Chapter 119
Octavia sounded outraged when she yelled, "My first word was not doughnut!"
"Yeah, it was," Bellamy claimed.
Their poor mother, sitting between them on the couch, shook her head, and said, "No, it wasn't."
"What?" Bellamy spat. "Ah, come on, that had to be one of her first."
"Oh, it definitely was, but her first word was actually no," their mom revealed.
"No?" Octavia echoed as she bounced Avery up and down on her lap. "Hmm."
"And are we surprised by this?" Bellamy said. It made sense. His little sister had always been stubborn, after all.
"Oh, shut up, Bell!" Octavia snapped, but in a teasing way. "You act like I was such a brat to grow up with, but you love me anyway."
"Begrudgingly," he muttered.
"I don't know what that word means, so it's not an insult." She stuck her tongue out at him the way she used to when she was a kid.
"Begrudgingly? Mom, I can't even read, and I still have a better vocabulary than her," he said.
"You can read," his mom said.
"Not well."
"Can you read a clock?" Octavia asked, motioning to the wall behind him. "'cause I think it's about time you go to your therapy and leave this little angel with the superior Blake sibling."
He craned his neck to check the time, and indeed, it was definitely time for him to go. "Don't listen to her, Avery. She's full of it," he said, getting up and walking around to the other side of the couch. He bent down and pressed a kiss to his daughter's smooth little head and told his mom and sister, "Thanks for watching her. Clarke's just got all these lessons with these kids today. Something about how they wanna start a band called Rusty Kuntz or . . ."
"What?" Octavia shrieked.
"Yeah, I don't even know." He was definitely staying out of that one. "I'll probably be back in about an hour and a half," he said, heading towards the door. "O . . . try not to ruin her vocabulary while I'm gone."
Octavia groaned exaggeratedly and gave him the middle finger, but he just had to laugh at that. God, he loved giving his little sister a hard time.
He headed out to his car, did his breath test, and waited for the car to start. Bringing Avery over here today had actually been his first time driving her anywhere alone. It felt like a big accomplishment, probably bigger than it actually was. But it felt good.
He was just about to back out of the driveway when his mom came outside and motioned for him to wait. He put the car in park, got back out, and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Oh, nothing," she said. "I know you have to go, but . . . there's just something I've been wanting to say to you."
"Okay," he said slowly, not really sure what that would be.
She looked deep into his eyes and said two words he didn't expect: "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" He squinted his eyes at her curiously. "For what?"
"For never telling you anything about your father," she elaborated. "I should've."
"Mom . . ." He didn't want her feeling bad about that.
"If you wanna know more about him, I can tell you the things I know and remember," she offered. "The good and the bad. I might even be able to find a picture of him somewhere. At Grandma's house, maybe."
"No, Mom, it's fine. I don't need to see a picture," he said. "In fact . . . I don't think I wanna know anything more about him now." Knowing that they had alcoholism in common was enough.
"You really aren't like him," his mother said. "You're a good parent, and you love your child."
"Well, I got that from you," he said.
His mother put her hand over her chest and smiled tearfully. He hadn't meant to make her cry, so he said, "Okay, come here, Mom," and pulled her in for a hug. All the best aspects of his personality had come from her, even if the worst one had come from . . . someone else.
...
Clarke was slumped over the arm of the couch when Bellamy got home. She could barely lift her head to look at him.
"Whoa," he said. "You okay?"
She sat up, happy to see that Avery was looking very peaceful, cozy, and most importantly, quiet in his arms. "Thank God she's sleeping," she said. "I was worried she was gonna be crying, and I'm gonna be honest, Bellamy, my ears can't take any more noise today."
He set her baby bag down by the couch and took a seat. "That bad, huh?"
"Yeah. Madi's talented, but those other two . . ." She shook her head in horror. "They're gonna need a lot of work. They all wanna sing. But Charlotte's tone-deaf, and Ethan . . . you know how it is when boys are that age and their voices haven't dropped yet."
"No. My voice was always this low and manly," he claimed.
