“My father emailed. It… put me in a mood. But that’s not an excuse to take it out on you.”
“No, it’s not.” She finally looks at me directly. “Calvin, I get that this project is stressful. I get that you have a lot riding on it. But I’m doing my best here. We all are. And if you can’t treat us with basic respect?—”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” I force myself to say the words I need to say, even though vulnerability doesn’t come naturally. “I keep letting my own issues bleed into how I treat the team. It’s not fair, and it’s not professional, and I’m going to work on it.”
She studies me for a long moment, looking surprised. Meanwhile, between us, Ella contentedly slurps her water.
“Okay,” Georgia finally says. “I appreciate that.”
We stand awkwardly, both aware that the rest of the team is pretending not to watch this exchange.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” I say. “And I’ll stay out of your way today. Let you lead without me hovering.”
“That would be appreciated.” She pauses. “But Calvin? If you need to talk about whatever’s in that email… I mean, I know we’re not exactly friends, but desert life gets lonely. Sometimes it helps to vent.”
The offer surprises me. After the way I’ve treated her, she’s still extending kindness. “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I walk back to the dining tent, feeling marginally better but still unsettled. My father wants me to come home. To abandon this project and return to being the son he designed me to be. And part of me, the part that’s been conditioned since childhood to seek his approval, wants to comply. To prove I can be the businessman he wants, the heir he groomed. It would be the easier move, the move that I’ve made plenty of times in my life.
But a larger part, one that’s been growing stronger since I bought this site, since I hired Georgia, since I first stood on this sand—that part refuses.
This matters. This project, this search for my grandmother’s history, this attempt to honor her memory and understand where I come from—it matters more than perhaps anything else in my life. I just need to stop sabotaging it with my own fears and inadequacies.
I need to be better. Do better. Starting with treating Georgia and the team with the respect they deserve.
I’ve learned hownotto do things from my father. Now I have to figure out how to do things… And it already feels like the hardest task I’ve ever come up against.
CHAPTER 13
CALVIN
“Ella, no!” Georgia lunges across the breakfast table just in time to grab the child away from the hot skillet full of scrambled eggs.
“No!” Ella shouts right back.
Georgia attempts to put her into the highchair, but Ella fights with the commitment of a wrestling champion, her face red with exertion and anger.
“Here, habibti.” Fatima hands Ella a wooden spoon, which Ella grabs and bangs against the table. It gives Georgia enough of a distraction for her to buckle Ella into the high chair.
Fatima sighs. “I’m sorry. I should have moved that skillet.”
“You can’t be everywhere all at once, remembering everything.” Georgia pushes hair from her face, little strands that have worked their way loose from her bun. “If only we could babyproof the desert.”
The table chuckles, but it’s a tired chuckle—the kind people force when they’re desperately trying to make the best of a hardsituation. No one complains about Ella—that’s been exclusively my job, up until yesterday when I found the sippy cup and decided I’m done whining.
If I want a change to happen, I need to be the one to make it. “Actually,” I hear myself say, “we probably could. Babyproof the camp, I mean.”
Everyone turns to stare at me.
“What?” Georgia asks, genuine confusion on her face.
“The camp. We could make it safer. More… Ella-friendly.” I gesture around. “Cover sharp corners, secure equipment, create boundaries. It’s just engineering. Problem-solving.”
Edmond raises his eyebrows. “That’s a good idea, but we don’t exactly have a hardware or baby store we can run out to.”
“I doubt we would even need to, if we did have that. We have some foam, right? For packing. I can start there. Also, there are things that can be moved out of her reach but to where they’re still accessible to others. It would make things easier for everyone.” I look at Georgia. “Safer for Ella. Less stressful for you.”
Georgia is staring at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Calvin, you don’t have to?—”
