Morning. I know you’re both juggling a lot, so I built this to feel easy, not like an obligation. Four days, flexible, zero pressure. Not PR, just New York.
Me:
Today: Rockefeller Center, mom and dad on ice with Savannah, if that works. Hot chocolate after.
Day 2: Central Park loop, slow pace. Bow Bridge if it’s calm. Deacon pushing the stroller. A family, just existing. Game Day.
Day 3: Holiday markets, Union Square or Columbus Circle. One ornament each. Claudia picks. Paul could come too? Later, an early dinner in Little Italy. Lights, cannoli, home before bedtime. Savannah is asleep on Deacon’s shoulder if we time it right.
Day 4: Claudia’s office, between meetings, watching out that massive window that overlooks the ice, watching her man.
I pause, then add what actually matters.
Me:
Optional moments while Deacons in Chicago, Paul and Savannah at the window of the Waverly place house, construction blur in the background, with Claudia looking over plans with the GC. Or Paul reading to her after bathtime. Claudia, coffee in hand, laptop closed, just breathing for a minute.
Me:
I’ll handle logistics. You just show up when you can.
I send it before I can second-guess myself.
The replies come fast.
Claudia sends a heart, followed by:
Claudia:
Thank you for remembering I still have meetings.
Deacon replies with a thumbs up and a photo of Savannah in a ridiculously cute knit hat with bear ears
Deacon:
The hats from G Paul.
I smile and give it a heart.
This is what I’m good at. Anticipating needs. Making space without taking it up.
We have four days, a tight window, but it can be done.
And it will be, because I absolutely will not think about a Russian defensive wing with an attitude problem and eyes that know exactly how much trouble they cause. And I’m most definitely not going to try to defend him from trolls, because he clearly doesn’t want that…
Dressed and ready for the day, I head out of my wing and toward Dad’s.
My father is at the table by the window, jacket folded neatly beside him, sleeves rolled up. There’s a thin stack of reports in front of him, aligned too carefully. He’s reading them the way he always has, brow furrowed, lips moving just slightly as he tracks the lines.
“You’re up early,” he says without looking up.
“I had a meeting,” I answer. “Still do.”
He glances at his watch, frowns. “It’s Saturday.”
“It’s November,” I say. “December doesn’t wait.”
That makes him smile. A real one. He sets the papers down and finally meets my eyes.
