Wouldn’t expect any other answer.
Time for the board meeting. I brace for resistance—snide comments about my leave, digs about my stability—but instead, I get handshakes and nods. Relief and excitement.
“Good for the hospital,” one says.
“Good for the stocks.”
“Good to seeJettwritten on the surgery board again.” Someone grins.
My name, my career, reduced to a brand for these people. It used to bother me, but today it doesn’t sting.
Today I know where my real values lie, and they aren’t here, performing for suits.
The more they talk, the more my mind drifts to Mia. Is she still in her pajamas? Did she braid Lily’s hair this morning or put it up in a ponytail? How many hair clips did my kid demand? Are they scribbling birthday plans on that notepad she adopted? I’m sure she named the thing by now. Each image works under my skin until the ticking clock drowns out their chatter.
I don’t want to be in this meeting. I want to be either there or with my patients.
Still the day drags. Meetings blur, one bleeding into the next. So much bureaucracy. Things improve once I get together with Kate’s physio, her neuro, and Kate herself. I show her the same respect and consideration I’d expect if I was her patient.
By the time I finally check my watch, it’s past the point of no return. One last check-in with April and a goodbye kiss on Calista’s forehead that leaves her speechless forprobably the first time in her life. One can only hopeGood Mood Preswon't stick as my new nickname. I wrap things up and head out to pick up Lily, my priorities no longer screwed.
Anticipation turns my pulse wild. Tonight, then. Tonight, I’ll show Mia exactly what I mean—without scaring her off, without pushing too hard. Something between proof and temptation.
* * *
I make a quick pit stop before Lily’s school. It’s the best-smelling shop I’ve ever walked past, yet I’ve never felt compelled to go in—until now. The shop assistant overwhelms me with options, but I’m out in minutes, packing jasmine oil, jasmine bubbles, and a ridiculously expensive candle, big enough to outlive me. It smells of orange and patience—a reminder of what I need now. I smile at the glass jar, lift it to my nose, and breathe in. The perfume steadies my pulse, and I imagine how the orange will mix with Mia’s own citrusy scent.
At home, the three of us end up in the kitchen. Lily climbs onto her stool and reminds everyone she’s the official house sous chef at least ten times before we even decide on what we’re having. Mia ties a dish towel around her waist, and Lily plays the part with full authority. I season the chicken, pass ingredients around for chopping, and lean close enough to brush Mia’s arm, reaching for the salt. And again on the way back. She pretends not to notice, but her pressed lips tell me otherwise.
“Dad, don’t your cheeks hurt?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, without giving it a second thought.
“You know, from smiling since you walked in?” Lily explains, flour smeared across her cheeks.
Mia turns away at the sound of her comment, rummaging in the cupboards for something I’m sure we don’t need.
“I’m smiling because I’ve got the best team in my kitchen, Lil.”
Mia comes back with a can of anchovies, shaking her head. But she’s smiling too, cheeks tinted pink, eyes refusing to meet mine.
“Ew, I’m not eating that. They’re smelly.” Lily recoils from the sight of a small can. “Dad, please don’t make me eat those!”
“What? Of course not. They’re not on the menu.” I turn to Mia, faking outrage. “Where did your mind just wander off to? Care to share with us?”
Her mouth drops open for a beat before she answers. “Not really, no.”
We cook. We eat. We laugh. The kitchen’s never felt this alive, this chaotic, or this full. Neither has my life.
Bedtime follows, Lily pleading for two stories. Mia reads the first—dramatic voices, wild hand gestures—while Lily cackles under the covers. At some point between sentences, I realize my daughter’s watching Mia more than the book. I read the next book, and Mia slips slowly from the room, although no one asked or wants her to. When I dim the lights down, Lily whispers, “I like this new you.”
My throat goes tight. I kiss the top of her head and tuck the blanket higher. “Me too, Lil.”
When I step out and find Mia leaning against the hallway wall, waiting, I know she’s the reason and inspiration. She’s it.
Time to put my plan into motion. I’ll enact the dream. Try it out in real life.
I’m so sure this will work, it takes no effort to lace our fingers together and guide her back downstairs. In front of the sofa, I pass her the remote. “Choose something for us. I’ll make tea. Chamomile?”
