Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Damien
Willa and I tiptoed into our room carrying Delilah, who had just, miraculously, fallen asleep. I gently lay her down in the bassinet and prayed.
“We did it,” I whispered to Willa, grabbing hold of her hand.
“She finally surrendered.” Willa sighed.
Daisy suddenly appeared in the doorway with a pink tutu over her pajamas, holding a spoon.
“Don’t move,” Willa whispered to her.
She dropped the spoon. The metal hit the wood floor, like it was sounding off the alarms.
We froze. Daisy stood there staring at us, bent down, and picked up her spoon, dropping it to the floor again.
“She’s doing it on purpose,” Willa said.
“She’s testing us.”
She picked up the spoon again and dropped it. Delilah stirred and grunted.
“Okay. It’s either her or us,” I said.
“Let’s not jump into war just yet. I feel like we’re in a hostage situation.”
“We are. But we’re the hostages.”
“We can reason with her,” Willa said.
“Reasoning is not her love language.”
“Give Mama the spoon, Daisy.”
“No.” She picked it up and shuffled down the hall.
“Hostage situation averted.” Willa smiled. “What’s for dinner? We can DoorDash something.”
“And risk waking the baby? I’d rather starve,” I said.
“True. I think we have a frozen pizza in the freezer,” she said.
“The beep of the preheated oven might be too loud.”
We tiptoed out of the bedroom and stopped mid-step when we hit the living room. There was Daisy, sitting in the middle of the couch, with red star-shaped sunglasses on and a full bag of Goldfish crackers dumped across her lap and the cushions, watching Miss Rachel.
“Oh my God. It’s a snack massacre,” Willa said.
“Fishes.” Daisy looked at us, holding one up in her hand.
“Is that so, boss?” I sighed. “Daisy, why are the fish all over the couch?” I asked.
“Look at her,” Willa said. “She’s not eating them. She summoned them like her own personal army.”
“Her power is definitely growing.” I nodded.
“Maybe she’s having an emotional breakdown because of the baby,” Willa said.
“Or maybe she’s upping her bullying skills to unleash on her sister.” My brow arched.
“Who knows.” Willa threw her hands up in the air. “This couch is toast.”
Suddenly, we heard the powerful screams coming from our bedroom.
“Sissy up!” Daisy climbed off the couch, leaving a trail of Goldfish in her wake.
“You go get the baby, and I’ll get the vacuum.” I sighed.
“May the cheddar be ever in your favor.” Willa grinned, running after Daisy.
* * *
One Year Later
Willa
Damien and I sat in the pristine office of Whitmore Academy on the Upper East Side—a private nursery school that was very hard to get into.
“Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood, Dr. Whitmore said, peering over her glasses. “Let’s begin.”
“Of course. We’re very excited.” I smiled, shifting in my seat.
“Very excited,” Damien said.
The truth was we were nervous as hell, and totally being judged.
“Tell me. What words would you two use to describe Daisy?” Dr. Whitmore asked.
“Confident.” I smiled.
“Definitely independent,” Damien spoke.
“She’s emotionally expressive,” I said.
“And she’s very resourceful,” Damien said.
“Authoritarian,” I mumbled.
“Pardon?” Dr. Whitmore’s brow raised.
“She’s a future CEO.” I smiled.
“And how does Daisy interact with peers?” Dr. Whitmore asked.
Damien and I glanced at each other, scrambling to find the right words that wouldn’t get her rejected from this school.
“She….leads,” Damien shifted in his chair.
“She loves to organize group activities.” I nervously smiled.
“Yesterday she told her baby sister she was being inefficient,” Damien said, and I discreetly kicked him.
“She’s an honest child.” I looked at Dr. Whitmore.
“And how does she respond to a structured environment?” Dr. Whitmore asked.
I involuntarily coughed to mask the laughter that wanted to escape me. “By attempting to restructure to suit her needs.” Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.
“Whitmore Academy believes in cultivating emotional intelligence and a collaborative spirit. We encourage the children to share their ideas and thoughts and be proactive in a group setting.” She smiled in a terrifying way.
“That’s great.” Damien grinned. “Daisy believes in ruling with fairness.”
“She also believes bedtime is optional if she, and I quote ‘has emails,’” I said.
“Emails?” Dr. Whitmore’s brows furrowed.
“She means pretend ones. Usually sent to what she calls the ‘stuffed animals union.’ It’s a long story,” Damien said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We talk a lot of corporate business at home,” Willa said.
“Tell me. Why do you believe Daisy belongs at Whitmore Academy?”
