Dropping the Ball

38. Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

Kaitlyn

Monday morning, I walk into the office humming “Frosty, the Snowman,” and Suz, who has never heard me hum, pauses in the process of booting up her computer.

“Good Thanksgiving?” she asks.

I stop in front of her desk. “Micah is my boyfriend now. Madison made me spill my guts on it all this weekend, and I swear, if you try to make me do the same thing, I will spend your Christmas bonus on cat toys for Daisy.”

Suz is grinning. “ Almost worth it.” Then she mimes zipping her lips.

I set my things at my desk, but I’m out of the suite and in the elevator without stopping. I spent the weekend hanging out with Micah in his woodshop while he made ornaments out of polished tile, and I worked on the proposal for the board, luxuriating in my spreadsheets and running numbers.

Also, there were many kissing breaks.

I hit the button for the executive floor, smiling as I replay all those kisses. It’s like neither of us can quite believe we got to this point. We can do this, explore every taste, touch, and sound. Micah makes really good sounds.

I’m checked out, thinking about them, when the elevator chime brings me back to reality. Dad’s receptionist waves me into his office. I’m here to cross the final hurdle.

He looks up when I walk in, and I glance around, noting how little it has changed since the first time I came here when I was little. Dark wood and leather, and if the furniture has been replaced, it’s with similar pieces. But there are new pictures of Harper Ivy Mae behind his desk, and I smile at the discovery that Dad is one of those grandfathers—grandpas—who wants everyone who enters his office to see his grandbaby.

“Kaitlyn,” he says, as I take a seat.

“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.