Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
HALLIE
It’s safe to say I’m freaking out.
The wedding is tomorrow and I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to wear. Usually, I’m not this picky about clothes. Except, like everything that has to do with my estranged father, the urge to appear like I have my life together can’t be helped.
The dresses lying on the end of my bed taunt me. I grab my phone and snap a picture, then send it to the group chat I now have with Clara and Delilah. Clara, of course, had to name it something quirky. It’s gone through a few iterations, but it’s currently titled Hot Girl Shit .
Help me!
Delilah
Those are so pretty!
Clara
Damn, babe. You’ve been holding out on us!!
Most of the clothing I own is nowhere near this fancy.
A majority of the time, I opt for comfortable fashion.
But that isn’t going to work for Caitlyn’s wedding.
The dress code isn’t black-tie, but it’s pretty freaking close, so I had to dig in my closet for the nicer dresses I own.
Thanks to the New Year’s Eve parties I used to attend with my nanny families back in the city, I had a few options to choose from.
I can’t decide! I’ve been staring at them for days. I need the decision to be taken out of my hands.
Delilah
Soph says green and I agree. It complements the purple in your hair.
Clara
Green. Definitely green.
I stare at the dresses, and the more I think about it, the more I know they’re right. Grabbing the black dress, I shove it back into the closet. I’ll bring the green dress down to the laundry room later so I can get rid of any wrinkles.
Clara
On a scale of one to ten, how much are you freaking out about this wedding?
Fourteen .
While I haven’t told even Clara about her brother’s willingness to lie for me, I’ve been upfront about the situation with Kevin and what it was like meeting my half siblings for the first time. Clara was none too pleased when I told her about Dana’s comments.
Probably a ten…
Clara
You know I’d go with you! All you have to do is say the word.
My cheeks heat. I guess I forgot to mention that I already have a plus-one. And while I don’t particularly want to tell her that role belongs to her brother, I know she’ll keep offering if I don’t.
It’s okay. Gabe’s actually coming with me.
I brace, waiting for her reaction. It isn’t like I told her I’m madly in love with him, but my heart pounds regardless.
I’ve always been worried about what Clara would think if she knew just how deeply I feel about Gabe.
In my imagination, all the worst case scenarios end with her not wanting to be my friend anymore, and I’m not sure if that’s something I could live with.
In a lot of ways, she’s the sister I never had, and I don’t want to lose her.
Clara
You’re taking Gabe as your date?! And you neglected to tell me??
I’m sorry!
Clara
It’s fine, I suppose. He’ll probably make a better date than me anyway. I can’t promise I won’t take someone’s eye out if they look at you wrong.
Delilah
Clara! Violence isn’t the answer.
Clara
It is sometimes!!
Really though, I’m glad Gabe is going with you. You need someone in your corner too.
Delilah
And I’m sure he’ll be the *perfect* gentleman. ;)
Now my face flames . I know Delilah is teasing, but it makes my palms sweat.
Because she has no idea how much I want that to be true—how much I want Gabe to be anything but a gentleman and have his way with me.
Being in his space, living with him, has been nothing short of torture.
Especially when he comes inside after working out with his equipment in the garage…
Clara
I made a mistake. I take back my friendship.
Delilah
Too late! You’re stuck with me now.
Clara
Trapped in a hell of my own making.
Please refrain from discussing my brothers and their…gentlemanly qualities. I’d rather not puke today.
But we’re just friends!
Delilah
He doesn’t look at you like just a friend.
I suck in a sharp breath.
Thankfully, the sound of the front door opening down on the main level gives me the perfect excuse to hide from this conversation. I toss my phone onto the bed and leave my room. Hopefully by the time I come back, the two of them will have moved on to a different topic.
As soon as I start walking down the stairs, Abbie comes stomping up them. She bypasses me entirely and heads straight to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
Yikes .
When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I take in Gabe’s pinched expression. “That bad?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know what happened. She seemed upset when I picked her up from school, but she won’t say why.”
I chew on my lower lip as I think. “I might have an idea, if that’s okay.”
He waves a hand toward the stairs. “Go ahead. I’m clearly not her favourite person right now anyway.”
My expression softens, and I close the distance between us, setting a hand on his arm. “She might be upset, but she still loves you. So much. And her expressing her feelings like this is a testament to how safe she feels with you.”
His lips quirk slightly up at that. “Luke said something similar a few months ago.”
It’s true. I was never comfortable enough with Amanda to be so free with my emotions, good or bad. I always felt like I was tiptoeing. Like even if I did express myself, I wouldn’t get the care I craved. Watching Gabe with his daughter is healing, in a way.
I give his arm a squeeze, then let go. “You’re a great dad, Gabe. Abbie is lucky to have you.”
I don’t go back upstairs right away. Instead, I head out to the guesthouse. Although I moved most of my belongings into the main house, I left my painting supplies out there. Once I gather what I need, I go find Abbie.
Knocking on her door, I call out, “Abbs? Can I come in?”
I hear a dejected okay , so I step inside.
Abbie’s room is something out of younger Hallie’s dreams. She has a shimmery green canopy that drapes around the head of her bed, and her comforter is pink and covered in flowers.
Along one wall, she has shelves full of books and toys, and beside them, a large wooden dollhouse that has John and his craftsmanship written all over it.
On the opposite side of the room, there’s a small table and set of chairs.
Abbie peers up at me from her spot in front of her dollhouse. Her usually carefree expression is guarded.
“I came to see if you wanted to paint with me,” I say, holding up the supplies.
That piques her interest. “I like to paint.”
I smile. “I had a feeling you might.” Setting everything on the table, I pull one of the chairs out and take a seat. “Come see what I have.”