And there it was. The question we had been waiting for. Damien and I spent three hours last night rehearsing our answers.
“Because, Dr. Whitmore. Daisy is brilliant, fearless, and curious. And slightly terrifying in the best way.” I smiled.
“And, she’ll probably take over whatever classroom she’s in, so better it be here.” Damien smirked.
Dr. Whitmore closed the file in front of her. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch.”
Damien and I stood from our seats, shook Dr. Whitmore’s hand, and left the academy.
“Do you think that went okay?” I asked Damien as we climbed into the back of the sedan.
“I think we either just got her in or banned for life.” He sighed.
* * *
Two Weeks Later
“Did it come?” Damien asked from the living room, holding Delilah on his hip.
“This is it.” I waved the thick cream-colored envelope in the air like the Gods sent it. “It’s thick and heavy. That means one of two things: she got in—or they’re suing us for the interview.”
“I say snack, you clap. If you cry, go home!” Daisy spoke authoritatively while wiggling her finger at her stuffed animals lined up against the fireplace like soldiers.
“If she gets in, are we—proud? Or should we warn the school?” Damien leaned in and whispered.
“The letter in this envelope will decide for us.” I grinned, tearing the envelope open.
Congratulations! Your daughter, Daisy Blackwood, has been among the few selected for Whitmore Academy’s Executive Pathway for Early Leaders.
“She got in!” I jumped up and down, throwing my arms around Damien and boss baby 2.0.
“YAY ME!” Daisy mimicked me, jumping up and down and clapping her hands.
“Boss. Boss. Boss,” Delilah kept saying, and she clapped.
“I need an office!” Daisy jumped on the couch. “I need a briefcase like Daddy! I need my coffee!”
“Does Whitmore allow hostile takeovers in preschool?” Damien raised his brow.
“What do you expect? Her genetics are more you than me. She’s going to walk in, replace the teacher, and ask for everyone’s weekly productivity report. She hears way too much of our conversations, Damien.”
Damien set Delilah down on the floor and wrapped his arms around me.
“It is a good thing that she got in, right?” he asked.
“Of course. Maybe they can tame the little Hitler in her,” I said.
Delilah walked over to the kitchen table, grabbed her juice box, and dropped it.
“Pick that up, assistant,” Daisy demanded of her sister.
“Oh…kay,” Delilah said in her cute little voice.
“Crap. Delilah is catching on,” I said.
“I think they already partnered up.” Damien grabbed my hand and we collapsed on the couch, watching the two girls interact.
Daisy ran to her room, returned with a play clipboard we bought for Christmas, and handed it to her sister.
“These are your goals. No emotional meltdowns.” She shook her finger at Delilah.
“Goals.” Delilah smiled.
I stared at the adorable pink glitter high-top sneakers they both wore.
“We raised a boardroom in glitter sneakers,” I casually said.
Damien leaned over and whispered, “She’s going to ask for a salary.”
“You bet she is. I can guarantee she’s going to negotiate for her sister, too.”
“Snack meeting. Bring the animal crackers,” Daisy told her sister.
Delilah walked into the kitchen, opened the pantry door, and grabbed the box of animal crackers. Daisy had her trained well. She didn’t even listen that well to Damien and me.
“Office. Now!” Daisy pointed to the hallway.
“Oh…kay,” Delilah led the way.
“Jesus, Willa. Are we sure she’s ready for Whitmore Academy?”
“You meant to say, ‘Are they ready for Daisy?’ I smirked.
“I don’t like how the letter used the word ‘blossom,’ he said.
“No kidding. Daisy doesn’t blossom. She takes over the garden and assigns new leadership.”
He slowly shook his head and rubbed his face. “The other morning, she told Delilah she was on ‘thin ice’ for not clapping during her morning announcement.”
“She’s mimicking us,” I said.
“Whitmore Academy thinks they’re getting a confident, independent little girl. But they’re actually getting a glitter-covered war strategist.”
“Should we call and cancel?” I glanced at him.
“Sweetheart, it’s Whitmore. You can’t cancel. You get accepted once, or you disappear forever. Besides, why screw Delilah out of her chance to attend there.”
“They may not take her after having to deal with Daisy. God, I can see it now. We’re going to be on the blacklist.”
Damien chucked. “She’ll probably run the blacklist by mid-semester.”
“I love her so much it’s terrifying.” I lay my head on Damien’s shoulder.
“Same.” He smiled. “But also—if they ever ask us to come in for a meeting?—”
“We bring our lawyer with us,” I interrupted him.