35. What About Pets and Plants?
35
WHAT ABOUT PETS AND PLANTS?
CHARLES
My hurried steps grind to a halt as I spot Ray on his living room carpet with his sleeves rolled up and a scrunchie dangling from his teeth. Quill is nestled between his outstretched legs and the father-daughter duo is engrossed in a braiding tutorial on Ray’s laptop.
They don’t even look up at my arrival until I call Quill.
Ray’s hands still as he’s grabbing Quill’s wild golden locks, and for a second, I forget my worries and snap a picture of the scene.
“Very mature.” Ray lets the baby-blue scrunchie fall to the ground and then smirks. “What took you so long?”
My irritation is cut short when his daughter crawls from her father’s lap onto mine.
“Hello, Uncle Charlie. I met your wife today. She’s so pretty, like a princess.” She signs with her small fingers, making only a few mistakes. She’s still learning sign language, and I know Rowan will make sure she’s well versed in no time.
I can’t believe the coincidence.
Selective mutism is such a rare condition, and yet we have two people in the family struggling with it.
“I think so too, Quillbug.”
Quill falls into laughter when I tickle her belly.
“Time for a bedtime story, Miss Quill.” William, who prefers to still be called a butler at an age approaching ninety, appears from inside the house.
“Grandpa Will. How are you doing?” I rise up to give the old man a hug.
“I’m doing very well, Master Charles. How are you and your lovely wife?”
“Oh, let me first check with Ray, since he kidnapped her.” I throw my brother an irritated look, which only makes his grin wider.
“You boys will never change. Come on, Miss Quill, let’s see if the princess in your book is still asleep.”
Once it’s just us in the room, I turn to my cousin, who’s now by the bar.
“Where the fuck is Daisy, Ray?”
I felt her absence in my house the moment I stepped inside this evening. A minute later, my heart catapulted out of my body when Mrs. Kowalski confirmed that Daisy came in with Ray, packed a bag, and left.
“She asked me to drop her at her friend’s place.”
I never imagined this sight—Ray pouring Diet Coke over ice in two glasses and then pushing one toward me.
I throw it back as if it’s a whiskey neat and miss the sting. “And you didn’t bother asking me?”
“She’s your wife, not your property. If you think otherwise, feel free to take your male chauvinistic ass out of my house and return when you’re back to your senses.”
If there’s one thing that calls out the deep-buried, forgotten humanitarian in Raymond Teager, it’s even the slightest implication of a woman being undervalued.
“Don’t you fucking know me? You think I treat her like my property?”
We stare at each other for a while like two dogs forced to fight, until he shakes his head.
“She looked upset and I realized things might not be going as smoothly as stated in the contract. Or am I mistaken?”
I can’t believe this asshole, who knows I hate that word contract and yet continues to use it, is the same man who moments ago was learning how to braid his daughter’s hair.
“She wants a divorce.”
I’d have appreciated if there was a glint of surprise on his face, but he’s definitely not here to please me tonight.
“And you don’t?” he finally asks, after taking a satisfying sip of his Diet Coke. “You got what you wanted, and I’m guessing you’ve ensured her father’s care is covered even after you split. Isn’t this a win-win since you never wanted to get married in the first place?”
My grip tightens around the glass. “I like having her around.” The confession slips out of my mouth, and I hate it. Not the admission, but the fact that I’m still lying.
Like .
Such a weak word for what I feel for Daisy.
“Are you telling me you’ve fallen for your fake wife, Charlie?” Ray chuckles, but when I don’t join him in his stupid laugh or flick his head like I want to, he sobers fast.
“Holy shit! I had too much faith in you, brother. Do you know you just cost me a Ferrari?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means I owe Rowan a Ferrari. On your wedding day, I said this sacred union wouldn’t last for more than six months, but he was convinced you would fall in love with your bride and end up in a Disney happily ever after. I’m so disappointed, Charles! I thought I knew you the best among us all.”
“That’s such an asshole thing to do! Do you think I feel better hearing about it?”
“And you think I care how you feel? I just lost a quarter of a million dollars. Anyway, you’re wasting your time here, especially now that I know how you feel about her.”
Ray takes my empty glass from my hand and gets up, silently asking me to do the same.
