Page 23 of The Daddy’s Girl

I smile, picking up her hands and kissing the backs of each one. Tears spring to my eyes, but I quickly blink them away.

I help her with her cardigan and unlock her wheelchair so I can push her around the veranda on this beautiful day.

My mother had me young. Only seventeen when I was born, she raised me on her own. From the day I came until the day she stopped recognizing my face, she called me the love of her life. Her one and only. And in every single one of my memories, it was just us.

There never was a more patient or gracious woman.

As we pass the front desk toward the garden, the attendant gives me a proud smile. I don’t know how long it’s been since my mother has been outside, but they try. She can be stubborn at times, this I know. So I feel a sense of accomplishment at getting her out of her room.

And a sense of guilt for not coming by more.

“I’ll have to come back on a sunnier day,” I say as we start on the bumpy brick path around the flower beds and gazebo.

We wave to the other patients gathered around the garden. The nurses and attendants are helping some of them plant flowers, and I feel a sting of jealousy at how many of the women my mother’s age can still hold conversations, even forgetful ones.

“Lilies,” my mother mutters as she points a shaky finger at the garden.

“Your favorite,” I reply, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“Oui.”

Spotting an empty bench with a sliver of sunlight through the thick clouds, I push my mother’s wheelchair toward it. As I park it next to the bench, I take a seat and turn to face her.

She’s staring out at the garden and the people passing by. I see the frustrated confusion on her face, so I softly take her hand in mine. Gently, I caress the knuckles of her hand with my thumb, and it seems to calm her irritation. Her brows relax and her expression softens.

“I have a date tonight,” I say as I watch her face for a reaction.

Of course, there is none. Not really. So I continue.

“It will be my first real date in many years. Maybe forever. She’s a nice woman. Her name is Laura, and I’ve been talking to her on the phone for the past few days. Well,” I add with a chuckle. “With the help of my goddaughter. You know Amelia.”

At that name, my mother turns her eyes toward me as if clinging to something I said.

“Yes, Amelia. You remember?”

Subtly, she shakes her head.

“You’ve met her. She was a lot younger then, but she’s all grown up now. You’d love her,” I say, squeezing her hand. “She’s so creative and funny and brilliant. And…beautiful. She’s been helping me find a date. Telling me what to say and how to respond without being…you know…me. She says I’m too flirty and too charming. You used to say the same actually.”

Her brow furrows again.

“Anyway…what was I saying? I was telling you about my date, and then I started talking about Amelia instead.”

Her interest piques at the mention of her name again. The corner of my mouth lifts in a crooked smirk.

“Okay, Maman,” I reply, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “I will bring her to see you. I can see that’s what you want.”

For the rest of the afternoon, my mother and I sit together while I talk, telling her mostly about my date. And even I notice the way the conversation constantly makes its way back to one person in particular.

It’s half past seven when I walk into Geo’s bar, holding a small bouquet of red roses. I’m wearing a pair of tailored black trousers and a charcoal button-down, opened at the collar. I wanted to dress nicely without looking like I tried too hard.

I’m early because I want to make sure we have a place to sit near the back where it’s private. Geo’s place isn’t very big. A moody speakeasy underneath a restaurant, it’s only accessible via a door that looks like it belongs to an industrial freezer, not a small bar. With hazy purple lighting and vintage burlesque photos on the walls, it gives a timeless vibe that people flock to.

I nod to the owner as I make my way through the sparse early evening crowd when I spot a familiar blond taking up the booth in the back.

“What are you doing here, Trouble?”

“This is the best seat in here, so I was saving it for you,” she says when she spots me coming. Jumping up, she gestures toward my chair.