"Oh, I'm sure you had your fair share of squeaks and voice cracks." She actually would have loved to hear kid Bellamy's high-pitched voice. Maybe next time she was over at Aurora's, she could ask her to pop in some old home videos, if they had any.
"Yeah, this one time," he said, "I think it was 7th grade, I had to get up and give this presentation about . . . one of the ancient civilizations. I don't know."
"Mesopotamia?" she guessed.
"Sure. I was up there talking, and my voice just kept alternating between pre-puberty and post-puberty. If I hadn't been so damn cool, people would've made fun of me so bad."
"Is that your most embarrassing childhood moment?" she asked.
"One of 'em. What's yours?"
She felt like she had plenty to choose from, probably more than he did because she hadn't ever been the most popular person in school. "Ugh, I got my period back in the fifth grade," she lamented. "I was only ten. I didn't have any supplies with me, and none of my other friends had supplies at that age, either; so apparently for, like, half a day, I was just walking around with this big red stain on the back of my shorts."
"Oh, that sucks," he said.
"Yeah, it was mortifying. I didn't even go to school the next day. I refused." Even thinking about it now, thirteen years later, she still felt embarrassed. "See, I wasn't as cool as you, so I couldn't just laugh it off. I had to deal with some teasing."
"Sorry. You know what, though?" He looked down at the baby and predicted, "I bet Avery's gonna be really cool. And popular. But not like the Bree kind of popular. More like you and Raven."
"I wasn't popular after you left," she reminded him.
"Well . . . neither was I, really."
She knew he was talking about UCF, because he always got this look of regret in his eyes whenever he talked about that. She hoped he and Dr. Wallace would dive into that period of his life at some point, too, maybe down the road. "You're pretty popular now," she pointed out. "My mom texted me a while ago, said she saw you on the news last night."
"Oh, yeah, they interviewed me about tomorrow's game," he said.
"You ready?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, his eyes flitting up and down her body. "You could say I'm . . . motivated."
She smiled at him flirtatiously. Little did he know, he was going to get laid no matter what. But she hoped that it would end up being a victory celebration.
...
The second round of playoffs was so competitive and evenly-matched that even an undefeated record didn't allow the Rockets to host. They had to play it as an away game against another team that had an undefeated record, and they were a better team than the one from last week. Even though they weren't the most physical team, they were disciplined, and they didn't make mistakes. Bellamy's team fumbled once at the beginning, which led to a score by the other team, but they cleaned it up after that. No turnovers. Only one penalty, and it was a shitty call by the ref. The offense put up points, and the defense played tough. But they never could quite get the lead, so once again, it all came down to the last play of the fourth quarter. His team got the ball, and they were in range to kick a field goal. But being behind by four meant that a field goal wouldn't win it, and they had to go for a touchdown. With too many yards to gain and not enough time on the clock, he had to call a pass play, just like last week. He could tell his quarterback was nervous, but he had faith in him.
The snap was perfect, the blocking held up, and the best receiver on the team managed to get open. The pass was beautiful, easy to catch . . . and the receiver dropped it. It bounced right off his fingertips and landed on the grass. The other team and their fans all roared in celebration, and everyone on his team groaned in defeat. It was over. Just like that, the season was done. The clock was at zero, and the other numbers on the scoreboard remained what they were. Four points short. Four fucking points.
"And that's the last play of the game," the announcer said. "The Pirates will now advance to the state quarterfinals after beating the Rockets twenty-eight to twenty-four."
As disappointed as he was, he couldn't show it. He motioned his guys back over to the sidelines, gave them all a pat on the back, and told them how proud he was of how they'd played that game. Right down to the wire, barely any mistakes. Certain players took it harder than others. A few of the seniors started crying, but they all tried to conceal it for the sake of being tough, of course. Bellamy gave them a quick talk on the field but let them hurry off to the locker room so they could be as emotional about it as they wanted.
