Weirdly, Harrison and Meredith invited Angel and me to spend Christmas with them, an invitation that played serious head games with me. In the end, I did the only thing I could—I turned them down. Since Harrison extended the invitation in person, I watched what looked like genuine disappointment mar the smooth construction of his face before he recovered himself and wished me well. For days afterward, I couldn’t decide if he’d meant it, or if I’d once again disappointed him when he’d planned on having me available to show off to his friends and colleagues—or to make it easy for some lawyer to steal Angel away from me.
When Harrison and Meredith sent a gift to Baby Barnes care of Clio Barnes—by courier of course—I didn’t even bother to check the origin of the expensive store from which it came before I declined to sign for it. They couldn’t buy me through my daughter, and seeing what a personal shopper thought a seven-month-old couldn’t live without didn’t especially interest me.
A day after I turned away the gift, another courier arrived bearing a letter on Harrison’s distinctive stationery. Anticipating a dressing-down for declining their invitation and their gift, I accepted the letter all the same. As Angel batted happily at her floor gym on the rug in front of the couch, I sat down and read.
Dear Clio,
You are right to question us. As you have learned growing up in our home, there is usually a hidden agenda. I am putting this in writing so you have proof of our intentions.
You surprised us, first by becoming pregnant without benefit of marriage or appropriate timing for a decent career and second by following through with the pregnancy and choosing to rear your child yourself.
You showed us resiliency we should have seen in you earlier and did not. Your mother and I know now that there were mistakes made in your upbringing. You see, we had so many plans for our child that didn’t conform to our reality. Instead of adjusting our plans, we tried to adjust our reality. Along the way, we made your happiness a casualty of our disappointed hopes. More damning, we tried to dictate the circumstances and even the person you would love. We should have understood the impossibility of success in this particular endeavor. In every way, you thwarted our intentions, and we punished you for it. Yet seeing your fierce love for your daughter made me realize what an amazing young woman your mother and I reared.
We would like a chance to start over, come to know you and your daughter. To that end, we will no longer attempt to contact you in any way—courier, intermediary, lawyer, social media, or in person ourselves. Instead, we promise to wait for you to reach out to us if that is your decision. We sincerely hope you decide to give us a second chance.
We have not been very good at showing it, but your mother and I do love you.
Your father,
Harrison Barnes
Over the years, I’d received lavish presents from my parents—designer clothes, porcelain dolls, state-of-the-art electronics, a brand-new SUV—but never had they given me anything from their hearts. Until now. Tears flowed freely down my face, and I dashed them away with the heel of my hand as I tried to reread the letter. After I finally managed a second read, I placed it carefully on the coffee table and scooped Angel up into my arms, hugging her tightly to my chest.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby girl. Maybe someday, you’ll be the best thing to happen to your grandparents too,” I whispered against her precious head as I kissed her.
As though she understood her mom completely, Angel lifted one chubby baby hand to my face, holding it against my cheek as she stared intently into my eyes. That one move proved her to be her father’s daughter. Even though for the first time in my life my parents had noticed me, reached out to me, that one small touch from my daughter overshadowed the magnitude of my parents’ overture. More than anything, in that moment I missed Jack.
Play For Me Page 20