Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hallie
A trick I’d learned long ago is wearing headphones with music just loud enough that you can only focus on a single task. Instead of letting unfocused brain cells have free rein with your thoughts, you let them attach to the lyrics of music that’s new enough that you’re not sick of it or old enough that you know the words. It’s a finely honed skill I’ve learned through necessity. I had my doubts over it being a healthy way of coping, but it gave me the ability to function in times when I’d rather curl up in bed with my eyes closed to escape it all. And so it’s stayed in my desperate times, desperate measures toolbox, ready to take out at a moment’s notice.
The text I’d sent to the sperm donor when I’d finally emerged from the hotel’s restrooms this morning had been simple and to the point.
Hallie: One conversation. You free today?
It was easily the most passive, nonconfrontational message I’d ever sent, but it had to be done. I hadn’t acknowledged my relationship to him, didn’t include a greeting. I didn’t have the energy to make it angry, to turn it into a fight. I simply needed this all to be over, preferably today.
And because he’d been desperate enough to use the relationship he’d helped destroy to try and win me over, I wasn’t surprised when he replied instantly.
Unknown number: Yes.
It was absolute insanity. It made zero sense to a rational mind. But nothing about the people who provided my DNA made any sense to me.
Putting on the pair of headphones wrapped around my neck and tapping my bag to check if my backup earphones were ready to go, I left the airport tucked in the back of an Uber.
Sell the house, attend the wedding, leave.
Sell the house, attend the wedding, leave.
Sell the house, attend the wedding, leave.
I let the mantra run through my mind, repeating it again and again during my flight, whispering it out loud while on hold with the real estate agent and lawyers once I’d landed. Highest offer by the end of the day.
My voice cracked only once when Marcus’s text came through.
Marcus: Everything okay?
I didn’t reply, but I also didn’t say my mantra out loud any longer. I couldn’t.
A cloudless day full of blue skies and sunshine isn’t what I would’ve picked for my meeting with the sperm donor. What had been within my control was the temperature of the shower I’d taken to remove Marcus’s scent from my skin. If only water was hot enough to wash away the memory of his touch too.
Doing the mental gymnastics of calculating time differences isn’t where I excel in life. Since I’m behind the wheel, my brain’s the only calculator I’ve got, and according to my calculations, the time in Edinburgh is, well, ungodly. But I call Cade anyway.
He answers a whole lot quicker than I expected.
“I’m coming back,” I state outwardly, for the first time forgoing any type of greeting. It hurts to say, but hearing the words spoken is akin to setting my decision in stone. Or as close to stone as my poor, disillusioned brain can manage.
“Was there a time when you weren’t?” he asks with genuine confusion, tone gruff and his Scottish accent extra grumbly from sleep.
I catch my wince up close as I check my rearview mirror. Realistically, the answer to Cade’s question is easy. I could easily lie and say, “Of course not,” pretending to be indignant and put out by the whole trip. It wouldn’t exactly be hard to sound convincing. But the words on the tip of my tongue are “Well, yes.”
But I don’t get to say either, as my slow response has sheets rustling on the other end of the line. “Hallie, why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Are you okay?” he asks now. And maybe this question is easier.
“No. Not really.” It’s honest. More honest and brutally telling than three words have any right to be. It hurts.
“Do you need me to come to you?” he asks, voice now clear, all traces of sleep having faded.
I love Cade’s earnestness, that I know he would get on the next flight out of Edinburgh Airport if I asked him to.
“No. If anyone’s getting on a flight, it’s going to be me.” I know I should slow down, that right now isn’t the best time to be taking action and making decisions, but the desire to have this behind me is propelling me forward.
“All right. But Hal, if you change your mind, you let me know, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, feeling a little better at the reminder that someone who cares about me exists outside of this city. Outside of this country. “You can go back to sleep now.”
“That’s very much appreciated. Don’t make too many poor decisions with the rest of your day.”
I snort. If only he could’ve given me that advice weeks ago. “I’ll try. Speak soon.”