Once he and Miller and the team were alone, he delivered the type of speech he'd never wanted to deliver to his team. He reminded them how far they'd come, though, and the fact that none of them had even made it to this point in the season until this year. He cracked a few jokes, made them laugh, and by the time they left the locker room, they seemed to be in better spirits. Still bummed, of course, but no longer devastated.
When he came out of the locker room, the visitor's parking lot was still full of fans and family members. A few of the football dads said, "Good game, coach," and he thanked them for that. It had been a good game. Even though his team hadn't won, they'd played their best ball of the year. What more could he ask from them at this point in their development?
He met up with Miller in the parking lot, shrugged, and said, "Well, we gave it all we could."
"Nothin' to be ashamed of," Miller said, holding out his fist for a fist-bump. "We're gonna look back and see this as the season that turned it around."
"Hell, yeah." He felt like every kid who came back to that team was going to have that same mindset, too, which bode well for the future.
When he got into his car, Clarke was leaning into the backseat to fiddle with Avery's seatbelt. Once she had that secure, though, she sat down in her seat and asked, "You okay?"
"Yeah. It sucks, but . . ." He shrugged. His guys had improved a lot just in this one year, so the goal next year would be to improve some more.
"Well, I'm still really proud of you," she said, reaching over to rub his shoulder. "So the way I see it, you still get sex tonight. However much you're up for. And it's totally your choice. Blowjob. Anal. In fact, once all these people leave, I can tear open my shirt and tit-fuck you right now if that's what you want."
He felt exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and they had to drive home still. But once they got into bed, they could at least have a quickie. "You're an awesome wife," he told her.
"Well, you know, you're an awesome husband."
Lately, he felt like a much better one than he had been a couple months ago, so that was good. "We probably shouldn't do anything in the car with Sleeping Beauty back there," he said, motioning to Avery. "And remember, my little device here comes with a camera, so . . ." He thought about the what it would be like to watch a recorded version of himself and Clarke having sex, and it really turned him on. "Although if you want to . . ."
"Okay, when we get home then," she said, "I will tear open my shirt and tit-fuck you. Sound good?"
It sounded great, but before he could tell her that, someone knocked on the window. Spencer, his quarterback.
"Oh, god, did he hear that?" Clarke fretted, her voice now a whisper.
Bellamy opened the door and asked, "What's up, Spence?"
"Can you come out here for a minute?" his quarterback asked.
Oh, no, he thought. His mom was apparently one of the ones who had lambasted him at the school board meeting, so what was in store for him now? Reluctantly, he got out of the car, expecting to come face to face with an angry woman who would threaten to get his job taken away, but instead, he saw that a circle had formed in the parking lot. All those fans who had stuck around were in it, and every one of his players and their parents were in it, too.
"Clarke, come here," he said, wanting her by his side for this. Whatever it was. She climbed out of the car and came to stand beside him, putting her arm around his waist.
"Alright, everybody listen up," Spencer began. "The whole team talked about it, and even though we don't have a gift or anything, we just wanted to thank Coach Blake and Coach Miller for a really great year."
Bellamy met his friend's eyes, and both of them smiled, relieved that this whole surprise seemed like a good thing.
"It's been a long time since our football team clicked like this, and we all feel really proud of this season," Spencer went on. "I know our parents really enjoyed getting to see us win so much this year, and none of that would've been possible without our coaches. So we just want you to know how grateful we are and how much we're looking forward to next year. Thank you so much for everything you've done for us."
The crowd broke into applause, and Bellamy actually felt a little choked up. He would have loved to have said something, maybe something to publicly thank the team for supporting him when he'd needed it most this year, but there was a lump in his throat that prevented any words from coming out. So when people came up to him, he just hugged them and shook hands and kept saying, "Thanks," over and over again, because it was the only word he could manage to say. Clarke stepped back and let him have his moment, but it wasn't until he got back in the car with her that the moment truly sunk in.
"That feels like a win, doesn't it?" she said.
"Yeah." It really did. As much as it sucked to lose a game, any game, with a reception like that, it was the best loss Bellamy had ever had.
...
