25. A Pinch of Magic
A Pinch of Magic
M ost of tomorrow’s refreshments for Mother’s Day are ready, the smell of food wafting through the house as I throw another look at Sadie, sitting next to me on the couch. “How about some ice cream?”
“I ate pizza at Grandma’s,” she says in a small voice.
“That’s okay. You can have ice cream too.”
She nods but avoids my gaze completely, instead stroking Mollie like it’s her job.
She’s been like this since I picked her up, and Josie’s mom said she barely spoke a word the whole afternoon, which must mean something happened at school. But what?
I can almost hear Josie’s voice telling me to give Sadie time, that I can’t press her into speaking to me.
That it’s never too early to give her space to process her emotions.
I always thought it was a load of bullshit—always had more of a protective “let me fix it for you” attitude.
But since Josie’s been gone, I’ve had time to rethink everything.
“Do you want to watch cartoons? Or talk?”
“There’s Bluey on Monday night,” she says, already reaching for the remote.
The TV flickers to life, filling the room with cheerful noise that feels at odds with the tension in her small shoulders. I bite back the questions crowding my throat and bend to pick up her backpack, abandoned in the corner.
But before I can move toward the hooks by the door, the Paw Patrol bag is yanked from my hands.
“It’s mine,” Sadie snaps, clutching it tight.
I freeze, my hands still midair where the backpack used to be.
That was . . . abrupt.
She hugs the bag, her little fingers curled tight around the straps, but she doesn’t even look at me—just turns on her heel and hurries toward the couch.
Something’s in there.
She scoops up Mollie, the backpack still clutched tight against her chest. I don’t like it. Not the tension in her tiny frame, nor the way she averts her eyes. But I don’t push it—not yet. Instead, I head to the kitchen and call, “I’ll get some ice cream.”
She doesn’t answer, but I hear the familiar jingle of some cartoon theme song. Good. At least she’s doing something normal.
I get two bowls and add a scoop of chocolate ice cream, then a scoop of strawberry. Normally, she’d be right next to me, chattering about her day, sneaking a spoon when she thought I wasn’t looking. Not today.
Once I finish, I grab the bowls and head back into the living room. She’s curled into the corner of the couch, Mollie sprawled across her lap. She strokes the cat absently, but the moment I sit down beside her, she nudges Mollie away and reaches for the backpack.
Not even a second of hesitation.
I settle in, draping an arm along the back of the couch, making sure to keep my voice light. “You really needed that, huh?”
She nods, pulling it closer.
I offer her the bowl. “Here. Nothing better than ice cream and Bluey .”
She takes it, fidgeting with the spoon, but doesn’t eat it.
I keep my eyes on the screen and gently ask, “What’s in the backpack?”
She stiffens beside me. Doesn’t answer.
“It’s okay, you know. Whatever it is.”
“It’s nothing.”
I hum, nodding like I believe her. “Must be pretty special for you to keep it so close.”
She tugs her lip between her teeth, a tiny crease forming over the bridge of her nose. She’s thinking about it.
“Sadie,” I say, dipping my head slightly to meet her gaze. “You don’t have to tell me. But if something’s wrong...you know you can, right?”
She hesitates, then nods.
I reach out, running a hand over her hair, smoothing down the strands. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” The second she lets go of the backpack, I pull her onto my lap and set our bowls on the coffee table, holding her close.
“You’re sorry?” I whisper. “Sorry for what, baby?”
“You told me n-not to take it to school, b-but I wanted everyone to see it.”
My heart squeezes at the guilt in her voice. I tilt my head, trying to meet her tear-streaked gaze. “That’s okay, love. What did you take to school?”
She hesitates, then pulls away just enough to reach for the backpack. Her fingers tremble as she unzips it, her breathing shallow. When she finally takes it out, I don’t understand what I’m looking at—not at first.
But as she unfolds it, everything in me tightens.
It’s her dress, the one I bought her for the recital. But the once shiny, pale blue fabric is now smeared with dirt. The hem is torn, a jagged rip running up one side. Faint stains—something dark, maybe paint—mar the front, and the delicate lace along the collar is frayed, barely hanging on.
“Sadie,” I murmur, too stunned to say more.
She rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I just wanted to show Monica and S-Selene, I-I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Oh, sweetheart.
I cup her cheek, guiding her face up so she has to look at me. Her big, watery eyes blink up at mine, her lip trembling. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Her fingers grip the ruined fabric like it might disappear if she lets go. “It was an accident,” she rushes out. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Hey, hey.” I stroke her hair again, keeping my voice steady. “I’m not mad, princess.”
Her face crumples, fresh tears spilling over. “But it’s ruined, and now I don’t have a dress for tomorrow.”
I pull her back against my chest, wrapping her up tight, and press my cheek to the top of her head. “That’s okay. We’ll find another dress.”
She cries harder, fisting my shirt. “I don’t want you to be mad.”
“I’m not mad at you, love. Never at you. How about we put this away now?”
“I won’t have a pretty dress for Mommy’s Day.”
She looks so fucking sad. I hope someone at school can explain what the hell happened, because I’ll be asking.
“Are you kidding?” I blow out a raspberry, hoping to coax even the smallest smile from her. “You’ve got plenty of beautiful dresses. The orange one with the flowers? Or—oh! The purple one with the big skirt? You know that’s my favorite.”
She shifts, her little shoulders sagging. “But they’re not new. I told Mom I’d wear a new dress.”
The breath I take is measured, because suddenly, I’m realizing this dress might be the least of my problems.
Does Sadie think Josie is coming to the recital?
Is that why she was so excited to participate?
I’d wondered if Sadie had brought it up to her mom during one of their phone calls, but Josie never said a word.
