39. Oh, My Tiny Blip
39
OH, MY TINY BLIP
CHARLES
“Mr. Hawthorne.”
Before I can step into the elevator, Dave calls my name in a low voice, and I turn around.
“I went to drop off apple pancakes at Miss Willow’s apartment, sir. Since Mrs. Hawthorne is unable to keep anything down, including the famous pierogi, Mrs. K is trying some new recipes.” His forehead creases as if my baby’s unacceptance of food is a personal offense toward him.
Looks like not just my family but even my staff has tagged along in Daisy’s pregnancy journey.
Am I the only one uninformed of her these days?
I’m about to tell Dave to stick to his job description and nothing more, when he places a white envelope forward.
“Daisy gave it to me this morning, and Mrs. K and I both believe it was meant for you.”
I continue to stare at him, making no attempt to pick up the envelope, because I fear what it might contain. I’ve yet to send her the divorce papers.
Has she taken matters into her own hands?
“It’s the picture of her ultrasound,” Dave whispers, and I snatch the white paper from his hand and tuck it safely into the inside pocket of my jacket, close to my heart.
My legs feel heavy throughout the entire elevator ride from the parking lot to my office. My one hand is holding my laptop case, but the other is pressed close to my chest, where I can still feel the envelope.
My temporary assistant rises from his seat to greet me.
“Cancel my next meeting. I’m busy for the next hour.”
I don’t wait for his nod or any verbal confirmation before heading straight to my office. Sliding the laptop bag onto the desk, I perch on my chair.
My hands quiver with curiosity and nerves as I open the envelope and, with gentle care, slide the photo into my hand.
And there it is. My tiny blip.
Thanks to my books, I’m well versed at reading ultrasounds.
My hand halts above the image when a throat clears, and I jerk in my seat.
“Fucking hell.”
My head snaps to find my dad seated on the corner couch, with his Hawthorne crest lighter dangling from his index finger and a cake box from Hawthorne Bakery on the table before him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was waiting for my son. But there must be something really captivating in there, since it’s the first time you didn’t scan the room before walking in.”
His lips twitch, and his head cocks to one side before he leaves his spot and walks to me, bringing along the cake box.
Those few beats give me time to bring my racing heartbeat back to normal.
“Is it just my imagination or has my family suddenly started to miss me too much?”
Dad chuckles, dropping down into the chair across from me.
“We always miss you, Ace. Kristy and Chloe went to see Daisy, so I thought it’s only fair I come to see my boy.”
I snort, not because of him calling me a boy, but because Dad could be standing on trial and he still wouldn’t be able to lie properly. There’s no way he came for fun on a Wednesday morning. He’s here to talk, something he deems more important than my morning meetings.
“Uh-huh. Aren’t we all bored sitting at our own homes these days?”
“Can you blame us? Our first grandchild is on the line. If your mom and sister could, they would live with Daisy.” Dad opens the cake box and passes my childhood favorite toward me—chocolate mousse cake. “I even offered for her to move into the Hawthorne mansion, but she declined.”
I can’t push the plastic fork hanging in the air into my mouth.
Since when has everyone started making plans for Daisy?
“And you didn’t think to run it by me once?” My lips press into a thin line, trembling with the effort to contain all my feelings on the matter.
“Did you ask me before you sent your wife away?” Despite his words, his tone is calmer than mine.
“How many times do I need to say that I didn’t send her away? She left on her own.” My left eye twitches as I press my lips together. “Plus, I’m not going to have this conversation with you too. Chloe has already given me enough heat.”
“You should listen to your sister. She can be very wise sometimes. Let me also tell you that she’s very protective of her little niece.”
My heart thuds at his words, and it takes a beat to find my natural voice.
“Not you too.”
“You know Chloe always gets what she wants.” Dad smirks. “Plus, I can already imagine myself humming to my little princess wrapped in a pink blanket.”
I’m not stupid. I know what everyone is doing—they’re trying to show me the life that lies on the other side of my fear.
And God are they persistent and damn good at this.
“Chloe only gets what she wants because everyone goes above and beyond to make that happen. So unless someone has the power to convince Mother Nature, I’d suggest we put a lid on the niece talk.”
“You’re no fun.” Dad dabs his mouth with a paper napkin before leaning back in the chair. “Since you’re only interested in serious talks, I wanted to confirm that you’ve taken care of security for Daisy.”
I nod, finally happy to have a sane conversation. “There are undercover bodyguards from Kings Security stationed outside Willow’s apartment. They make sure she’s never left alone, including the times she’s at the hospital.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier if she were with you?”
