Page 84 of Big Daddy

“Tell him I’m sorry about lunch,” I tell my daughter, then say, “you know what? I’ll call them tonight. I feel like an asshole.”

She laughs, and the sound of it gives me hope that we’ll be okay. “Okay, call them. But have you called Winnie yet?”

“No. And I’m not going to,” I tell her, checking my cell phone to see if Kennedy has texted yet. Three minutes ago she did, saying everything is ready. “I’m going home now. And I know she’s there. I need to apologize in person.”

“She feels so bad about lying to you for a week,” Brielle says, “and I feel bad because it was my fault. I plan on asking Dr. Wilder if I was subconsciously trying to sabotage your relationship, by the way.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “You don’t have a mean bone in your body, Brielle. You were trying to hold onto the most meaningful relationship you had, and I was threatening that.”

Brielle must rise, because I hear her heels clacking through her office, followed by a door opening, then more clickety clack. “I gotta go Dad. I’m running this thing on my own today. But I love you and I am sorry, even though you don’t think I should be, I am. Okay? Truly.”

“Thank you for being the best daughter that I’ve never deserved. And by the way, I am so excited to watch you become a mother. You’re going to be great.”

“Don’t make me cry, Grandpa.”

“Everything you asked for,” Kennedy says, swiping the back of her hand along the traces of sweat on her forehead. I glance behind her to the porch and driveway full of roses, a dozen paid movers standing by. The night Winnie was drunk, she told me that her dream man would profess his love for her in a room full of roses. I may have already told her I love her, but I don’t think there’s a limit to how often I can show her.

“Thank you, Kennedy. I appreciate all of your hard work.”

She nods, then stares at the closed front door a minute before her eyes lift to mine, visibly nervous. “You’re filling your own home with roses,” she states.

I smile. “Winnie will be my wife one day. These roses are to apologize to her for being an asshole.”

Kennedy smirks. “I thought you two were an item but… I gaslighted myself into thinking I was seeing things that weren’t there.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t do relationships. Not that I’m aware of at least,” she says, looking back at the sea of soft crimson petals. “But this is you in love, huh?”

“This is me head over fucking heels.” A thought crosses my mind, so I add, “But she earned that job and that office. Thatwasn’t just because I love her and want to see her thrive. That’s because she’s talented, works hard and deserves it.”

Kennedy squints. “That goes without saying.”

I nod. “Thank you. And thank you again for everything. Take the rest of the day off if you’d like.”

“I would very much like but Pen is holding a new client meeting in an hour and a half and I think we both know that running a meeting on his own is a terrible idea.”

She works her way through the roses, down the porch steps to the Wheel Get You waiting for her. “Good luck. But something tells me you don’t need it. Roses are a girl’s best friend.”

I cock a brow as I put my hand on the knob and push open my front door, the scent of Winnie trailing out, making my chest tight. My slacks, too. “I thought that was diamonds?”

She winks. “Those, too.”

I wait for her Wheel Get You to pull away, and enter the house, leaving the door open. The delivery men know what they’re supposed to do, and they know they need to be quiet. I correctly assumed that Winnie would be tucked away in bed for the rest of the day after the exhaustive and emotionally destructive lunch I put her through.

As I head down the hall, I loosen my tie and try to calm my nerves. I’m not used to being nervous. Even in the courtroom, I’m filled with adrenaline, never nerves. I hate being nervous.

At the master bedroom door, I stop and turn, looking down the hall to the open space, watching the men walk quietly with armfuls of roses. They place vases on the ground, on the countertops, on chairs, they toss petals—roses are everywhere. It’s perfect.

Knocking softly first, I enter, closing the door behind me. In the middle of our bed, Winnie is tucked beneath the duvet, her knees to her chest, curls strewn over my pillow. She’s facing thewall, but turns and sits up when I cross the room to the edge of the bed.

“Quincey?” she asks, scrambling to right herself under the mountain of covers. Her eyes are red rimmed, her nose pink, too. She gets to her knees and moves toward me across the mattress but stops, her chin trembling. “I’m so sorry about everything,” she starts, unsure and nervous. I fucking hate seeing her this way and more so, I hate that I made her this way.

I take her face in my hands and stare down into her tearful eyes. “It’s my fault. Everything is my fault. I should have been a better father, and a better partner. I should have listened more and talked less, and had I done those things, we wouldn’t be here.”

“No,” Winnie starts, attempting to shake her head in my grasp, but I don’t let her. I place my thumb over her full lips, gently silencing her.

“Yes. Brielle told you not to hurt me or break us apart but she told you because she loves you. And you’re her best friend. And she felt like I almost took you from her. She was trying to save one of her most important relationships. And you were doing the same. It was never about me. It was about the two of you trying to hold onto the love you’d built, and I made it about me, because that’s what I do.”

---