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“Come on. Don’t cry. Crying sucks,” I mumble. Should I talk to her in that little baby speech that people always do? No, that would be dumb. I don’t think it would make a difference, either.
But to my surprise, Violet stops crying. She looks back up at me, silent and reproachful.
I think that I’ve accomplished something huge… before she lets out the loudest, angriest screech to date.
Of fucking course she isn’t going to take to me. Why would she? I don’t know why I bothered with this. I wasn’t even supposed to be here with this child.
“This is stupid,” I mutter. Before Olivia can protest, I set the baby back down in the crib. “I have work to do.”
Violet’s wails fade into the background as I leave her nursery without looking back. I slam the door behind me and make a beeline for my office. I don’t actually have to do anything, but I’ll find something to stay busy. Working is the buffer I need between me and the reality that I’m paying a stranger to parent my own kid.
Is that worse than my father? It certainly isn’t much better.
My feet feel heavy. I lock my office door behind me and trudge to my chair. Pitifully, I plop. The chair creaks beneath my dead weight and spins slowly in one direction.
What am I doing?
Exhaustion and guilt churn in my gut. I shouldn’t have yelled at Olivia. I should have tried harder with Violet. A good father would have behaved better.
Well, you’re not really a father, are you? You wouldn’t know what fatherhood looked like if it spat in your fucking face. So how are you supposed to be a good one?
I groan. In frustration, I bang my fists on my desk. “This is bullshit!”
I need to just stay away from Violet. I can’t be trusted to be anything more significant than a glorified sperm donor. Her tears are my fault, so it’s no wonder I can’t fix them.
And what do I look like to Olivia? Incompetent at best. Monstrous at worst.
No, she sees what I’ve been saying: that it’s better for me to stay away from my daughter. It’ll be the best thing for her. For all of us.
Even if I fucking hate myself for it.
19
REESE
I keep myself holed up in my office for the better part of the day and evening. Olivia will be here until the morning, so I’m taking advantage of the hours I don’t have to be a parent.
Sounds pathetic, but at least I’m honest about my shortcomings, right?
I found some shit to do. Went through the playbook twice, made some notes on improvements. Shot down an offer from Dante and Marcus to go out and get drinks. I never turn down drinks. They asked if I’d been replaced by a body snatcher.
If only.
When I can’t find another reason to reread the playbook, I get on social media and scroll aimlessly. My eyes are going unfocused when I hear the snatches of a song coming from upstairs. Someone singing.
“… I’d rather be dry but at least I’m alive / Rain on me, rain, rain / Rain on me, rain, rain.”
My brow goes up. I check the time. It’s too late for Paula to still be here, and in the seven years she’s been my assistant, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the woman hum a tune, let alone carry one. Tom is gone, Gladys doesn’t work today, the gardeners don’t come until next week.
Which means only one thing.
Olivia.
I know I should be keeping my distance, especially after earlier. But something has a hook in my chest and it’s reeling me closer and closer to her.
I tell myself that it’ll be funny to give her a little scare, won’t it? Just to break the foul mood hanging over the house. Dispelling some of that tension might actually be good in the long run since she’s going to be here a hell of a lot longer than originally anticipated.
I push up from my desk and follow the echo of her singing voice. It gets clearer and clearer as I make my way up the stairs. What had initially been slightly garbled clarifies into something… pretty. Beautiful, really.
