Chapter 14 #3
‘Alrighty!’ I said, clapping my hands like a primary school teacher. ‘Mum? Let’s go and find those drinks, yeah?’ and with that, I took her arm in mine as I almost dragged her to the corridor outside.
‘What the heck is his problem, Cassie?’ my mum said, trying to lower her voice but failing miserably.
We’d arrived at a nearby coffee machine and I was doing the duty of making the three of us (including Dad, for his sins) a drink.
‘Do you see why I cannot stand that man? Why is he making this experience about him? Femi wanted to come with me but I told him to go back to sleep. I should have asked him to come. This is such nonsense! I’m already stressed as it is. ’
I let her vent for the next few minutes as I collected the coffees, and together, we started making our way back to the waiting room.
When we got back, Dad was sitting in the far corner, looking quite sorry for himself.
A part of me felt a little bad, but I had to remember who I was dealing with here.
I went to give him his coffee, as well as give him an empathetic shoulder pat.
‘Have you seen Steven yet? How d’you feel about being a first-time grandad?’ I asked, trying to make conversation while keeping an eye out for Mum. She was pacing up and down the room, occasionally glancing at Dad menacingly.
‘Yeah, I’m happy – I’m really happy. Steven is going to be great,’ he replied, staring at Mum the entire time. Honestly, Channel 5 couldn’t produce a daytime drama this captivating.
The next hour or so passed in strained silence – Mum and I sat at one end of the waiting room, pretending to be engrossed in our phones, while Dad positioned himself at the other, chatting away with Bianca’s parents, who were no doubt silently wondering what kind of dysfunctional circus their daughter had stumbled into.
I was beginning to fight sleep as I went in between lightly dozing off and playing games on my phone. In the distance, I could hear what I thought were the strained, agonising moans of Bianca as she pushed the newest member of our family into the world.
‘Adwoa, can we please go somewhere to talk? Please?’ my dad said, catching me completely off-guard. It was 4.30 a.m., and we were all running on fumes. Steven popped into the waiting room every twenty minutes or so with updates – the labour was progressing, just at a snail’s pace.
‘Daniel, now is not the time. Please, just be here for your son,’ Mum said, her voice heavy with exhaustion and irritation.
Then, without missing a beat, she turned to me.
‘Oh, by the way, I’m having my wedding gown fitting next weekend if you’re free.
I’d love for you to come. Thanks.’ She shot Dad a pointed look, and his face fell.
Oof. Ruthless; but the game was the game.
At one point, Dad stood up suddenly and left the waiting room, with a speed that caused us all to lift our heads in confusion.
Through the glass doors, I could see him pacing up and down, his hands occasionally rubbing his eyes as he bowed his head.
Despite everything that had happened over the last few hours, seeing him like that tugged at something soft inside me.
He looked smaller somehow – deflated – and for a moment I just watched him, torn between the habit of keeping my distance and the instinct to take care of him.
Eventually, that instinct won. I pushed myself up from the chair and slipped out through the doors into the corridor.
Up close, the sadness on his face was unmistakable.
A couple of tears had escaped down his cheek, hastily wiped away, but not fast enough for me to miss.
He didn’t notice me at first – he just kept pacing, fighting whatever storm was happening inside of him.
‘Dad?’ I said softly, stepping towards him.
He looked up, startled, before trying to hold himself together. ‘Cassie. What’s wrong? Is the baby here?’ He looked past me and into the waiting room, panicked.
‘No, no, not yet. I just wanted to come out and check on you; are you OK?’
The man had several pieces of luggage under each eye, which was red and bloodshot. He looked at me silently, and sighed.
‘I’m OK, my dear,’ he started. ‘I think it’s a mixture of nerves for the baby, tiredness and everything else. I … I really made a fool of myself in there, didn’t I?’
‘Um … yeah … yeah, you kinda did,’ I admitted, deciding there was no point dancing around it.
Today was supposed to be all about Steven and Bianca, and the tiny new human joining our family.
‘But it’s OK, we just need to focus on getting through the next few hours until the baby is born.
Now isn’t the time to dig up things between you and Mum. ’
My dad stared at me, squinting, as if looking at me through new eyes. ‘You would have been great if you’d decided to take up family law, you know; our little mediator, always trying to fix things.’
I smiled thinly. That was exactly the problem.