“Daisy is at her friend’s place. The obnoxious one with red hair. Willow—that’s her name, right? I think you better go run and talk to your wife, especially if you plan to woo her back into your life.” That bastard grins before grabbing a rose stem from the vase on the bar and securing it in my suit pocket, even tapping on it.
I wish with every fiber of my being that someday soon he’s in a similar situation and I’m the one telling him to go run and woo a girl.
I’ll see your smile that day, Ray.
As Steve drives me from Ray’s to Willow’s place, I let my mind run wild.
She left.
She fucking left.
Why am I surprised?
She told me this morning she wanted a divorce as early as possible.
What I hadn’t realized was that it would be so cathartic. As the car takes me closer to her, the burning ache starts to slowly morph into resolution.
When have you ever given up so easily, Charles?
All your life you’ve been trained to turn things around in your favor.
I can’t give up until she’s back where she belongs.
In my home. In my heart.
“Charles.” Willow opens the door.
There’s no surprise on her face, as if she was expecting me all along. Instead of inviting me in, she grabs her coat from the coat hanger and steps out, forcing me to retreat.
“Daisy will be right back. You can take a seat on the couch.” She motions her head to the side but doesn’t make a move to let me pass.
I’m about to walk around her and finally cross the wooden door that’s keeping me away from my wife, when Willow grabs my arm.
“Don’t break my friend’s heart, Charles. You might be the prince of Cherrywood, but she’s a very important person in my life. I’ll come after you with everything I’ve got.”
I raise an eyebrow, looking between her and where she’s holding me. I’ve ruined people for much less. And if our interests weren’t so aligned in this moment, I might have shown her what it means to threaten Charles Hawthorne.
“Believe me, that’s not why I’m here.” I pluck her fingers off my suit one at a time and step around her, walking inside.
My gaze scans the empty room, landing on Daisy’s still-unpacked duffel bag in the corner.
Good. We can leave as soon as I share what I need to say.
I hear the water running in the bathroom, and a second later, she stands at the doorway.
“Charles! What—what are you doing here?” Daisy’s shock is apparent in those wide eyes.
You can fucking do this, Hawthorne.
“There’s something I have to say.” The air suddenly thins, making it harder to breathe, as if a weight is pressed against my chest. “Hear me out before you make a decision, Daisy.”
“Charles, don’t do this. Please.” Her eyes fall shut as her fingers tightly clutch the sides of her skirt.
How can she look so haggard within just a few hours?
Ignoring her plea, I approach.
“My room, my home—it doesn’t feel the same without you, my dear wife. Come home. I want you there.”
A gasp escapes her lips as my fingers trace a gentle path from her forehead down to her cheeks.
“But you and I—”
I place a finger over her lips, halting her words.
“How about we compromise? Work with me, Daisy. Please.” I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers. I feel her shaky breath on my skin, tickling my five o’clock shadow. “Help me find a middle ground.”
She removes my finger from her mouth and takes a step back. I immediately miss the contact.
“How can we compromise on something like this, Charles? This isn’t a business deal you can negotiate.”
“I know that.” I run a hand over my hair. “I wouldn’t be feeling so scared if it were a business deal. I know how to handle those. But this”—I wave my hand at the space between us—“this is so new and damn difficult. Despite that, I know I don’t want to live without you.” My voice softens. “I want us to be together, Daisy. I’m happiest with you. And looking at you right now, I think you’re happiest with me too.” My fists clench tight. “Correct me if I’m just being delusional and selfish. Am I not enough?”
Her jaw drops at my outburst.
You’ve never sounded more pathetic in your life, Hawthorne.
But then she takes a step forward. Hope surges like a helium balloon in my chest when Daisy places her hand over my cheek.
“The time I’ve spent with you in your home has been the best part of my life. I know I’ll never experience such happiness again.”
“Daisy—”
This time, she puts a hand over my mouth.
“You are enough. You’re so damn more than enough, Charles. You are a dream husband, exactly like a prince. But unfortunately, I’m not a Cinderella. I’m a normal girl who wants a simple life.”
“Then come back home with me. We’ll make our own simple life with everything you want.”
“Not everything,” she whispers, deflating my excitement.
