by London James
Dad’s face twists in anger. “Oh, did he? What kind of bullshit doctor did you pay for?”
“I didn’t pick the guy. I would have a long time ago if I’d known that someone could piece together your weird little scheme.” I scan his body. He’s lost so much body fat that his lingering muscle makes him look sinewy. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m sick, goddamn it.” He grips the edge of the counter. “I can’t believe you would take some person you don’t know’s opinion over my actual life.”
I laugh. “Maybe it’s because I know you that I value his opinion over yours. What he said just confirmed what I had been thinking for a while. You seemed to get worse whenever you wanted to convince me of something, like taking my company public. You disregarded the advice of your doctors after getting out of the hospital, like asking for a damn bagel after being hospitalized for hyperglycemia. And there were all the times you purposefully kept me and Nora in the dark about your condition.”
He just stares at me, his face unreadable. He sits on a stool.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” I ask, feeling myself choke up all of a sudden.
“Maybe.”
“How’d you do it? How’d you fake some of the tests?” I ask.
He sighs like I’ve asked him how he finished up a DIY project on a budget. “Google has the answers to everything these days.”
“That’s fucking insane.”
“I wouldn’t have had to do it if you had just followed what I fucking said.” He smacks his palm on the countertop. “Don’t you understand that you could be so much more? So much richer, so much more famous. You could be the son I’d always dreamed of.”
I feel so gutted that I have to sit down on a stool too, putting one in between us. He has never gotten so close to flat-out saying that I’m not enough before. It hurts more than I have ever imagined in my bad day dreams. I look up at him, his green eyes cold, my hands shaking. I’m just a pawn to him, an extension of what he could have been in some alternate universe where he wasn’t a greedy son of a bitch.
“So somehow graduating from a top university, becoming a Navy Seal, and building a billion-dollar company wasn’t enough?” I spit, actually laughing at how absurd it sounds. Because it is.
I expect him to be chastened at that, but he just throws his hands up in the air. “If you’re that close to perfection, you’re going to notice any little cracks in the veneer. So no, it wasn’t quite enough.”
“Wow,” is all I can say. How can I be related to this man? I don’t have to worry about being just as bad of a father as my own is. The bar is so low that it’s underground. I might doubt myself, but I don’t doubt myself that much. “Okay, that’s all I needed to know.”
I get up and walk outside. Dad doesn’t bother to follow me.
Once I get in a car back into Brooklyn, I call Nora and tell her that we no longer need her services, offering to connect her with a new job with a great reference and promising to provide her pay while she searches for something else. I cancel the meal delivery I’ve arranged for him, along with the weekly massage therapist. I stop myself at cutting off the autopay on his bills. I can fix that later. He has a retirement fund that hasn’t been touched because I’m handling everything. He’ll survive.
Not that I’m ever going to talk to him again to see how he’s doing. He’s wasted enough of my time, and I’m done wasting my precious time caring what that fucking sociopath thinks of me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Briony
I wake up to some texts from Zara. My eyes fly open—am I late for work? I groan and roll onto my side, unlocking my phone. I’ve overslept my alarm by a little bit, but I still have time to lounge around.
Check the BloomBrightly email.
Like, once you’re awake enough to process information.
I get up and pee, then climbed back into bed, snuggling with Chunk. I click over to the BloomBrightly email address we both have access to and opened up the first email from Modern New York Bride.
Zara agreed to talking with them, obviously, but she asked who had referred us to them.
Hi there, Zara,
We got the tip from Ashton King. It was sort of a roundabout way—like friends of friends of friends led him to us—but we’re so glad that he did! Please let me know what times work for the two of you.
All the best,
Macy
I blink, then lay back down. I put my phone down, then pick it back up again, staring blankly at the email.
He remembers how much the magazine means to me. He’s done something I haven’t been able to get done in literal years, and it’s going to make such a huge difference.
I tear up. God, it is way, way too early for this much emotion. This is how he’s going to make it right? Because he’s doing a damn good job. I want to text him and thank him, but I hold myself back. I text Zara instead.
I don’t know what to say, I text, pressing my hand to my belly.
He must miss you, Zara replies. Or he’s just trying to get your attention.
He’s gotten my attention, alright. I get out of bed and get dressed, taking my sweet time to leave for work. I hardly have the motivation to go in once a week anymore, between the baby and my boss’s clear annoyance that I have to go on maternity leave. And now with this potential big break, I don’t even feel the need to go. Sure, that’s probably a little premature, but I want any excuse to be free.
I debate whether I should text Ash right away. I want to, badly, but does he deserve it yet?
The weak part of me is screaming yes, text him! But the more cautious half of me that has grown in these past months holds me back and makes me run through the potential reasons why he’s done what he’s done. He might have reached out to them ages ago before all of our shit hit the fan. But that still would have been a really nice gesture if he didn’t feel the need to impress me.
The chill and dampness in the air isn’t helping me leave the house any faster. It’s almost Thanksgiving, so I shouldn’t be surprised that things are getting wintery. At least I have a cute new coat that will grow with my bump and comfortable boots.