Abbie’s dolls are forgotten then. She can’t resist the temptation. She quickly climbs into the chair opposite me and watches as I set out watercolour paints, brushes, a cup of water. Then I set a piece of watercolour paper in front of her.
“I have those colours in my paint set at Mommy’s house,” she says, pointing as I fill our palette with red and then blue.
“This paint is different than what you’re used to,” I explain. “We have to use some water. It’s a little like magic.”
I demonstrate, swirling my brush through the paint and then swiping it across my page. Abbie watches in wonder, then picks up her own brush and tries it for herself.
We paint in silence for a while. I don’t want to pressure her into talking if she’s not ready, but I’m hoping she’ll decide to open up. I hate thinking of her keeping her emotions bottled up.
“Daddy said you’re the best at painting,” she says eventually. She frowns at her paper. “I’m not very good.”
“You know what I love about art?” She looks at me, eyes wide in that curious kid way. “You don’t have to be great or good or anything at all. You can just be . Some people make art as their job, but I like being free to create whatever I want, whenever I want. It helps me process my feelings.”
She turns back to her paper, swirling her brush across it in abstract strokes.
“Sometimes it’s hard to know what we’re feeling,” I continue. “Especially when the emotions are new or they feel really big. But once I’ve figured it out, it’s a bit easier to talk about them.”
I let the quiet settle over us again.
Eventually, she speaks. “Daddy made me mad.”
I set my brush down. “Do you know why you felt mad?”
“He got me from school, and he asked why I was sad. And I didn’t wanna tell him, but he wanted me to, and that made me mad.”
“Did something happen today at school?” She hesitates, so I add, “You don’t have to tell me, but you may feel better if you do. How about you practice on me so you can tell your dad after?”
She curls the corner of her page between her thumb and forefinger. “My teacher got me in trouble for talking when she was talking,” she mumbles. Her cheeks pinken at the admission, and she ducks her head.
The pieces begin to click. “Getting in trouble doesn’t feel very good, does it?”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are shining. She shakes her head. “No. Everyone looked at me! That made me mad, too. And I didn’t want Daddy to know because he doesn’t like me being bad at school.”
My heart tugs. “Emotions are complicated. Sometimes we think we feel one thing when it’s actually something else. Remember how you said that about Gordon? How he might really be sad, not angry? It sounds to me like maybe you weren’t actually mad, you were just embarrassed.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“What did your body feel like when your classmates were looking at you?”
She presses her hands to her cheeks. “My face felt like it was on fire . And I wanted to hide.”
“That’s what embarrassment can feel like.
It also means that sometimes, we don’t like talking about the poor decisions we’ve made because we don’t want to disappoint the people who love us,” I say.
“But let me tell you something. The people who love us? They’re not going to love us any less for being wrong.
We just have to try to do the right thing the next time. ”
“I’m not supposed to talk when my teacher’s talking,” she says.
I nod. “If you go to school on Monday and say sorry, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
“Will Daddy forgive me for slamming my door?” she asks. “I’m not supposed to do that either. That’s mean.”
This girl . She has the kindest, softest heart.
“Why don’t you go talk to him? Tell him what you told me.”
She looks unsure, but she slowly agrees. “Will you be there with me?”
“Yeah. I’ve got your back, babe.”
Together, Abbie and I clean up our mess of paints. We leave our papers to dry on the table. Then she takes a fortifying breath and walks with me down the stairs.
We find Gabe in the kitchen, starting on Abbie’s dinner. Abbie looks at me for reassurance, then crosses the room to him. I lean against the doorframe, watching them.
Abbie grabs the hem of her shirt with both hands, stretching the fabric slightly. “I’m sorry I was mean, Daddy,” she says quietly. “I thought I was mad, but I was really…” She trails off, then looks over her shoulder. “Hallie, what’s the word?”
“Embarrassed,” I supply.
Gabe’s eyes flick to me, then back to his daughter. He lifts her up and sets her on the counter so they’re closer to being eye to eye.
“Why were you embarrassed?” he asks. “You can tell me anything, Abbs.”
“Because I did a bad thing,” she replies. “I talked when my teacher was talking, and she got me in trouble. But I’m not gonna do it anymore, and I’m gonna say sorry when I see her on Monday. Hallie says she’ll forgive me.”
His gaze flicks to me again. A small smile curves his lips. “Hallie is very smart,” he tells her. “It sounds like you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I’m sorry I slammed my door. That wasn’t nice.”
“Already forgiven.” He brushes one of her dark curls out of her face. “I love you, Abbs.”
She leans forward, throwing her arms around him as best she can. “Love you, Daddy.”
As Gabe hugs her, he looks at me over the top of her head. Thank you , he mouths. I simply smile. I’d do anything for her—for both of them. And Gabe is already doing so much for me, helping me with Kevin and his family. If I can do something small like this for him, of course I’m going to.
When Abbie pulls out of his arms, Gabe inspects her face and hands. There’s definitely some paint there. “What did you two get up to?” he asks.
I move into the kitchen now, and I meet Abbie’s eyes with a wink. “We made a little magic.”
Gabe sets Abbie back on the floor. “Maybe wash the magic off before dinner, yeah?”
“You got it, dude,” Abbie says, then runs toward the bathroom.
I laugh as I watch her leave. But then I feel Gabe’s focus on me, and it feels heavy. That familiar warmth curls around me.
“You’re killing me, Foster,” he all but groans.
I look at him, worrying my bottom lip. “I’m not trying to.”
He steps forward then, into my space. With his thumb, he tugs my lip out from between my teeth. His dark eyes swirl with a mix of pain and longing.
“That’s the problem.”