Chapter 22
Asher
My dream of a certain brunette grinding on top of me while wearing only her gold-rimmed glasses is abruptly cut short by a shrill ringing.
Forcing one eye open, I feel around for my phone on the nightstand.
When my sister’s name flashes on the screen, my veins flood with concern.
She would never call me this early unless it was an emergency.
I shoot straight up and swipe the Answer button. “Mills?” My voice comes out groggy, so I clear my throat. “Is everything okay?”
“Hey Ash. Is Claire with you?”
“What? Why?” I throw back the sheets and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Holding the phone between my ear and shoulder, I pluck my shorts off the floor and yank them on. “Did something happen to Claire?”
Panic courses through me. Why the hell would Millie be calling about Claire?
“Nothing happened to Claire,” she says. “Clearly, if she’s not in your bed, dummy.” I can hear her eye roll over the phone.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, rushing down the hall to Claire’s room.
Her door is open, but the space is empty. When I whip around, I nearly bowl her over as she exits the bathroom.
“Jesus, Greer!” She smacks a hand to her chest, stumbling back. “You scared me. Is everything okay?”
My heart thunders against my ribs. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Brow furrowed, she whispers, “Who’s on the phone?”
Millie’s voice trills from down the line. “Is that Claire? I’m switching to FaceTime.”
“What’s going on?” Claire asks.
“The hell if I know. C’mon.” I press my hand to the small of her back and lead her into her bedroom, then close the door so we don’t wake Bea.
She turns on the lamp, and we settle on the mattress just as Millie and Ezra appear on the screen.
Jaw clenched, I examine them, looking for any sign of what’s going on. “If I have to ask one more—”
“We’re engaged!” my sister squeals.
Claire jumps onto my lap, her whole being lit up, the jostling making me drop the phone onto the bed.
Cradling Claire with one arm, I pick up the phone with my free hand and hold it up in front of us.
“About damn time, man,” I chastise my future brother-in-law.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says.
My sister rolls her eyes, then breaks into a smirk. “There’s more.”
“We’re getting hitched tomorrow,” Ezra rushes, like he’s on the verge of exploding.
Claire gasps, smacking a hand over her mouth.
“What do you mean you’re getting married tomorrow?” I ask, my eyes nearly popping out of my head. “Are you pregnant?”
“Asher Eli!” my sister shouts, just as Ezra says, “Not yet.”
Millie elbows him, but that doesn’t clear the impish expression from his face.
Claire giggles at their obnoxious banter, then utters the words I should have said in the first place. “That’s amazing, you two. Congratulations. Tell us everything.”
“Holy forking spancakes,” Claire says when we hang up. “I can’t believe they’re finally getting married. Are you surprised?” She studies me, her eyes twinkling. “How are you feeling about it? You seemed a little upset. Maybe? Or did I read that wrong?”
I give her a half smile. “I knew he was going to propose.”
“You did?”
“You know how Ezra is. Probably the most upstanding guy I know. He asked both Dad and me for permission.”
“Really? When?”
“Months ago. But I actually knew long before that.”
She quirks a brow, curious, and waits silently for me to explain.
“Bea drew a picture of the two of them on top of a cake. When I asked her about it, she said Uncle Ezra told her there would be a surprise.”
Claire giggles. “Remind me never to tell that girl my secrets.”
I laugh back. “That would be smart.”
“So why did you seem upset, then?”
Her fingers graze mine in an invitation and I accept by twining them together.
“Am I a bad brother if I say I’m relieved they’re having a shotgun wedding at city hall?”
The look on her face is anything but accusatory when she asks, “What would make you think that?”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
I pull my hand away, but she stops me. Grounds me.
“Asher. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You should know by now that I’d never judge you.”
My body deflates. She’s right. Claire has a way of putting me at ease. Must be a skill she learned in medical school.
Exhaling, I admit what I’ve been selfishly holding inside for a long time.
“I’m not ready for a wedding. Last year, a buddy asked me to be a groomsman, and even then, I couldn’t get myself to do it.
He understood why I bailed and never once gave me a hard time about it, but…
” I swallow thickly, digging for the strength to say the rest.
Claire squeezes my hand and rubs her thumb back and forth softly.
“I—I’m so happy for my sister. Truly. Ezra is perfect for her—for our family—but the white dress, the flowers, the traditions… it just makes me think of my—of Daisy.” A swell of emotion nearly knocks me over, but I remain upright.
“It’s okay to think about your wife,” she assures me.
“Please don’t call her that,” I mumble.
For the first time, Claire’s neutral expression falters and morphs into one of shock.