I should’ve guessed the sperm donor would be at the café we’d agreed to meet at early, waiting on me to arrive and giving me little choice but to stay. I have no memory of the last time he’d shown up for anything of mine, not school events or dance recitals, forget parent-teacher evenings. There’d always been somewhere else he’d had to be. It’d made leaving for college and not looking back all the easier.
Remaining independent and becoming self-sufficient had also been an easy choice, especially as, by default, it’d been the only one. So, while I might’ve spent the last few months declining to take his calls, he’d spent more than a few years pretending he didn’t have a daughter at all.
Unfortunately, the manipulator that Johnathan Cairns is, he’s chosen a table outside, with his seat facing the entrance, where he can see my approach. My steps are slow as I take him in, his brown hair grayer than I remember, but I know under his polarized sunglasses, I’d find blue eyes, replicas of mine. Replicas of my gran’s. Hopefully, he’ll leave the shades on.
Slipping my fingers into my handbag, I trace them over the outline of my passport.
Sell the house, attend the wedding, leave.
He stands as I get close to his table, looking, for all intents and purposes, as if he’s going to try for a hug. Heart thumping heavier in my chest, my hand comes up reflexively, palm forward. “No,” I say, halting any further movement with a small shake of my head. “We’re not doing that.”
With a sharp nod, he takes my rejection on the chin, surprisingly respecting the boundary and instead gesturing for me to take a seat. The wrought iron of the chair’s legs scrape against the ground, and then I sit gingerly, finding myself face-to-face with my dad for the first time in nearly a decade. In a white linen button-down and relaxed navy slacks, he’s wearing his version of casual attire. Seeing that he hasn’t changed dramatically on the outside is a relief in some ways, an absolute worry in others. Everything about this meeting is conflicting.
Forcing myself to sit back in the chair instead of keeping my butt on the edge of the cushion where it wants to be, I hold my cards close. I focus on the sounds around me—cars on the street, music floating from inside the café, people talking—and then the textured feel of the cushion I’m sitting on, the warmth of the chair’s armrest, where it’s obviously been touched by the sun. On my next breath, I settle a little farther back into my seat.
Before either of us has a chance to speak, a waiter comes to take our orders. From an outside perspective, it’s almost comical the way we both shower the waiter with smiles and politely spoken words, only for him to leave and the facade to drop. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t on edge around this man, when I wasn’t angry with him and then myself for wanting his love and being upset when I didn’t get it.
“Hallie,” he starts, his smile cautious. “I’m glad Marcus finally got through to you.”
The mention of his name doesn’t come without a familiar burn of betrayal, a not-so-gentle reminder of why I’m here and how much I’d like to be anywhere else.
“I’m not here to talk about him,” I reply in my best effort to keep my cool.
“Well, I’m grateful to him all the same. I’ve been trying to reach out to you for a while now, but you’ve done a good job of keeping me at arm’s length. I knew Marcus would be able to get you to see reason.”
Get me to see reason? I close my eyes, breathing in through my nose as I push my tongue to the top of my mouth. Of all the condescending sentences that could’ve left the man’s mouth.
“You mean you’re glad you were able to manipulate the situation to your liking? If I didn’t want to speak to you, if I was so obviously going out of my way to maintain distance, that should’ve been enough for you to drop it. Paying a person in my life to get me here might have me on the seat in front of you, but it’s not enough to make me stay. It’s not enough for it to happen again after this.”
I can feel the cool consideration of his gaze, the situational reassessment he’s completing. “I can see how you’d interpret my actions in such a way, but I’m simply a man who wants to speak to his daughter.”
“And I’m simply a daughter with boundaries you’re unwilling to respect.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Hallie. Especially when my intention has only been to have your attention long enough to apologize, to try and make amends.”
At another time, in another place, this might’ve been something I could’ve believed. Today? Not so much.
“Can I ask why you agreed to meet if you’re so averse to being here?”
Agreed to meet.
The words echo venomously inside my mind.
“I couldn’t have Marcus miss his payout after putting so much effort into getting me on board.”
There’s no missing the sarcasm in my tone—the insinuation that what’s gone down isn’t something for either of them to be proud of.
