40. Everything for Blip
40
EVERYTHING FOR BLIP
DAISY
I open the door to find Dave standing before me with a bag.
“Dave, please tell Mrs. K not to worry so much. I hate giving her this much trouble, especially when her hard work is literally going down the toilet.”
But unlike my irritated face, Dave’s smile couldn’t be brighter.
“Today, we have something special, Daisy.” He hands me the bag and steps inside. “Also, I have clear instructions to not leave until you’ve tried it and have hopefully finished everything.”
“Mrs. K is giving new meaning to the word care .”
“Among other people.” Dave grins before settling onto the dining chair across me.
My hand shakes in nervousness as I open the bag. As much as I’m loving the care and affection I’ve received the past few weeks, I hate to be the biggest disappointment.
So much wonderful food has gone to waste that I worry I might have volunteers fighting against world hunger at my doorstep soon.
Please, my little blip, be a good champ and let’s not disappoint Mrs. K once again.
But every thought evaporates from my mind at the sight of the pink paper napkin I’d ordered for Charles months ago.
How?
Before my shock can find an audible voice, Dave places his phone face-first onto the table. The green light indicating a live call blinks a few times. I look up at him and he gives me a smile, the same one he used to show whenever I would say something mean about Charles before we got married.
Charles!
Oh my God. Did he help Mrs. K pack this?
I remember Dave’s words from five seconds before. He’s been instructed to not leave until I’ve tried the food.
By whom? Charles?
My anxiety is at full throttle as I take out the food.
I grab the cutlery Mrs. K always packs with the meals and open the glass box.
For the first time this week, the warm smell of cheese and veggies is appetizing, but it’s not just the smell. Unlike the other meals, there’s no special garnish. The tasty food is placed in a simple fashion. In fact, too simple.
I cut the quesadilla, only to realize it’s not perfectly round.
This is not Mrs. K’s work.
My gaze snaps back to Dave, who’s waiting in anticipation, and then to the phone that is still intermittently blinking.
What in God’s name?
Charles A. Hawthorne stepped into his kitchen and cooked! For me!
“So how is it?” Dave asks, and I’m sure it’s more for Charles’ benefit so he knows the call is still running.
I take a bite, and for a second, I forget everything because it’s heavenly. I don’t wait to reply and take another bite.
“How did that miracle happen?” Willow squeals as she enters the room.
Charles’ bodyguard subtly turns the phone upside down.
“Dave, can you please tell our cook that Blip and I both agree this is the best food we’ve eaten ever.”
“Blip?” Dave grins, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, in one of the numerous pregnancy books Daisy’s reading, the baby is referred to as a blip.” Willow slips onto the chair beside me. “So that’s the nickname for now. But don’t worry, Dave, Chloe and I are starting a petition to change it to something more interesting. You and Steve will also get to sign.”
“I don’t know.” Dave grins. “I kind of like it.”
I finish the entire meal, including the mango smoothie that still has a few chunks of the fruit, and the cupcakes that are once again not perfectly shaped.
But there’s never been a meal more perfect.
Dave places all the empty containers back into the bag and tips his head to the side.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Daisy. Let’s see if we can keep up with what we started today.”
My heart is so full knowing how many people have come into my life since my marriage to Charles. People who care about my and Blip’s happiness.
Mrs. K, who made sure I knew Charles was the one to cook tonight.
Dave, who gave Charles and me a moment to share, despite us being apart.
“Dave, thank you so much for tonight.” My throat is full of emotion as I hug the man.
“You never have to thank us, Daisy. We want you, Mr. Hawthorne, and your little blip to be happy and healthy always.”
Instead of walking to the door, Dave leads me to the side window and subtly tilts his head to the glass. I follow his motion and spot Charles’ limo.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen it here. But it’s the first time I’ve seen Charles leaning against the car with his phone to his ear while looking down at his shoes.
“Take care of yourself, Daisy, and I’ll see you soon.”
Dave leaves while I remain stuck in place, hiding behind the curtains.
“What was all that about?” Willow, who has thankfully been quiet so far, joins me.
“Charles cooked and came with Dave to make sure I ate.”
What she doesn’t know is that he even came up to her home—at least his ears did.
