37. What I Can Give You
37
WHAT I CAN GIVE YOU
CHARLES
“Mr. Hawthorne, Mrs. Hawthorne is here to see you,” my temp assistant, whose name I still have yet to remember, says through the intercom.
“My grandmother?”
“No, sir. Your wife.”
My head snaps up to the mirrored wall and there she is. My wife, dressed in a casual dress and a red overcoat.
Shit!
I give my desk a once-over. What used to be so spotless one could eat off it, is now a total mess. But I’m not going to keep Daisy waiting by tidying it up now.
“Send her in.” My stomach rolls as I wait, and it doesn’t take long before there’s a knock on the door and she steps inside.
Memories of last night, which I’d ignored until now, surround me like a shroud at the sight of her. My office walls dissolve away, leaving only her and me in our bedroom, as she whispers, “I love you, Charles,” and kisses me.
I’ve replayed this scene so many times in my head since this morning. I have no clue if it was real or a remnant of some drunken dream. And what would I give to confirm it?
“How are you feeling?” she whispers, still several feet away from where I’m standing behind my desk.
“Like my head is going to explode any minute now,” I reply honestly. “Thanks for leaving the meds out. About last night—”
“I have to return something to you,” Daisy interrupts me midsentence, stepping farther in and placing a shopping bag on the table.
Surprise flashes on her face as she looks at my desk. But the girl who used to make fun of me and lived for opportunities to call me a neat freak doesn’t comment, and instead takes out a manila-colored envelope.
“I missed it last week.” She slides the papers right in front of me.
Ownership papers.
“I don’t need your money, Charles.” Our eyes meet and she looks as tired as I feel.
Shouldn’t she be the happiest these days?
I look away, unable to look at her and say the words at the same time. “I can’t give you anything else, Daisy.”
As if I needed any proof to confirm I’m already failing at this dad thing.
“I never asked for anything else. I once made the mistake of keeping a man’s wishes above mine, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s no longer just me.” She then places the metal box on the table. “But if it’s fear stopping you, then I can assure you I don’t plan to be like your birth mother, Charles.”
What? She took that from these letters?
“It’s not you I doubt.” My jaw clenches, and her eyes widen to an alarming degree.
Why the fuck is she surprised?
I’m the son of that woman. How can she trust me with her kid?
“You think you won’t be a good dad because of your mom?” She gapes at me, and it takes her a few seconds to find her voice and bring her eyebrows down her forehead. “Do you realize what you did last night? You hate losing control or anyone having an upper hand on you. Yet last night, for my dad, for us”—her hands splay over her flat stomach—“you got drunk.” Her voice softens as she whispers, “You told Ray that some dads stop drinking for their kids, while some get drunk.”
I fucking said that?
“I don’t have a single doubt you’ll be an awesome dad, Charles. Your kid would be so lucky to have you.”
Her words start to replace the darkness in my chest with something else, something bright, but I blow out that feeling, which has no place inside me.
“My track record says otherwise.”
“Yours or someone else’s?” She shoots me a withering look, taking me by surprise.
I’d expected her to be upset, not this livid.
“How can you be so dense to judge your parenting skills based on your mother’s behavior? I…I can’t believe it.” Daisy takes a step back and throws her hands up in the air. As much as I hate seeing her irritated, especially when I know she needs to be happy right now more than ever, I can’t lie that I don’t derive a minuscule amount of pleasure from watching her act as she used to when she was just my assistant.
“I’m sure every new parent worries how they’ll do. Heck, I’m a nervous wreck most days myself. But do you think I worry for a second that I won’t love my baby?” Daisy shakes her head, glaring at me. “Despite the fact that I don’t even know who my birth parents are, I don’t have a trace of doubt that I’ll love my child unconditionally. I’ve seen love in the eyes of the people who raised me, and so have you. Your dad, your grandmother, Gigi, your stepmom, your aunts, Chloe—everyone has shaped your personality.”
She sucks in a breath, and I’m tempted to offer her some water. But I also don’t want to encourage her words more. She’s completely mistaken this time.
“Nothing you say can change my mind, Daisy.” My throat tightens uncomfortably, and I look away to avoid her gaze.
A long stretch of silence lingers between us until she slices it with a deep sigh.
“I cannot walk this path for you, Charles. This can only be your journey. You have to believe that you’ll be enough. But if you’re ever willing to step out of this zone of fear, I’m here to walk with you. You won’t just be enough, you’ll be an awesome dad. I know it.”
I keep my eyes fixed on the table, afraid she’ll see the hope her words give me.
How much would I like to be enough?
She slides the metal box forward.
“Thank you for sharing this part of your life with me. I know how hard it must have been for you. Take care, Charles.” Just when I think Daisy is about to turn around and leave, she steps forward and places a kiss on my cheek.
Before she can step away, I grip her arm, and her eyes flicker over my face as I grab the envelope from the table. “This is yours. Please take it.”
Her gaze drops to the envelope. “I thought these were divorce papers.”
Something in my chest twinges at the thought, and it takes me a second to find my voice again. “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s the only way forward.”
Unlike the silence in the room, there’s a voice screaming inside my head.
How is this moving forward when my life has returned back to where it was before her?
“Goodbye, Charles.”
An uncomfortable feeling claws at my chest, begging to be released as I watch her leave.
“Daisy?” I call out her name right when she reaches the door.
She looks at me over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.
“Did you say last night that you loved me, or…was that a dream?”
Her brows pull together. “I love you, Charles A. Hawthorne.”