Chapter 38
grady
. . .
Cleo smiled over her cup of coffee. “Let me grab it, okay?”
“I’ll help!” Charlie exclaimed. She jumped off the couch and snatched Cleo’s hand, tugging her into the kitchen. All morning, my daughter had been staring longingly at the blue box on the table, sighing every five minutes as though it would speed up how fast we ate. So, naturally, I took my time.
If looks could kill, I would’ve been a goner.
I pushed to my feet, coffee in hand, as I wandered after them. Charlie was damn near vibrating with excitement as Cleo set the box in front of her. “Can I open it?” my daughter asked, not taking her eyes off the present.
Even I was intrigued. I had no idea what it was, but Cleo’s thoughtfulness never failed to amaze me.
“Not yet,” Cleo said. Her fingers tapped on the table, showing her nerves.
“I wanted to say I know you didn’t have the chance to meet your grandmother, but she was a truly amazing person.
She would’ve loved you.” Cleo glanced at me before continuing.
“Before she passed, she gifted this to me, but I think she would’ve wanted you to have it. ”
That caught my attention. While Dad had told me Cleo saw Mom right before she passed, he hadn’t said anything about a present. I hadn’t noticed anything missing, so I wasn’t sure what it could be.
Charlie nodded, glancing back at the present. “Can I open it?”
“Go ahead,” Cleo said. She was wringing her fingers in front of her as she watched Charlie tear into the wrapping paper.
“Daddy, can you help me open this?” Charlie asked. “I can’t do it.”
“Sure, sunshine.” Grabbing a knife from the holder, I walked over and
cut the taped edges. Charlie dug in the moment I stepped away, peeling away the flaps and standing on the seat to peer inside.
“What are these?” Charlie asked.
“They’re mixing bowls,” Cleo murmured, stepping forward to pull my mom’s vintage Pyrex set from the box. “They’ve been passed down through the generations of women in your family, and I wanted you to have them.”
I never paid much attention to family heirlooms because we didn’t have much.
Still, I’d heard her talk about those damn bowls more times than I could count, especially to Cleo.
It never occurred to me to check and see where they were.
I assumed Dad had hidden them somewhere like he did with most of Mom’s stuff.
But to know she’d given the set to Cleo before she passed?
I don’t know why it made me emotional. It was as if she were urging me to follow my heart, even from the grave.
She loved Cleo, knew that Cleo would honor and cherish this set and the memories they’d made with it.
And what did it say about Cleo that, regardless of whether we had gotten together or not, she would’ve given this to my daughter so it could stay in the family like Mom wanted? How did she not see she was family? Mom always considered her the daughter she never had, even after we had broken up.
“Can we use them today? When we make the cookies?” Charlie asked, lips curling into a wide grin.
“That’s what I was hoping for,” Cleo said. “And I think we’ll start by making her favorite cookies ever.”
“What’s that?”
Cleo and I shared a knowing smile. “Homemade chewy oatmeal chocolate chip,” we said at the same time.
Charlie scrunched up her nose. “Oatmeal?”
I laughed, coming up and lightly tugging on her unruly braid. “Don’t knock it till you try it, kid. These are my favorites.”
“Mine too,” Cleo agreed. “Your grandmother is the one to thank for that.”
Charlie perked up. “Maybe they’ll be my favorite too!”
“Well, you already love her regular ones, so I’m sure you’ll love these, too.”
As I watched the two of them talk about what they needed, all I could think about was how lucky I was for the women in my life and how grateful I was my mom kept Cleo in her life when I had cut her out.
“Oh my gosh, these are so good,” Charlie cried, moaning into a freshly baked cookie. We’d had to fight her off the moment they came out of the oven because she was already foaming at the mouth. “I love all of your other cookies, but these are my favorite.”
Cleo ducked her head, cheeks tinged with a bright flush. “I’m glad you loved them so much. You know, I think this is my best batch ever. It’s probably because you made a great sous chef.”
“A what?” Charlie asked, mouth stuffed full of a half-chewed dessert.
“Come on, sunshine. We don’t talk with food in our mouths.” In typical smartass fashion, my daughter grabbed the glass of milk and downed half of it in one go before mumbling a half-cocked, “Sorry.”
“It’s like second in command. I can’t take all the credit for making them because you helped, too,” Cleo explained.
I leaned back on the sofa, extending my arm along the back.
My fingers brushed Cleo’s shoulder, and I fought the urge to pull her close.
Other than a few very discreet hand-holds, we’d avoided any kind of physical affection in front of Charlie.
She wasn’t blind. I was sure she could see how different I acted toward Cleo than her mom, but it didn’t mean I was going to go around kissing and holding her as though Liv wasn’t in the picture.
“Did you have fun?” I asked, letting my finger skate along exposed skin.
I wasn’t a saint, though. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep my hands to myself in entirety, especially when she was so goddamn good with my daughter. It was surprisingly hot. I could at least let myself have this.
“I had so much fun, Daddy. I think I like baking.” Charlie turned toward Cleo. “Can we make other things, too?”
“We can make anything you want,” she murmured.
“What about a cake?”
“Oh yeah, I love making cakes.”
Charlie thought for a moment. “What about a really big cake?”
“Sure,” Cleo said, laughing. “We could make a really big cake.”
“Right now?”
“Nope, not right now,” I said, cutting in. “The last thing I need is you running around on a never-ending sugar high. Maybe for your birthday, though.”
“Wait, are we still going to be here for my birthday?” Charlie asked. I couldn’t tell if there was excitement or worry in her voice. Now, I was kicking myself for opening not only one can of worms, but two.
Cleo and I still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room.
Sure, it was easy enough to say she was mine and I was hers, but there were logistics we hadn’t discussed.
Where were we going to live? What about her job?
What about Liv? Even though I knew we needed to figure them out, I didn’t want to burst this bubble of happiness we had going on.
“When’s your birthday?” Cleo asked, stepping in. She was likely thinking the same things as I was. After all, conversations were the whole reason we hadn’t entirely given in to the sexual tension between us.
“February 22nd,” she said proudly. “I’ll be seven. Does that mean I can have seven layers?”
Cleo hesitated, glancing at me before answering. “You know, even if I’m not with you on your birthday, I can still make you a cake. Or I could send you a recipe you and your mom could make together.”
“But I wanna make it with you,” Charlie whined.
The room felt heavier than it had before, the playfulness of the day disappearing under the weight of uncertainty.
Why did I have to bring up Charlie’s birthday?
It just seemed like the natural thing to do.
In my mind, which was apparently a perfect alternate reality, there was no question whether Cleo would be with us or not.
It was just a fact. She and Charlie would bake this big ass monstrosity of a cake while I watched and ate my fill.
Liv would be there, sitting beside me, because the woman couldn’t cook to save her life.
It wasn’t conventional by any means, but it felt right.
“We’ll figure it out, sunshine,” I murmured, saying it more to reassure myself than her.
Charlie shrugged, satisfied with my answer, and went back to munching on her cookie while Cleo stared at me. I was too much of a coward to see if she was pissed at my answer or if, maybe, she liked the idea of figuring it out.
I hoped it was the latter.