“Dad—”
“It’s because of Monica, isn’t it?” Dad’s voice lowers.
I don’t remember the last time we talked about the woman, but there’s an unusual heaviness in my father’s otherwise warm voice.
“We don’t have to talk about this, Dad.”
“But we do, especially when I see that not having talked in the past is perhaps the reason you’re giving up on one of the biggest happinesses of your life. Despite how your mother’s and my relationship went, I never regretted having you, Ace.”
“I know, Dad. I also know that woman was just too greedy and too selfish.” And I carry those genes in me.
A sad smile tugs on his lips. “An abundance of money comes with its own set of problems, Charles. Since you could learn, you were taught to differentiate between its power and pitfalls. But what about those who see the other side of it every day? The side where there’s only less of everything—opportunities, money, safety. Do you blame Monica for wanting an easy pass when she saw wealth that could change her whole life?”
Before I can nod and scream, “Hell yeah, I do,” Dad sighs.
“I don’t. Not anymore. Because I’ve realized I was also at fault somewhere in our relationship. I should have been clearer that I wanted nothing to do with the family business and the money that comes with the Hawthorne name. We weren’t the right match, and I should have seen it sooner.”
My dad takes the blame for something that isn’t his fault, and my respect only grows for the man.
He leans forward. “But nothing makes a father more sad than knowing his kid is missing life’s happiness because of his faults.”
“It’s no one’s fault. I’m just not cut out for this.” I look away to escape the look of disappointment on his face.
“Nobody is cut out for being a dad, Ace. This is not a skill you can learn by taking a course. But someday, after hours of waiting, a nurse places a small crying bundle in your arms wrapped in a white towel. That kid looks back at you and holds your finger in its tiny fist. And it’s just you and the baby while everything else around you dissolves.”
Dad places his hand over mine. “That’s when you know you’ll do everything for that little person, and your life will never be the same. Being a dad is not a task. It’s a feeling, and you don’t feel it until that moment.”
Something heavy clogs in my chest as I imagine being in the hospital and holding my baby . One part Daisy and one part me.
“I might not understand all your fears, Charlie, but I know you. You’re my kid, and you don’t give up.”
Dad straightens up and circles my desk. “So even if you think you’re not cut out for it, you’ll work to become what you have to in order to give all the happiness in this life to your wife and your kid. And you will not stop until you’re the most awesome dad in the world.” His voice is no longer soft but filled with energy, and I can’t deny that I feel it inside me as well.
“I think that title is already taken.”
He grins and slaps my back. It only takes a few more seconds for my lips to curl up the same way.
“That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the best fucking son, Charles. And I’d hate to see you give up on one of the greatest happinesses in life just because you’re scared.”
My father’s words hang in my office even after he leaves, and I find myself too restless to settle down. I leave my seat and walk toward the glass wall where I’ve observed Daisy from afar for four years.
But today, everything is different.
There are no pink Post-its in my office any longer.
There’re no sparkly napkins at the bar.
And even though the maintenance staff is asked to check up on her plants, they’re turning dry, one leaf at a time.
I had someone from the local nursery check up on them last week, but if that doesn’t work, I’ll be sending them to the state’s best botanist.
But they don’t need an expert.
They just need her. Exactly like you.
“Can I ask for some help?”
Mrs. Kowalski immediately turns to face me from where she’s watering the plants in the sunroom. The same place where our tiny blip was conceived. I don’t think he or she would appreciate knowing that fact when they grow up.
Yeah, I’ve started to wonder if my blip is a girl and not a boy.
Damn, Chloe and her convincing superpowers!
“Mr. Hawthorne, I didn’t know you were coming early. Sorry, I’ll get your coffee ready right now.” My housekeeper sets down the plastic watering can that reminds me of Daisy’s elephant-shaped one now staying untouched in the office.
“No, it’s not coffee, but…I’d like your help with something else.” My palms go clammy, and I have the sudden urge to rub them over my pants.
God, why is this so damn hard?
My housekeeper patiently waits for my instructions, while my tongue seems to have gotten stuck at the base of my mouth.
Fuck it, Charles.
This is your home.
If you want to cook, you cook, period. No one can stop you.
Putting my hands inside my pants pockets, I stand tall.
“Can you show me around the kitchen and help me cook?”
Her eyebrows shoot up as if I’ve just asked her to sell national secrets to our enemies. “If you’d like to eat something special, I can make it for you, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“It’s not for me.” I swallow hard, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “I had a meeting with one of the most expert nutritionists in the country, and I want to try a recipe for Daisy. But I’ve never cooked before.”