“And little blip agreed to his dad’s cooking out of all the amazing chefs? So not cool, kid. So not cool .” Willow shakes her head, but her smile says it all.
She’s not just surprised, but immensely impressed.
The next morning, Dave comes with breakfast and a bouquet of wild daisies with a small white card that reads: For you and tiny blip .
There’s no signature, but I’ve spent the past four years seeing Charles’ handwriting every day.
I can recognize his wavy letters in my sleep. Not to mention, it’s on the same thick paper with barcodes he specially issued for me after the whole debacle with Jax.
Once again, the fruit platter and avocado toast is met with full agreement by my taste buds and my stomach.
Dave’s phone remains on the table throughout breakfast. And later, I watch my husband, dressed in a navy-blue suit all ready for work, standing outside his car with his phone pressed against his ear.
“Haven’t you started looking forward to these meals with Dave?” Willow raises an eyebrow as, on the third day, I place the numerous books I’ve been reading on the dining table.
“I thought I’d share some of the things I’m doing these days with Dave. Just watching me eat must be so boring for him.”
“You mean for Charles to just hear you eat?” Willow’s eyes narrow slightly and her lips twitch.
“You knew?” I gasp.
“Daze, I’m not that stupid or romantically challenged. Every time Dave is here, his phone is on the table and Charles has his pressed against his ear.” My friend leaves her spot on the couch and joins me by the table. “It’s actually romantic, though a bit psycho, if you ask me.”
“I think he knows I know.”
“Of course he does. Who in their sane mind talks to their bodyguard for one full hour about how hard it is to sleep these days? Charles must have given Dave a nice raise. That bodyguard is playing the best Cupid one could ask for.” Willow has just said the words when the doorbell rings. “And here comes our Cupid extraordinaire now.”
“Hi, Dave.” Willow opens the door, waving at the bodyguard before settling on the chair across from me at the table. “What do we have for Daisy today?”
Dave’s smile only widens as he takes a seat beside me. “In addition to breakfast, some books.” He hoists a shopping bag from my favorite local bookstore.
“Great minds think alike.” Willow grins. “Daisy brought out her pregnancy books to show you.”
Smooth, girl. Now I don’t even need an introduction.
“Just a few books I’m reading these days.” As I go around, reading to Dave (in reality to Charles) some of my favorite highlighted passages from my favorite books, Dave’s phone vibrates and I go silent.
Is it Charles?
But he has always been a quiet participant of our meetings.
“Have you read Emily Oster’s books, Daisy?” Dave doesn’t even hide his broad grin or the text from Charles as he places his phone on the table.
How does Charles know about pregnancy books? Is he reading them as well?
Before my heart can explode with emotion and I turn into a blubbering idiot, I reply, “Of course. Right now, I’m reading Expecting Better .”
Dave doesn’t reply and stares at his phone, like me and Willow.
“That’s a good choice.” He repeats Charles’ words like a parrot. The best parrot in a black suit.
My emotions take a new flight, hope surging inside me after being absent for so long.
“Have you by any chance heard of Adam Camp?” I ask in a quivering voice, but when Dave and Willow stare at me in confusion, I explain. “He writes pregnancy books for dads.”
This time when Dave’s phone chimes, he grabs it fast.
“I’m reading We’re Pregnant ,” he replies in shock as if he can’t hear his own words.
But could anyone blame him?
Charles Hawthorne is reading a pregnancy handbook for first-time dads.
My mind is still swirling with thoughts.
Charles, the man who can have Michelin-star chefs cook for him every day, going into the kitchen and cooking—that I can imagine.
Charles, the man who thinks there’s no bigger currency than time, sitting in a car, listening to me go on and on about the pain in my back and feet—that I can maybe get on board with.
But Charles, someone who has forever been scared of the idea of being a dad, reading pregnancy dad books—that’s everything I need to break the dam of my emotions.
Maybe Dave sees the emotion on my face, because he slowly shakes his head and says instead, “Before I leave, I have to give you something.”
I nod as he slides a small lavender-colored bedtime storybook onto the table. My hands tremble as I flip over the hardcover and my heart once again ricochets at the sight of Charles’ handwriting.
Our tiny blip.