My phone’s screen lights up where I’ve placed it on the table, and of course, Marcus is calling. No shock there—it’s not the first time he’s called today. Silence reigns as my eyes fixate on the screen, my father’s obviously doing the same before he asks, “Do you want to get that?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, the point driven home when the call ends and my notifications come to the forefront.
Marcus Scott: 8 missed calls.
I should’ve blocked his number, had even gone into my settings to do it, but hadn’t followed through. I can’t decide if it’s because I want to see him grovel or if I need the burn of his presence to keep me from falling apart. Likely, it’s both.
Our waiter arrives, placing our drinks on a table now drenched in uncomfortable silence. The standoff continues as water glasses are refilled and our server moves away, obviously reading the vibe well enough not to ask if we’re wanting anything else. Probably a good idea, as I might’ve asked for a knife. A sparkling water with a side of patricide, please.
“Well, then,” I say, gesturing for him to continue, to get on with this long-awaited apology.
He removes his sunglasses now, pushing his espresso to the side so he can place his forearms on the table as he leans forward.
“Hallie, I’m sorry I’ve been an absent parent—a bad father, to put it plainly. I’ve not been there for you, and while I could try to explain my actions, to excuse my behavior, I doubt it’d help.”
And I doubt I’d believe it, I think snidely, even as I remain silent and attentive.
“I know I’m in no position to ask you for anything,” he continues. “But I need to ask if you’d consider trying to build a relationship. I’m not asking for us to start again, for a magically clean slate—it wouldn’t be fair. But I’d love to be in your life, however you see fit. I’d like to keep in touch, to speak regularly, even once you’re back in Scotland.”
The easy answer is “yes.” Part of me genuinely wants it—this idyllic notion of our father-daughter relationship being healed, of a slow rebuilding of trust over time. Except today isn’t the day for rational consideration of this request. Potentially not even next month or next year. Because the more cynical part of me, the Hallie who’s spent years being overlooked, who spent this morning being betrayed, believes he isn’t being genuine, that part of me would simply be saying yes to get him off my case.
He stops momentarily to pull out his own phone, where the screen is now flashing. I feel his shaded eyes rest on my face before he says, “Just a moment, Hallie.”
Simply nodding in response, my brows rise in familiar exasperation. Running my tongue along the back of my lower teeth, I wait impatiently, reining in my frustration at the fact this man can’t seem to focus on me even when apologizing. The hypocrisy is undeniable.
I keep my eyes on him as he listens to his call, his features drawing in what looks like concern. He nods throughout, which I find odd, seeming only to remember as an afterthought that the person on the other end of the line can’t see him. There’s an “I see” and an “I understand” here and there, but otherwise, he gives nothing else away. And then the call ends, his eyes still having never left me.
“Well…” he starts now, taking off his sunglasses and placing them on the table. “It seems like once again I’ve caused more harm than anything else.”
The temptation to drawl out a very sarcastic “Noooo, really?” is strong. Somehow, I refrain.
“You think?” I ask, and even though I mean for the question to be rhetorical, it comes out just bitter enough that I think he might answer.
Instead, those blue eyes of his—of ours—take me in, and I wonder how it all got so messed up.
“Well,” I say, nodding toward his phone. “Who was that?”
I have a fairly good idea who he was speaking to, but I want to hear him admit it.
“That was Marcus.”
Of course it was. Lovely to see he and my dad are still on such good speaking terms.
“Hallie, you should speak to Marcus. Answer the next time he calls. I might’ve wanted to speak to you, but not like this. This meeting between us was meant to be from a place of good intent. I wanted you to choose to be here. I expected you to be angry, planned for it, but I still wanted you to be here of your own choice.”
With that, he gathers his phone and removes some cash from his wallet, sliding it under his water glass.
“Hallie, once you’ve spoken with Marcus, I’d appreciate it if we tried to do this again. In person or simply a call, whatever you feel more comfortable with. I’ll wait for you to decide.”
“I might not make contact at all,” I state, curious to know what his answer to that will be.
He continues to stand, readying himself to leave, while I sit here, flabbergasted at the turn of events.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take if it puts the control back in your hands,” he says with a small smile. “And Hallie? You’re worth that risk. I really do hope I hear from you soon.”
With that, he leaves.
And my phone rings again.