Her face lights up as if I’ve just told her our nation is going tax-free.
Moments later, I’m standing in the kitchen, following Mrs. Kowalski’s instructions. I’ve ditched my jacket, and my shirt sleeves are rolled over my forearms. A white apron hangs from my neck, and I’m holding the long waist ties in each hand as if they’re bombs.
“Shall I help you?” my housekeeper asks softly, and I look over my shoulder to see her all ready.
I nod, and with expert hands, she ties a knot that is neither too tight nor too loose.
“Do you want to show me the recipe, and I can check if we have everything here?”
“What if we don’t? Aren’t grocery stores closing soon?” I look down at my watch and mentally curse.
I’m failing at a task before I’ve even begun.
This must be a new record for you, Hawthorne.
“I’m very proud of my pantry, Mr. Hawthorne.” Mrs. Kowalski, on the other hand, couldn’t be any calmer. I must have that freaked-out expression on my face, because she adds, “In any case, twenty-four-hour shops are always open.”
Thank fucking God.
“I just want to follow the recipe exactly as mentioned.” I finally take out the printout from the inside pocket of my jacket.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less, sir.” There’s no humor in her voice as she looks down at the recipe. “And good news, we have everything.”
“Even the cast iron pan?”
“Only the best one.” She winks and places the skillet over the stove before producing a bag of oat flour on the counter. “But first, we need to knead the dough for the tortillas.”
It takes forty minutes and multiple failed tortillas that don’t even get a chance to land on the pan, because I roll so hard that either they stick on the pin or there are big holes in the flat dough. Finally, we have two tortillas that look barely professional, but Mrs. Kowalski is convinced they will taste very good.
“Now, let’s chop the veggies.”
It takes another hour before there are two cheese quesadillas, a mango smoothie, and a small batch of apple peanut butter cupcakes.
Everything has finally been packed. Mrs. Kowalski is about to throw a plain white paper napkin into the bag, when I interject.
“Can you put this in?”
Her gaze lands on the pink napkin with golden letters stating, Have a day that’s as magical as a unicorn , and just smiles.
A no-nonsense comment and definitely no making fun of me.
I knew she was the best person to ask for this help.
Daisy’s words from some weeks ago ring in my ear.
“Mrs. K doesn’t work on weekends for the extra pay, Charles. It’s because she worries about your paranoid ass.”
“Shall I call Dave or Steve, and they can take it to Daisy?” My housekeeper’s hand is poised to lift the bag from the counter when I intercept, extending my palm.
“I’ll take it to them.” I take hold of the bag in one hand while reaching for my jacket with the other.
Before exiting, I glance back to see her tidying up the mess I left behind.
“Mrs. K?” I call, using the nickname my sister coined years ago and everyone opts to use except me. “Thank you so much. Not just for this”—I tip my head toward the bag—“but for looking after me all these years.”
Surprise gleams in her eyes, but only for a second. Her lips once again curl into her usual motherly, soft smile. She knows I don’t like making a big fuss of things.
Maybe I’ve been too fast in dismissing my luck when it comes to people around me and their care.
“It’s always been my pleasure, Mr. Hawthorne. I hope the happiness you deserve finds its way back to you.”
I nod in appreciation before heading off to locate my bodyguard.
“Do you want me to do something more than hand over the bag, sir?” Dave asks as we stand across from Willow’s apartment for several minutes. I haven’t asked him to leave, nor have I let go of my deadly grip on the bag.
“How will we know if she’s able to eat this?”
“She’ll text Mrs. K, sir. Don’t worry.”
But what if she doesn’t? What if Daisy thinks she’s caused enough problems for everyone, and she just starts lying?
I know her. If her imminent desire to please everyone hasn’t reared its head by now, it’ll do so soon.
“That’s not enough.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Can you ask her to try it and stay there until she’s done?”
My grip on the bag tightens as I imagine my bodyguard sitting before Daisy and watching her eat.
It should be me, for fuck’s sake.
“Mr. Hawthorne, would you like to join me?” Dave asks slowly, as if he has a telepathic connection to my thoughts.
“I can’t.” My voice has no bite at all as I finally hand the bag to him.
With worrying about her diet and then cooking, I’m fucking drained to even snap at people.
I don’t know what Dave sees on my face, but he takes out his phone and dials someone. Immediately, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
The moment I pick up, he turns around and skids into Willow’s place.
Holy fuck, that’s genius.