon drawings. It's about seeing me grow, seeing how far I've come from barely being able to make a sound back in middle school.

It made sense why he’d never asked her to play last time around. He knew exactly how much confidence she lacked. He probably knew that such a request would’ve just sent her into an embarrassed panic. But things were different now. She was different now.

She thought it over for a second, then nodded. "Sure. I don't mind."

Now it was her dad's turn to look surprised. "Really?"

"Why not?" She shrugged and gave a slight grin. It's the least I can do after you put up with my burst of teenage rebellion last night."

He chuckled. "If that's the extent of your rebellion, then I'll count myself lucky. I did way worse at your age, and that was without telling my parents. "

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like blowing up homemade pipe bombs in the field behind the school with your uncle Howie." He tapped a thin scar on his bicep. Olivia's eyes widened.

"Wait—that's how you got that?!"

"The official story is that I tripped while running and got a nasty gash from a piece of metal," he explained with a shrug. "Which is mostly true. I may have left out that we were running away after lighting said bomb, and the metal was hurtling through the air at high speeds."

She stared at her dad for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "That's... Did you seriously do that? You're lucky you're not dead!"

"I am. But I'm even luckier that you didn't inherit my more suicidal tendencies." He grinned. "So going off to a party is small potatoes."

Olivia shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you never told me that story."

Not even in my old life.

"Well. It wasn't my proudest moment, as you might imagine." He chuckled.

"No, really?" Olivia deadpanned. She rose from her seat, picking up the flute. "Well, I guess we should get down there. I would offer to play outside while you garden, but I don't know if the neighbors would appreciate that."

She grinned, expecting her dad to laugh. But he tilted his head instead, weighing the suggestion with far more seriousness than expected. "I honestly think they might. The Donners love music. Maybe Mrs. Cranston would mind, but she's usually out of town this time of year."

Olivia's eyebrows rose. "You're serious."

His broad shoulders rose and fell. "Well, obviously, you don't have to. But if you're serious... You're used to playing outside, right?"

She almost refused on instinct, then hesitated. It's what her old self would have done. But so many things had changed. So many. It was becoming more and more clear that trying to contort into the shell of her old self would only end in pain. Continuing to force herself, especially when she was already so deep into uncharted waters... Was she just being an idiot? Was she clinging to a future that was already dead?

What if you're just being selfish?

"...I think I could use some fresh air," she agreed. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts. Maybe a bit of fresh air and sunlight might help to beat back this dark mood she found herself in.

Her dad beamed. "Great, sweetie. Want me to pull out a chair for you?"

She waved a dismissive hand. "No, thanks. If I'm already going to be outside, I might as well use the opportunity to practice some marching, too."

She grabbed her flute and stood, taking one last look at her room and the forgotten figurines within. Then, she headed down the stairs with her father.