“But—”
“I know,” I cut her off with more intensity than intended. “She was my wife. But she’s gone, Claire. She’s fucking gone.”
I don’t even register the tear that escapes until a delicate finger swipes it off my cheek.
“Hey, hey, hey,” she shushes. “She will always be your wife. Even when you remarry, she’ll still be yours.”
I huff out a sob. “Yeah, I don’t see that happening.”
“What do you mean?” Frowning, she angles in, searching my expression. “Don’t you want Bea to have a motherly figure in her life?”
“She already does. She has Millie. She has—” You is on the tip of my tongue, but I stop myself. “She has my mom and Natalie. Joey, even.”
Claire bites her lip like she’s holding back, but she doesn’t keep her thoughts to herself for long. “You can’t mean that. Bea should have another parent. She deserves to see you share your life with someone.”
This time I do retract my hand from hers. “I’ve done just fine as a single dad.”
“Shit. You know that’s not what I meant.” She heaves out a loud breath. “Of course you’ve done fine. More than fine. You’ve done a remarkable job raising Bea. But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone for the rest of your life.”
I lean forward and dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, ceasing the flow of tears. I only cry about Daisy one day a year. Never more than that.
The circles Claire draws on my back are meant to be tender and sympathetic, but my shoulders tense and humiliation washes over me.
“Ash, honey,” she soothes. “You deserve to share your life with someone.”
“I have—”
“I know you have Bea,” she cuts me off, her tone kind but stern. “And you know that’s not who I’m talking about.”
I stand abruptly and back away. “Excuse me. I’m going to shower.”
Luckily, Claire doesn’t say another word as I escape to my bedroom.
The water practically boils my skin as I stand beneath the stream, thoughts racing so quickly that not a single coherent one comes to the forefront of my mind. After dressing in the bathroom, I open the door, and I practically jump out of my mustache when Bea is waiting for me on the bed.
“Morning, Daddy.” Grinning, she throws Bunny into the air and catches the worn stuffed animal in her lap. Bunny has seen better days. It used to be Millie’s.
“Morning, Dolly.” I launch myself onto the mattress, digging my fingers under her arms, eliciting the best sound in the world—my daughter’s laughter.
Once she’s begged for mercy and caught her breath, she stares up at me, her hazel eyes full of concern.
“Why are you sad?”
Clearing my throat, I sit at the end of the bed. “I’m not sad.”
Bea crawls over next to me and rests Bunny on my leg. “It’s okay if you’re sad. Lots of big boys cry.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “Oh, do they? And who told you that?”
“Grandpa. He cries every year on my birthday.”
My heart lurches. “What?”
“Uh-huh. Me and Grandma cry too,” she remarks nonchalantly.
“Why?” I scoop her onto my lap. “Why do you cry on your birthday?”
“Because we miss my mom.”
All the oxygen is stripped from my lungs. And then some.
“Do you miss her? Is that why you were crying?” she asks.
I nod, unable to form the words to respond. My daughter wraps her dainty arms around my neck, and we stay like that for I don’t know how long. When she finally releases me, the top of her hair is damp from my tears.
“I’m sorry, Dolly.” I sniff.
Her little lips turn down, her head tilting to one side. “Why?”
I’m sorry for a million things. Where do I even begin? How do I tell a five-year-old I’ve been hiding my tears and grief because I thought that’s what was best for her? I thought I was protecting her, but suddenly I can’t help but think I’ve been doing her a disservice this entire time.
“Because I’ve been keeping a secret from you.”
“But we don’t keep secrets in this family. Only surprises.”
“You’re right. And Daddy is very sorry. I cry on your birthday, too, because I miss your mom, and I’ve been hiding that from you. It was wrong and I won’t do it again. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay,” she says feebly.
I tilt her chin up, my eyes locked with hers. “No. It’s not okay. But I hope you’ll accept my apology. I promise to make better choices.”
Nodding, she says, “I forgive you.”
After exchanging kisses, I embrace her again. Tight, as if she’ll become untethered from me and float up into the sky if I don’t.
“You know what? Grandma says two things can be true,” my daughter tells me, sounding far too grown up. “She says she can be sad that my mom died and happy that I was born.”
“Grandma is very wise,” I remark, making a mental note to thank Jack and Natalie for being so wonderful. “So are you.” I kiss her head.
“You can be sad and happy, Daddy.”
“You’re right. And do you know what makes me happy?”
“Claire,” she announces joyfully, throwing Bunny in the air again and nearly whacking me in the face.
My lungs seize up. When did this little girl get so perceptive?