I bundle up and walk to the train, trying to process what our talk with Modern New York Bride will even be like. I’ve imagined seeing BloomBrightly in the magazine since before Zara and I even came up with the name, and now it’s happening.
B are you still in the neighborhood or did you leave for work??? It’s Zara again.
I’m slow walking toward the train, just because I don’t want to go to work.
Okay good, meet me at that coffee shop near the station, the one with the good scones. My treat.
Those scones are amazing. She doesn’t have to lure me there with free food, though I’m always down for it. I make my way down the block and make a right onto the main street of my neighborhood, seeing Zara in her bright red coat from a block down outside of the shop. She waves frantically at me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking her all over.
“You need to sit down for this one. Come on, let’s get some food.” She opens the cafe’s door for me.
“You’re making me nervous,” I say as we get our food and coffee. I miss being able to down four cups in a day. My one latte has to do it for me now.
“Don’t be nervous.” She pulls her laptop out of her bag and opens it. “I got this email last night.”
I look at what she’s talking about, my stomach fluttering. It’s an email from an angel investor group in the city that I haven’t even heard of. I’m vaguely familiar with who’s who in the scene since we’ve been trying to get some funding for a while. We can’t go for the big VC funds since we’re so small, so we changed directions, trying to get some individuals to help us out. We’ve gotten one or two who gave us five or seven thousand dollars, which is nice, but not enough to put us over the edge.
This group wants to offer us $500,000 to invest in BloomBrightly.
“Wait, wait, wait.” I sit back in
my chair, my hand going to my bump like I’ve gotten in the habit of doing. “Why are these people offering us that much money when they haven’t seen our executive summaries or made valuations or any of that?”
“Because Ash must have showed them. I’d sent him copies of our pitches and executive summaries from when we were interviewing for that little startup incubator months and months ago.” She highlights the name of the group—FiveAlive Angel Funds—and Googles it.
Sure enough, Ash is a part of the group, along with a woman named Talia, who he’s mentioned is his company’s CFO, and three others.
“He’s just doing it to be nice…” I say weakly, swallowing a bite of scone. “He’s a billionaire, and he can throw his money around all he wants.”
Even though he isn’t that kind of person. Even though he’s a smart businessman, who doesn’t do things lightly.
“It’s not like Ash strong-armed them into giving up $500,000. They had to be behind the idea.” Zara sits back again and takes a long sip of her coffee. “I need to crunch some numbers, but this is going to be insanely helpful. Like, game-changing levels of helpful.”
I tear up and stuff the last of my scone into my mouth to keep it together.
“I think you should call Ash,” Zara says, smiling. “He may or may not have redeemed himself, at least enough for him to not be blacklisted.”
“I should.” I whip out my phone and call him right away.
“Briony?” he says, picking up on the first ring. He sounds hopeful. To hear his voice again after so long makes me smile involuntarily. I try to cut it out. I can’t totally forgive him yet.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“In person?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Where? I’m free right now if you are. Are you going to work today?” he asks. I hear Sarge bark in the background, so he must be at home or dropping him off at doggy daycare.
“I’m at a coffee shop in my neighborhood. Um… I guess I can stay here? I’m not in a huge rush to get to work since my morning is clear.” I look at the table and away from Zara, who is currently staring a hole right into my head. I give Ash the name of the place, and he hangs up. “Ash is meeting me here.”
“Should I leave? Or should I sit in the back and pretend that I don’t know either of you so I can attack him if necessary?” Zara shuts her laptop.
“What, are you going to launch yourself at him like a spider monkey?” I laugh. Zara is 110 pounds soaking wet.
“What I lack in size, I make up for in rage, especially when it comes to you and my godchild.” She stands up and puts her computer in her bag. “But seriously, want me to stay?”
“I think I’ll be fine.” I hope.
“Okay. Text me if you need me.”
She gives me a long hug and exits, leaving me twiddling my thumbs and building up a nervous sweat. I should have asked her to stay and talk me through my strategy.
Ash has done some big things for me, but I don’t know if that’s enough. He’s burned me more than once. But I don’t feel right rejecting him flat-out if he’s still willing to devote his time to the things that matter most to me.
It’s just a chat. I don’t have to marry the guy.
I pass time scrolling through Instagram, jiggling my leg so much that the woman a table over gives me a dirty look. I get up and buy another scone, this time a lemon one, and a tea. The curse of pregnancy is having cravings for everything, but also not being able to eat those things without acid reflux or weird digestive problems. But food is still soothing.
I see Ash before he sees me. He’s dressed for work, his same button-down and jeans under a raincoat. His hair is wet, either from the rain or from a shower. I haven’t seen him in so long that I forgot how good-looking he is. Half the people in the shop turn and look at him when he walks past. He’s started to grow a beard, which suits him more than I thought it would. I want to run my hand along it.
“Ash?” I say quietly from my spot, waving.