“Everything except that. I promise you won’t regret this, Daisy. You’ll miss nothing in life. I’ll make sure of it. We can have a pet.” My mind runs wild with the possibilities, all with the single aim of getting her home. I’ve been trained to think on my toes, and even though I denied it before, this feels like the biggest deal of my life. “A dog, maybe two. Even a few cats, and some cool plants.”
Yes, pets and plants, I can tolerate.
I wait for her to join my excitement and say yes to all that, but instead it’s like she’s waiting for me to join her on the other side, the non-excitement zone.
Everything with this girl has been a challenge. Why did I think today would be different?
“I love you, dammit.”
Instead of being shell-shocked or surprised, she once again closes her eyes. She didn’t avoid looking at me this much even on the days I was my grumpiest self at the office.
“You heard me say I love you? I don’t expect you to say it back, but some acknowledgment would be good, Daisy.” My words are flat, devoid of the nervousness that’s building up every second inside me.
Tears spill from her eyes, cracking a piece of my heart in their wake.
Fuck it.
“Say yes, Daisy, and we’ll figure out the rest.” I grab her shoulders and pull her closer, trying to knock some sense into her. The life I’m showing her isn’t bad; some might even say it’s fabulous. But she’s too blinded by some childhood fantasy of having her own family.
Blood relations mean shit. Doesn’t she know that?
“I can’t.” Her lip wobbles.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I’m pregnant!”
It takes a second for me to register the meaning behind her words.
P-pregnant…
She’s…pregnant!
My hands drop from her shoulders, and my thoughts spiral into a chaotic whirlwind. I take a shaky step back.
Daisy’s lips move, but I fail to register the meaning, even if I hear them alright.
“I—I’m sorry. I just found out, but you don’t have to worry about it. I’m going to leave Cherrywood. I know how you feel about this.”
Her arms wrap around her stomach protectively, tightening the grip of the invisible cold hand around my chest.
“I hope there are no hard feelings, Charles. I’m already looking for jobs outside the state. If you prefer, the baby won’t even have your name. You don’t have to be involved in anything.”
She continues to say many things, but I can’t make any fucking sense of them.
She’s pregnant with my kid. There’s a tiny heartbeat inside her right now that is a part of me, and in nine months, it will turn into a person.
My child.
My hands tremble at my sides as I turn around and leave.
Dave drives the car through the gates of Hawthorne mansion. I’ve spent the majority of my childhood in this place. A vast compound, huge gardens that the whole town can’t stop raving about, the koi pond, evergreen water lilies that sleep in winter.
Everything is familiar and should give me peace. Yet every time I’m here, anxiety creeps into my chest, reminding me of my pathetic childhood self, the one who was so fucking needy. I cringe at the memory of that boy who craved the attention and affection of his mother.
When I step out of the car, there are two night guards stationed at the main entrance. Responding to their greeting with a nod, I walk inside.
“Mr. Hawthorne, everyone just retired to bed. Shall I wake up—”
I interrupt the housekeeper with a shake of my head. “No. I’ll just be in my room for a second and be gone in the next. Please don’t worry. You can go back to sleep.”
Even though she nods and steps back, I know she’ll be waiting in the kitchen until I’m gone, in case I do need something. That’s the night service protocol at the Hawthorne mansion. We’re not called “Cherrywood royalty” without reason.
My feet shake like a toddler who just learned to walk as I step inside my childhood room. Everything is exactly as it was when I left for college.
On one wall are pictures of Chloe and me over the years, starting from the day she was born, the happiest day of my life, until she and I packed my stuff the night before my departure.
They also include the major milestones of our lives.
Her first step. Her first birthday. Her first day of school as she held my hand.
The smile that tugs on my lips while remembering my sister slips the moment my gaze falls on the closet.
I dig out the metal box with a tiny golden lock buried in the back. I told my family it was a time capsule and nobody touched it. My hands shake as I take out the tiny key from my wallet.
Don’t do it, Charles!
A part of my brain screams at me to leave the room and finally burn this box. I don’t know why I even have it in the first place. Unlike Chloe’s pictures, this isn’t something I want to revisit.
At what point in my childhood did I become so damn sadistic?
This is nothing but self-torture.
