Chapter 30
Tilly
All of that means I don’t get a chance to watch the video Blaise sent me last night until I’m already in California, in the car that’s been sent to pick me up from the airport.
No, I’ve had dozens of chances. But my phone didn’t give me a preview, and I just assumed the video was going to be something Blaise filmed last night after he left me at Joss’s.
It’s not. My heart leaps into my throat when it finally loads and I see Blaise with Donovan and my dad at the nursing home.
I cover my mouth to keep any sounds from leaking as I watch Dad bounce Donovan on his knee while Blaise rests his forearms on his thighs.
From Dad’s perspective, I’m sure it seemed casual, but I see it for what it is.
Blaise is ready to catch Donovan. He’s letting Dad play with his grandson, but he’s making sure Donovan has a safety net, just in case.
“Your daughter made a beautiful baby, didn’t she?” Blaise coaxes in that boisterous way of his. I may forever feel like I’m not meeting the expectations he should have, but I will never ever question how obsessed he is with Donovan and how much he appreciates that I brought Donovan into his world.
As uncomfortable as I feel about the idea of having another baby because Donovan might need a sibling one day, I know Blaise will love him just as hard. There’s so much love in Blaise.
“Well, you certainly helped,” Dad says with a wink. Huntington’s has robbed him of his life, not just cutting it short and taking his mind even earlier but aging him physically, as well. He looks more like a great-grandfather.
But he’s so happy in the video, and I see the man he used to be in that wink.
I catch a tear on my eyelashes before it has the chance to streak my mascara.
“A little,” Blaise says modestly, and I’m sure he’s either hiding his absence during the pregnancy or downplaying the role of every father during every pregnancy, but I remember him being there when it mattered the most. I remember him rushing me to the hospital, staying with me, and being there with Donovan to make sure our baby’s first minutes were filled with love.
“I’d like to help more,” Blaise says. “I want to help you, too. I’m going to. And I’m hoping you can help me too.”
“Well now, son,” Dad groans as he sits back in the tan leather recliner he’s practically lived in since being admitted into that home.
He’s social when he’s having a good day.
He’ll talk with the caregivers and the other residents.
He’ll even play games with them, as long as he can play from that chair.
I’ve heard that, as much as yeah, they usually take him to his room at night, sometimes they just let him sleep there.
It makes him happy. He’s comfortable there. That’s all I can ask.
His hands stay on Donovan as he leans back, but I see Blaise tense up. He’s still grinning like a buffoon, and he’s still letting Dad bounce Donovan, but he’s ready if Donovan so much as tips.
But Dad’s solid. God, I wish I could have been there that day. I wish I could see him more. I wish I were strong enough to weather the bad days in the chance that I might get a good day.
“Son, I’m afraid I ain’t much help to anyone these days,” Dad says sadly.
But look at Donovan grinning and laughing. That’s something right there. If he’s making his grandson happy, that’s all the help I need sometimes.
Blaise shrugs him off with, “Nah, you got this.” He leans forward conspiratorially, casually setting one hand on Donovan’s pudgy knee, a subtle anchor.
“See, I’m in love with your daughter. I want to spend the rest of my life with her.
But my buddy Denny there”—he gestures to the camera—”I don’t think I would have ever met Tilly without the help of Denny, and she doesn’t know that or even know that I know Denny. ”
The camera flips to selfie, and standing there waving with a stupid grin is Denny Hamm, a makeup artist I’ve worked with dozens of times in the past, since he’s local to Wilmington, too.
I can’t believe he’s friends with Blaise, and I can’t even imagine how he might have been responsible for what happened at Ani-Con.
I laugh, but the sound is raw and congested.
“So as my buddy Denny pointed out, I’ve done everything in a mixed-up order. I’d like to get that fixed as well as I can, but I can’t do that if I don’t have your blessing.”
Oh.
Dad’s home is three hours away. There’s no way this happened without my noticing on a day when I was in town, so it must have been the last time I was on location, back in August.
Over a month ago.
“You’re asking if you can marry my daughter?” Dad confirms for both of us. I’m not believing it, myself.
I rest my hand on my chest, quelling my hammering heart as I watch them all on this stupidly tiny screen.
