Author's Note: Here we go! We get a little look into Ainsley's family life here, but we'll be seeing our favorite ADA again in the next few chapters :) Enjoy!
The moment her father's face appeared on her laptop screen, Ainsley felt her whole body relax in a way that it hadn't since Jocelyn was attacked. His smile was enough to ignite her own as she ran a hand through her damp hair and gave a wave.
"Hey sweetie!"
Ainsley chuckled at how excited her dad was to hear from her and replied with her own hello as she tugged on the long sleeves of her flannel pajamas. She could see her dad eye them with a smirk. They were covered in crabs and stated angrily I'm not crabby, you're crabby. They had been a gag gift two Christmases ago.
"Hey Daddy." She turned her head slightly to check on her bedroom door. Seeing it was still closed tight, Ainsley assumed Joc was still napping. She wasn't too concerned about her temporary roommate waking up; Joc was understandably exhausted.
"You look beautiful, querida. Are you well?" Ainsley's grinned grew at the often-used endearment and she nodded.
"You know me," she stated softly. "Surviving." Ainsley watched as her dad's smile faltered. It was always strange to see him without the typical happy-go-lucky grin plastered on his face. Ainsley swallowed and bit her lip. She hadn't been calling to upset him, only to check in. Seeing all of those families earlier at the park had really pushed her father's face to the forefront of her mind.
Ever since her mother had died nine years previous, Marco had stepped into the role of a single father (a stepfather technically) with amazing grace and dedication. Ainsley knew she was lucky to have him in her life. It was moments like this, however, that made her wish he wasn't so damn observant and aware of every one of her emotional tells.
After what felt like an eternity of being appraised, Ainsley released a sigh and rolled her eyes. "What Dad?"
"I don't know you tell me."
Ainsley clenched her teeth while hesitating. She could hear his accent thickening by the word as it always did when he was upset or stressed. If he could sense her own state of mind, of course his would begin to reflect it.
"I don't know what you mean," she replied. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel like he needed to fly to New York for her.
"Ainsley May, what's going on? This video picture is shit, so you can't see it, but please know my hair is greying as I wait for you to come clean."
Feeling her eyes begin to prickle at the edges, Ainsley took a deep, steadying breath and looked away. "I'm fine Daddy, honest…" God she really hated how infantile she sounded. Her father brought that out in her. Jesus, even before her mother married Marco when Ainsley was seven, she was calling him daddy. He loved it though, so it stuck (though only on occasions when Ainsley was particularly upset. Obviously, this constituted as one such occasion.
"Algo esta mal..." he stated, his brow furrowed in concern.
Ainsley only shook her head. She knew it was useless. Already the prickling in her eyes was turning to tears that had started trickling down her cheeks.
"Habla conmigo…talk to me Sweetie."
Ainsley gripped a chunk of her thick hair in one hand, pulled her head down and took another breath. "It's not me, I swear…it's just. You remember Jocelyn Paley?"
"Jocelyn? From when you were kids…blonde hair and had that weird ass horse backpack?" Ainsley snorted; she had completely forgotten about that obsession.
"Ahi ella esta! My girl." He grinned at the flicker of humor in Ainsley's eyes and then pushed forward. "What about her, querida?"
"She's here in New York. It was for a book signing."
"She wrote a book? Good for her; what's the problem? Es mierda? It's shit, isn't it and you don't know what to tell her?"
Ainsley shook her head at the assumption. "Dad have you heard of "Twenty-Five Acts?"
Marco rolled his eyes and groaned. "She didn't…"
She shrugged. "But she did…wait have you read it?"
"Ellen showed me a couple passages in the staffroom…fuck." He ran a hand through his own thick head of hair. Ainsley caught a glimpse of some of the grey he had mentioned earlier and released a small smile. She had never realized her own habit of messing with her hair under stress must have come from him. It was oddly comforting.
Her dad was still muttering under his breath in Spanish as Ainsley pushed forward. "Dad, she was attacked." She nearly though the screen had frozen for how still he became, but then he was looking her straight in the eyes and Ainsley felt herself choking up once more.
"She was attacked," she repeated. "Daddy, someone raped Jocelyn."
It was the first time, Ainsley had actually said the words aloud. It made the whole thing so much more real. There was no going back for anyone. Joc was always going to be that one author who got raped. Ainsley was always going to be the friend of the author who got raped…the friend who maybe could have stopped it. Suddenly tears were flowing as the guilt hit her and hit her hard. She could have stopped it.
"Ainsley May…baby, look at me." Hardly anyone used her full name. She guessed most people though May was her middle name. But whenever someone did use it, usually it was her father, Ainsley took notice.
"How is she?" He was very still, clearly trying to keep calm in order to keep his daughter from the edge of complete hysteria.
"Shit I don't even know," Ainsley sobbed, one hand over her mouth. That last thing she wanted was for Joc to come out of the bedroom to Ainsley gabbing to her dad.
"Liv thinks she's in shock I guess. I just – God, I don't know what to do. I'm supposed to speak to her lawyer tomorrow, because I was the first one she came to and called the police. I don't want to talk to him. I don't like lawyers, you know I don't like them. He's going to ask me a bunch of stupid questions that aren't his business and what if I have to take the stand? I'll have to sit there in front of everyone all over again and oh my God. Daddy, my name will be in the paper, so what if Peter finds me again? I don't want to move, but he'll make me. I know it.
"And it's all my fault! I should have asked her to stay with me, but I let her go. Jesus, I told her to have fun and look what he did. I let her go and he hurt her…how can she even stand to look at me?"
Ainsley paused and then turned to look at her father. She could see the anguish in his gaze, clearly, he was hurting for her. "It's my fault…" she repeated softly.
Ainsley gazed down at her slender hands in disgust as if the guilt was something tangible she could simply wash away. She refused to look at her father, convinced he would feel the same shame for her inaction as she did – blame her for what happened to one of her oldest friends.
"Mi amor." Ainsley shook her head at the sound of her father's soft voice. Normally his deep timbre was the most comforting sound in the world. Now it just made her sick with her own failures.
She heard him sigh. "Mirame…"
Obediently, Ainsley looked up from her hands.
"Listen to me and believe me when I tell you this. Do you understand?"
Ainsley nodded, but her father shook his head.
"I'm asking if you understand me?"
She looked away and out her window. The sun was setting. She loved how the sun reflected off of the buildings and turned the light within her apartment a very subtle golden color. It made everything seem a bit more peaceful.
She turned back toward her father and nodded again. "Yeah, I understand you."
Her father nodded firmly and took a breath. "To start…this is absolutely, unconditionally, and 100% not your fault. Now pay attention as I tell you why…"