“Briony.” He looks relieved like he didn’t expect me to be there. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I feel my cheeks flush while he studies my face, then my bump. The naked anxiety on his face makes me feel slightly less scared. I have the power in this situation. He is the one who has to make it up to me.
“You look nice,” he says, clearing his throat. “Can I sit down?”
I nod, and he sits across from me. We don’t say anything for a bit, both of us keeping our hands folded on our laps.
“I don’t know where to start,” I say. “I guess I should start with a thank you for your help with BloomBrightly.”
“It wasn’t a problem,” he says, tugging off his coat. “Seriously.”
“Getting $500,000 wasn’t a problem?” I give him a skeptical look.
“It really wasn’t; once I showed people the information you and Zara had put together.” He shrugs. “I was serious when I said that it was a good idea. It didn’t take a lot of convincing for my colleagues to want to invest. The wedding industry is only growing, and people want to have more control over their planning.”
I swallow, feeling so proud of what Zara and I have done that I’m about to burst.
“And I think that it would be good to get the company on the path to getting off the ground before the baby comes,” he continues, looking down at my bump. Its presence seems to confuse him like he didn’t expect to see me actually looking pregnant.
“It’ll help us a lot, thank you.”
“Can I apologize, even though saying it isn’t enough to make it up to you?” he says quietly, his brows furrowing. “I’m sorry. I fucked up spectacularly by letting my own bullshit guide my decisions. I should have followed how I felt instead of how I assumed I’d feel in the future.”
I look down at my cup of tea. He’s hitting the nail on the head. He must have done a lot of introspection for him to go from Mr. ‘Feelings are Scary, Let Me Shove Them Down’ to… this.
“I really, really like you, Briony, and I want to be involved in our child’s life,” he says. Hearing him say ‘our’ child is so weird but so right. “I understand if you don’t want to give me another chance, even though it would devastate me.”
I bite my bottom lip. He sounds sincere, and the mask he usually wears to hide how he feels deep inside isn’t there. Are his eyes tearing up? Or is that wishful thinking on my part?
“How do I know you won’t get scared again? The reasons you gave me were the result of some deep-seated shit.” I sip my tea, trying to sound less annoyed than I am. He at least deserves for me to listen to him openly.
“I’m working on that. I got a therapist and everything,” he explains, sheepish. “Turns out just getting a dog and hoping he’ll magically cure your neuroses isn’t a good plan.”
“Yeah, Sarge is probably not a good therapist, considering the whole dog thing.”
“Please, Briony,” he almost begs. “I can’t promise you that I’ll be perfect, or that I’ll be a great dad or anything like that, but I can love you and try my best. And I can sure as hell be a better dad than mine ever was. It’s better to try and fail than to just give up, right?”
I reach across the table and grab his hand. It’s rough, like I remember it being. He squeezes it, its size swallowing mine.
“I’m willing to give us a shot,” I finally say.
“Really?” He smiles so beautifully that I can hardly handle it.
I nod, his smile triggering mine. “Yes, really.”
He leans over the table and kisses me, soft and slow. He tastes like the toothpaste he keeps in his guest bathroom.
“I hope you don’t mind that I did that,” he says. God, he’s cute when he’s shy.
“I definitely didn’t mind.” I kiss him again, long enough for the same woman who gave me a dirty look for jiggling my leg to clear her throat purposefully. I shoot her a dirty look this time. Can she go to hell? “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Can I get coffee first? I thi
nk I’m going to crash after this adrenaline rush,” he admits.
“Yeah, if you get me another scone.” I stand up, pulling on my coat.
“Deal.” We stand next to each other in line, the backs of our hands brushing together. I’m probably grinning like an idiot, but I can’t care less.
Once he has his coffee and I have my scone, we step outside. The rain has stopped, leaving the air weirdly humid and chilly at the same time.
“Shoot, I’m so late for work,” I realize, sighing.
“You should quit,” he offers. I give him an incredulous look. “Seriously. You hate it, and BloomBrightly is going to take up more of your time. And the baby and everything.”
“What about health insurance?” I ask, which is the only reason why I don’t just whip my phone out and put in my notice immediately.
“We can figure it out.” He takes my hand. “Let’s play hooky again.”
“You can’t play hooky again, Ash,” I say.
“Thanksgiving is next week. Half of my office is already out anyway.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Come on.”
“You’re such a bad influence,” I chuckle, pulling my phone out regardless. I shoot off a quick email to my boss saying I have to take a personal day and close my email app. “Now what?”
“The weather’s kind of disgusting. Want to just hang out at my place?” he asks. “We can watch all those shows we were in the middle of.”
“You didn’t watch them without me?” I’m touched.
“Nope. Did you?”
“I didn’t.” I go up on my tiptoes and kiss him again. It’s a relief knowing we can just be and not worry about whether things are going to collapse right away.
“Thank god. I thought I was a miserable fuck for saving the shows for us to watch together.” He hails a green cab that’s passing by.
“Maybe you’re just more of a romantic than you’re willing to let on.” I slip into the cab.