“Hell, I know I can marry your daughter,” Blaise blusters, and Dad laughs uproariously. “I’m asking for your blessing. I want your permission, sir, and I want Tilly to know we have your blessing.”
I hold my breath as Dad pulls Donovan back to his chest as he looks up to the camera.
I see glitter in his eyes, the sheen of tears, of pride and joy and, yes, grief because we all know why Blaise did it this way, that we can’t trust that Dad will be able to make the wedding or that he’ll have a good day, if he’ll be able to tell me to my face if he wants me to marry Blaise or not, if the next time I see him, he’ll even remember this.
“Tilly, sweetheart,” he says, and I choke on a sob that has the driver looking back at me with concern, but I wave him off.
“I know you don’t get to hear this from me enough, but I am so, so proud of the woman you’ve become.
I love you so much, and I want you to know that even when you visit and I don’t know you, I know you.
You are amazing, and you deserve all the love in the world that you can get.
You deserve the world. And you deserve to find happiness and a family that will always be here for you, and a good man. ”
He looks back to Blaise, claps him on the back with all the vigor he can muster, and I swear I see a shimmer in Blaise’s eyes, too.
I definitely see the admiration there, and I have to remind myself that this conversation had to have hurt him, as well.
His grandmother sounds amazing, but no one can really replace your dad.
“And this here seems like a fine young man,” Dad says. “Thank you so much for asking me, son. You’ve made an old man feel really, really—” His voice cracks, and it kills me. Just absolutely breaks me. “You’ve made me feel like I’m leaving my daughter in really good hands.”
Blaise leans forward and gives him the biggest hug he can manage when both men have a protective hand on Donovan.
And then Dad says, “Tilly, call your sister. I know Camilla’s a bitch, but she misses you and is too much of a pain in my ass to say it.”
I burst out laughing, and I know I’m a complete mess when we pull onto the lot two minutes later and Emerson opens my door for me.
Even Emerson is patting his eyes dry by the time he’s done watching the video.
We don’t have time to talk about it. One of the costumers who had been hired for this project got seriously ill and is out for two weeks.
A second costumer injured his shoulder and has been doing the best he can with a raptor arm, but he really needs to take a week off, as well.
They were already light on crew, so it was just an emergency.
I jump right in on the various hemming and repairs that built up after the weekend of filming, only giving myself a minute to indulge in a single text to Blaise — I’ll talk to you tonight — before shutting my phone down to cut down on distractions.
Sewing, especially mending, is mindless work.
What I do takes skills most people don’t have and a comprehension of how the various fibers can and can’t be handled.
But once the path is chosen, following it typically requires a repetitive motion that doesn’t do much in the brain except in out, in out.
So I have hours to think about Blaise, the conversation we had yesterday, the video he took with Dad, every crazy thing that happened to get us here.
Because it’s a superhero movie, a lot of the costumes have solid elements, light foam and hard plastic.
I have to take off the ring Blaise gave me to make sure I don’t get it stuck or damage the costumes.
It’s unsettling taking it off, like I’ve been wearing it my entire life, but that’s just stupid.
Blaise didn’t even get it for me, not really.
If anything, I’m engaged to the owner of the Jugs. Not a bad deal, I guess.
And it is a really pretty ring, three shades of gold twisted together in clever filigree. I could wear this ring forever.
I’ve finished most of what’s marked as urgent and had one of the assistants send messages to the actors who will need fittings by the time Emerson pops in to see if I want to get lunch with him.
“Oh, there’s so much here I’ll probably just hit the craft services table,” I tell him, pointing to the stack.
“And you’ve already made sure that I don’t have any naked actors the next three days.”
“Except Emilia Voss.” I think she’s filming today, so she won’t have time to swing by my studio, but I have a fitting for her that needs to be done for Thursday.
“We’ve all seen Emilia’s tits,” Emerson says gravely, and he’s not wrong about that.
Not just in the movies, either; her sex tapes would give mine a run for their money.
But her boobs can’t be out on this set if Emerson wants his PG-13 rating intact.
“Come on. You just flew across the country and haven’t given yourself a chance to feel jet-lagged yet.
There’s an Indian place around the corner.
Let’s get you stuffed with tikka masala before you crash on us. ”