But there’s a second voice I’ve spent the majority of my life ignoring, and today it has finally found a microphone.
I stored this box and its contents for a day like today.
There’s a reason I don’t want to have a family, and that reason is in this box.
But Daisy is pregnant.
I don’t allow any other sentiment to replace the fear that’s harboring in my chest right now and flip the latch open.
Colorful envelopes are carefully stacked one over the other.
Some plain, some with hand-drawn flowers, and some with stickers of whatever was my favorite that month.
I tried everything in hopes that someday one of them wouldn’t be returned unopened.
That never happened.
I pick up the first letter from the heap and my hands shake as I tear the corner of the envelope, which was sealed when I was only five and hasn’t been opened since. The address was written by my nanny at that time. I had asked the middle-aged woman to pinky swear she wouldn’t tell my dad that I was writing letters to my mother.
But I don’t believe now that she would have kept that promise. I’m sure my dad knew exactly how I was spending every moment when he wasn’t around. He sacrificed his own happiness to give me the best life, despite the fact that the woman who gave birth to me dumped me on his doorstep without a second glance.
I open the pages and look at my block handwriting. The letters are all twisted, and I’ve butchered several of them. My Ds look more like Os, and my Ts like Js.
Dear Mom,
I miss you.
Will you come to see me on the 12 th of May? My school is celebrating Mother’s Day. Usually it’s Grandma Irene or Aunt Clem or Aunt Florence who come. But I’d really love if you are there someday.
Your loving son,
Charlie.
The next one must have been written when I was eight, because I was into superheroes at that time. I put colorful stickers of men in tight suits all over the margin of the paper.
Dear Mom,
I miss you.
Today is my birthday. I’m sure you remember. If you are not too busy, can you come to see me?
Aunt Clem is throwing a big party.
Dad asked me what I wanted, and I told him I wanted a mom.
Will you please come home, Mom? You can also send me your picture until then. I want to show it to my friends. I’m sure you are very very pretty.
Waiting to meet you someday.
Your loving son,
Charlie.
It’s not just the words, but also the memories of those moments when I wrote them. There’s evidence of my tears on these pages, along with my anger when I pressed the pencil too hard as I begged my mother to come home and love me.
And as much as I hate that I’m her offspring, how can I be trusted to provide affection to a little one when my blood is the same as the woman who has given the words “absent parent” a new meaning?
So what are you going to do now?
There’s already a kid in line, and I can’t send it back.
My pulse pounds as I imagine a kid with my blond hair and blue eyes writing such letters.
No. Fucking no.
I’ll do what I do the best. I’ll provide for Daisy and our kid, everything they need. She won’t have to work a second and all her time, all her attention will be for our kid. She can attend all the soccer matches, school plays and picnics. They both will want for nothing.
I’ll make sure this child has the affection of a mother throughout his childhood unlike me.
Determination fills my lungs, and I dial my lawyer.
“Charles.” Troy’s voice is raspy from sleep. “Everything alright?”
“I want you to do something for me.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, this is urgent.”
“Okay. Give me a sec,” he whispers before I hear the rustling of sheets and then his heavy footsteps. “Okay, I’m in my office now. Tell me what you need.”
“I want you to make a deed. Effective immediately, Daisy will have one hundred percent ownership of my current and future wealth.”
“Wh-what? Did you have too much to drink tonight?”
“I’m fully conscious. Do what you are asked,” I snap back, which is met by a pause, and then I hear a loud sigh from Troy’s side.
“You’re not making sense, Charles. As your lawyer, it’s my duty to tell you that this is insane. When you got married, you were adamant about not having a prenup. What is this now? Some sort of anti-prenup. Are you and Daisy getting a divorce?”
“I don’t pay you to ask questions. I pay you to do what I tell you to do. Have the papers ready by the morning. I’m sending you an address via text. Make sure they go out by first post.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Charles.”
I can’t even be upset with the man. He’s just looking out for me.
“Just do what I ask, Troy.”
I end the call and close the metal box, but the ghost of horrid memories is already out. Instead of shoving it back into the closet, I grab my coat from the bed and leave the room, holding the self-fulfilling prophecy as to why I’m not suited to be anyone’s parent.