Page 111 of Dropping the Ball

“Did Mom tell you?” I ask.

He leans back, elbows on his armrests, fingers steepled. “I want to hear it from you.”

“When Madison comes back from maternity leave, I want to stay at Threadwork.”

“That’s your prerogative.” His tone is even. Detached.

“I know that. But Dad, I want your blessing.”

He’s a handsome man. Strong chin, dark hair turning silver at the temples. But the lines around his eyes don’t look like laugh lines, and that strong chin looks more unyielding than rugged.

“Why?” he asks. “Withholding it won’t change your mind.”

“No,” I admit. “But only because I know it so well now.”

“You’re really going to put aside three years of law school to run a charity?”

“Help run a charity,” I say, “and no, of course not. I’ll still take the bar. You know nonprofits have as much or more regulatory oversight than other companies. We won’t need to hire outside counsel to keep us compliant.”

“Or you could do that here, where your salary would make your law school classmates green.”

“Dad, this is that thing you do that upsets Madison. Where you use money to control us instead of saying how you feel.”

He drops his hands to the armrests and curls his fingers around them. “Why does my blessing matter?”

“Because I’ll never forget the look on your face the last time I disappointed you. Salutatorian,” I add when his eyebrows draw together like he’s confused. His forehead smooths. “I’ve been chasing perfection ever since, always wanting to get everything right so you’ll keep giving me those head nods.”

“Head nods?” He looks mildly exasperated now.

“Yes. The ones that say ‘good job’ without words.”

“You didn’t seem worried about upsetting me when you started taking Madison’s side on everything.”

“Because Madison was right,” I told him. “You know that. I would have chosen different methods, but she was right about the facts all along.”

He says nothing. It’s a massive concession.

“This isn’t about Madison though. It’s about me and you. It’s about different ways of approaching past wrongs. I could keep us on track as the compliance officer. Or I can trust that you’ve changed and don’t need your daughter watching you like a hawk. I can do this thing I’ve found a passion for. Move past atonement for past wrongs and into growth and change.”

He’s quiet for a long time, keeping eye contact with me. He’s said before that it’s an intimidation tactic he uses in business negotiations, so I stay still and resist the urge to defend or plead.

Finally, he sighs. “You have my blessing.”

“Thank you. I also need you to give us the gala warehouse for Threadwork’s expanded mission.”

At last, a smile creases his face. “You’re as bad as your sister.”

I smile back. “Thank you. So we can have the warehouse?”

“You can have the warehouse. Get out of here and let me work.”

He doesn’t get up to hug me. I don’t even think about rounding his desk to hug him. But his smile lingers as I walk out of the office, still there when I turn to wave at the office door. He answers with a shooing motion, but the smile stays.

When I get down to Threadwork, Suz settles the phone on its cradle and looks up as I walk in. “Your dad just called. He says salutatorian was about him, not you, and you’ve never disappointed him a day in his life.” Her eyes are wide as she delivers this, given that most of her communication is with Dad’s secretary, taking her terse orders or impatient requests.

I press my lips together because they want to tremble, and nobody has time for a weepy breakdown on board meeting day. I walk to my office, truly ready to write our new chapter this afternoon.

Chapter Thirty-Four

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