Page 112 of Imperfect Arrangement
For a second, I can’t breathe. It’s not just the words—it’s how she says them, looking right at me, her green eyes locked on mine, her voice filled with quiet certainty.
My voice wavers, but I manage to ask, “Can you say that again, Bug?”
“I love you, Dad. I care about you, and I will never leave you.”
I don’t know if she reaches for me first or if I pull her close, but in an instant, she’s in my arms, her tiny frame pressed tightly against my chest. I cling to her as if she might disappear if I loosen my grip even a little. My bug. My brave, beautiful bug.
But even in this perfect moment, there’s someone missing—the woman who led us here. I glance toward the door, an inexplicable pull drawing my gaze and…there she is.
Willow stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, tears streaking her cheeks. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. Her eyes tell me everything. Once, I accused her of wearing her emotions on her face, and today I’m so fucking thankful for that.
I extend my hand toward her, silently asking her to come closer. For a second, she hesitates, and I’m ready to move, to close the distance between us if her fear gets the better of her. But then she takes a tentative step forward, and my chest feels like it might explode. When she finally reaches us, I pull her into the hug, sandwiching my daughter between us.
Quill giggles. It’s not just her shoulders that shake with laughter—it’s her voice, the sound rippling throughout the room like music.
“Happy birthday, Quillbug!” Willow exclaims, her words coming out in a joyful squeal despite her misty eyes.
“Thank you!” Quill replies out loud, and I almost can’t believe the sound. It’s magic.
I don’t even know how to begin unpacking everything I’m feeling. There’s so much I want to say to my bug—to thank her, to find out what gave her the courage to speak. But I don’t want to make her self-conscious, and I certainly don’t want this to be a one-time thing.
Instead, I press a kiss to her forehead, then one to Willow’s.
Willow’s eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face, but I don’t care. Right now, I’m the happiest man alive. These two people, who were strangers to me a year ago, have become my whole world, and I don’t ever want to let them go.
If I could, I’d stay like this forever. But we have a big day ahead, and as much as I want to freeze time, I know I can’t. Slowly, I loosen my hold, letting Quill settle beside Willow on the bed. “How about birthday gifts?”
“Already?” Quill signs, her fingers moving quickly.
I don’t mind that she’s going back to her usual mode of communication. She spoke to me once today, and that’s more than I could have asked. I know we’ll get there, step-by-step, whenever she’s ready.
“Why not?” I head toward her bookshelf. Reaching behind the stack of books on the top rack, I pull out the gift box I hid yesterday while she and Willow were off on their Ferris wheel adventure.
When I hand her the box—wrapped in her favorite shade of green—Quill’s eyes shine with excitement at us. She carefully removes the wrapping, and when she finally opens the leather box inside, her face lights up.
“Wow,” she whispers, and my heart stumbles in relief.
I didn’t think I’d be this nervous. It’s not like this is the first gift I’ve ever given her. But today feels different.
Quill pulls the feather pen out of the box and turns it over in her small hands. “It’s me,” she signs, her tiny hands moving confidently.
I let out a relieved chuckle, crouching down to her level so I can meet her eyes. “It is you. But it’s also a quill pen, one that belonged to a very famous author. She lost her voice in an accident, but she wrote incredible stories. Stories that changed people’s lives.” I reach out and take her small hands, the pen still nestled between them. “I want you to know there are so many ways to express yourself, Bug. There’s no pressure to communicate in any one way. But what I don’t want is for you to ever keep your thoughts locked inside. Whatever you’re feeling—happiness, sadness, anger, excitement—I want to know. Every bit of it.”
Her lips tremble, and then, without warning, she launches herself into my arms. “Thank you, Dad,” she says, her voice small but clear, and it knocks the wind out of me.
I wrap her up tight, my chin resting on the top of her head. “You’re welcome, honey.” I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing her voice—not anytime soon, at least.
As if she knows I’m teetering on the edge of an emotional overload, Willow slides down from the bed. “My turn now,” she announces, heading for the same bookshelf.
“Have we started to think alike these days, Miss Pershing?” My chest expands with something weightless as a smile takes over.
“It’d appear so, Mr. Teager.” Willow’s lips curl up. But instead of reaching up like I did, she crouches down and pulls a small box from the bottom shelf before placing it on Quill’s lap. “I don’t know if you remember, but this is something I promised you when we first met. I asked a friend to make it special for you.”
Quill carefully opens the box, her face lighting up when she sees the silver bracelet inside. At its center is a small yellow sunflower, its petals bright and cheerful, held in place by intricate silver hooks. It’s perfect—just like my girl.
“Can you help me put it on, Daddy?” Quill signs, holding out her hand to me.
I glance at Willow before wrapping the bracelet around my daughter’s tiny wrist.