Will she come? She’s not in rehab anymore—she could.
But after the way I talked to her...Fuck, did I just ruin every chance of her showing up?
When Sadie looks up at me, eyes wide and searching, I know I need to say something. Something to comfort her, to soften the blow.
But I can’t think of a single damn thing.
She sniffles. “I can wear the purple one. Don’t be sad, Daddy.”
I press my lips together to keep my frustration in check. What I really want to do is bury my face in my hands and scream into the void, but I can’t do that. Not in front of her.
Then it hits me.
“You know what?” I sit up straighter. “Daddy is going to fix this.”
“But the purple dress . . . the purple dress is okay.”
“No, it’s not,” I say gently, reaching for the ruined fabric she’s still clutching. “Because this is your dress. The one you were excited about. The one you picked out.” I press my thumb over a torn edge. “And I think we can save it.”
Her eyes widen. “We can?”
“Uh-huh. We’ll clean it, fix the rips, maybe even make it better than before. Add some extra sparkles, a few bows—” I pause, lowering my voice like I’m letting her in on a secret. “Maybe even a little magic.”
She sniffles, but there’s the tiniest spark of hope in her eyes. “Magic?”
“Of course.” I grin. “We’ll make it good as new. Better than new. Because you see, Daddy knows someone who can make magic with clothes.”
“Like a fairy?” she asks, lips parted.
“Better than a fairy.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and hold it up. “Shall we call her?”
When Sadie nods, the light has returned to her face.
And you know what? That’s fucking magic.
I bite my nail as Charlotte paces back and forth, surveying the pale blue dress—or rather, what’s left of it—spread across the living room table. She brings a hand to her chin, humming thoughtfully.
I’ve missed her so much all weekend, but Beatrice wouldn’t let her out.
She wasn’t at home all day today either, and I cooked only for Beatrice.
Through her absence, I kept thinking about Friday.
After the shower, I rubbed the towel all over her, then dried her hair.
And then...then we spent all night doing everything but that .
We kissed for hours, gave each other some pretty unforgettable orgasms, and eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms.
I thought I knew happiness, but then I woke up to her sleepy face and she wished me good morning from the pillow beside mine.
Sadie, crouched beside the dress, covers her face with both hands and watches Charlotte through the gaps between her fingers. “Can you fix it?”
Charlotte turns to me, and the second I see her face, I know the answer.
No, she can’t.
Fuck.
“Okay, here’s the thing.” She lowers herself to her knees, her elbow nearly touching Sadie’s, and leans in to whisper conspiratorially. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of your dad, because he got it for you, but this dress?”
She scrunches her nose.
Sadie’s gaze drops to the tattered fabric. “You don’t like it?”
“Oh, it’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong.” Charlotte waves a hand. “It’s just...you know your dad. He doesn’t know the first thing about dresses.”
Sadie nods, hanging on to her every word.
“And this color?” Charlotte brings a hand to her chest. “It’s all wrong for Mother’s Day.”
“It is?!” Sadie’s jaw drops.
“Absolutely. Pale blue? For a recital in the morning ? Pfft.” She clicks her tongue as if the thought is simply ridiculous.
Sadie nibbles her lip, her face twisting with worry, and I warn, “Charlotte.”
What the hell is she doing? I called her to help , and I get that the dress might be unsalvageable, but this sure isn’t helping.
When she shushes me with a flick of her fingers, Sadie says, “Daddy said I should wear the purple one with the big skirt.”
Charlotte gasps. “A big skirt? Do we want everyone to see your underpants every time you twirl?”
Sadie’s eyes widen in horror. “No!”
“Exactly.” Charlotte nods.
“What about the orange one with the flowers?”
“No, no.” Charlotte takes Sadie’s hand and leads her to the armchair, where she’s dumped rolls of fabric and four tote bags overflowing with supplies. “This is an important recital. You’re going to need a new dress.”
Sadie’s eyes dart between the bags and Charlotte’s face. “But where will we get it?”
“We will make it.”
Sadie’s hands fly to her cheeks, her entire body practically vibrating with excitement. “ Really? ”
“Absolutely. You pick the fabric and I’ll do the rest while your dad makes us hot chocolates.” She tosses me a wink. “Your dad’s better in the kitchen than he is with fashion anyway.”
Very funny.
But I don’t even have time to react before Sadie’s bouncing on her toes, her face radiant. “Daddy! Did you hear ?” She whirls around, her fists up in the air. “Charlotte is going to make me a new dress!”
She spins back to the armchair, already reaching for the fabric rolls. She brushes her hand over a shimmering lilac one, then another with tiny silver flowers. “Look at this one!” she squeals, holding up a deep red fabric that glows under the light. “It’s sparkly !”
Charlotte grins. “You like sparkles, huh?”
Sadie nods emphatically. “Oh! But this one has flowers! And this one is pink! Charlotte, how do I choose?”
Charlotte laughs, plopping down onto the armchair. “Well, you take your time, and?—”
Now holding a royal blue fabric, Sadie gasps. “This one! This one’s perfect .”
“Then perfect it is,” Charlotte says before wrapping the fabric around her like a cloak. “ This is queen material.”
I watch Charlotte take out her scissors, and once I’m sure she has it all under control, I head into the kitchen, sneaking one last glance at Sadie. She’s standing tall, her eyes bright, completely enchanted by the fabric Charlotte’s working with.
An hour ago, she was curled up in misery, clutching a ruined dress to her chest. Now, she looks like she’s ready to take on the world.
And it’s all because of Charlotte.
Funny, because that’s exactly how she makes me feel too. Like with her, I’m not just existing—I’m living . Like every step with her leads straight to the top.