‘Maybe, but it’s not my job to be the family mediator though, is it? You and Mum are the parents. You’re the ones who should be there to help and support me and Steve – not the other way round. I want to be parented too, sometimes – and not just when it’s time for you to tell me off.’
Dad’s face shifted almost instantly, showing a mixture of surprise and what looked like embarrassment.
He glanced away briefly, his jaw tightening as he folded and unfolded his arms. For me, though, the moment felt strangely freeing.
It was as if this knot I had been carrying – tight and silent for years – had finally come loose.
Saying it out loud, naming the thing that had been eating at me, left me feeling a little lighter.
Dad swallowed, his voice a touch rough when he finally spoke. ‘I … I hear you,’ he said quietly. ‘I could have … done more. I’ve leaned on you more than I should have. More than a parent should.’ He rubbed the back of his neck, still avoiding my eyes but inching a little closer.
‘I don’t want us to—’
At that moment, Steven came bursting through the waiting room – a huge grin plastered on his face, followed by the sharp, beautiful cry of a newborn, indicating that my nephew was finally here.
‘Dad! Cass! He’s here! He’s beautiful!’ Steven cried, before disappearing into the delivery suite again. A wave of relief and quiet joy washed over us. As much as I wanted for this conversation with my dad to continue, there was a new priority in town.
I quickly caught my dad’s eye. ‘Can we talk about this later?’ I said breathily, making my way back to the waiting room with him trailing behind me, panting with excitement.
‘Yes, of course; I’m a grandad! I can’t believe it!’
After Bianca had been cleaned up and made comfortable, we were finally invited into her room – just a few at a time – to meet their new bundle of joy.
‘We’re calling him Aaron!’ Steven beamed, his face glowing with pure joy and pride. My little nephew lay nestled in Bianca’s arms – an oddly fascinating mix of tiny limbs, soft skin, and the rawness of just having entered the world.
I spent most of those first hours in my brother’s arms, sobbing erratically as our families all stared down at this tiny new bundle of life that had just appeared.
I was officially an auntie now – Auntie to little Aaron – which meant I suddenly had responsibilities that stretched beyond myself.
I would have a hand, however small, in shaping the person he would become, and that was a role I needed to take seriously.
For so long, I’d been consumed with trying to be the perfect daughter, the model child who lived up to my parents’ expectations of what I should be (if we exclude the whole ‘not becoming a lawyer’ bit, that is …).
But holding Aaron, I realised I simply didn’t have the emotional energy to carry both loads – to keep being what my parents wanted, and to give him the example he deserved.
Something had to shift, and maybe that brief conversation with my dad in the hospital corridor was just the beginning.
My nephew needed me to show up as the best role model for him, not as some ideal version of myself sculpted to satisfy my parents.
I got back home at around 8.30 a.m., exhausted, yet laced with a warmth and joy I hadn’t felt since yesterday morning.
After feeding Toby his breakfast, I flopped back into bed, fully prepared to have a quick fifteen-minute nap before taking a shower.
But just as I was settling in, a DM from Theo lit up my screen.
I bolted upright like I’d been hit with a taser.
We were supposed to meet at 10 a.m. today.
Shit. I hadn’t slept a wink and I looked like absolute shit.
Morning, beautiful. Looking forward to seeing you soon! I’m going to head down in the next twenty minutes or so. Also, could I get your number? I figure it would be easier to text than through the app. No worries if not. X
I read the message, a flicker of panic running through me.
Every fibre of my body was begging for rest, and the Rimowa-sized suitcases under my eyes were doing me no favours.
But Theo had asked for my number. My number.
Was he breaking his own carefully drawn rules and boundaries now?
Oh, baby. He wanted me. This was it. The tide was turning.
Tiredness be damned—I wasn’t about to stop the flow of destiny now.
I messaged him back, first sending him my phone number, followed by:
Of course you can have my number: there you go. I’m excited to see you! Also, apologies in advance if I look a little rough, it’s been a long night! x
I ran into the bathroom, brushed my teeth and had the quickest shower I’d ever had.
Afterwards, I threw on one of my luxury sheet facemasks while I moisturised my body and hastily put on an old-yet-comfortable and well-fitted Lucy & Yak sunflower-patterned jumpsuit, complete with a pair of Adidas Sambas.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it had to do for now.