The warm weather was gone, but that didn't mean the beach days had to go, too. Even though it was starting to get chilly out, Bellamy and Clarke put some warm clothes on Avery and brought her out to play around in the sand the morning after the playoff game. Bellamy seemed to be in a good mood despite last night's defeat, but Clarke felt like it would be a good idea to spend a lot of time with him that day, just so he had other things to think about in case it became tempting to get down in the dumps. So her plan was to do beach time, then bath time with Avery in the big tub, then playtime, then go on a walk, and then, after dinner, whenever Avery fell asleep . . . adult time. Of course.
"Let's put this thing together, Avery," Bellamy said as he filled up a bright green pail with sand. He was determined to build a sandcastle with her, even though her priority seemed to be simply touching the sand. "You see what you gotta do is go like this," he said, flipping the pail over quickly. "And then you just lift it up and . . ." He tried to slide the pail off to reveal a tower-looking thing, but it fell apart in the process. "Oh, crap," he muttered. "Mine didn't turn out. It's official. I have no artistic ability."
"Artistic? It's a sandcastle," Clarke said.
"Well, I'm not very good at 'em, I guess." He handed her the same pail and said, "Let's see how yours turns out."
She scooped it full of sand, turned it over, made sure to press down hard, and then carefully lifted it up without disturbing the perfectly-shaped sand underneath.
"Oh, of course," he said enviously.
"You just have to have a steady hand," she told him.
He looked down at her hands and said, "I'm not gonna say anything."
She knew that was a reference to some things she'd done with her hand last night, and she kind of loved that, but it was good of him to not say anything in front of the baby.
"Oh, look, she's gonna try it," Clarke said, watching as Avery lifted her little miniature bucket and tried to mimic what she saw them doing. She did pick up a little bit of a sand and dump it in, but being so little, she didn't quite understand the concept of fullness. Still, she tried to turn her pail over, too, but nothing really happened. It was still an adorable attempt, though and Clarke was quick to praise her for it. "Very good, sweetie! You're building, aren't you?" she said. "Hey, how about you and Daddy build one sandcastle and Mommy builds another?"
"Let's do it," Bellamy said, crawling over to Avery so that he could sit behind her with her in between his legs. "Alright, baby girl, we got a mission now," he said. "We gotta make ours better than hers. Let's try this again." He took her small hands in his and tried to help her scoop up more sand for her bucket.
Clarke was torn between working on her own and just watching them when she heard someone walking up behind her. Not close, but close enough.
Just like Halloween, there he was.
"Bellamy," she said.
"What?" He looked up, and when he saw Finn striding towards them, he just sighed and shook his head.
Clarke so badly wanted to yell at him to go away, but knowing Finn, he'd go sit on their front porch and pretend he'd complied. Seeing him there just made her blood boil, though. This was her home, her private space with Bellamy and Avery. He didn't belong there. Besides, they'd already put an end to their whole relationship once. Why couldn't they just put an end to this, too?
...
Only a week into living in the beach house, and already, Clarke regretted giving Finn a key. He assumed that a key meant he could just come by whenever he wanted, at any hour of the night. Including 3:04 a.m., which was what time it was when he came upstairs and got into her bed. He was obnoxiously loud and clumsy, like he wasn't even worried if he woke her up.
"Hey, is it alright if I crash here tonight?" he asked her.
"Whatever," she mumbled. She didn't actually feel like talking to him. They'd gotten in a spat earlier that day about whether or not she would go out with him to celebrate his loser friend Atom's birthday. But she knew better than to agree to that, because anytime she went anywhere with them, she hated it. Gross bars and strip clubs. That was where they liked to hang out.
"Thanks," Finn said, moving up close behind her so he could lean over her shoulders and give her cheek a kiss.
"Ew," she said, shoving him back a bit. "You smell like weed."
"Well, yeah, I went out with the guys, smoked a couple joints. You could've come with us."
She was not having this conversation again. "I don't even like your friends," she told him, figuring it was best to be blunt—no pun intended—at this point.
"Well, maybe I don't like yours," he said. "They're boring. They never wanna go anywhere fun."
She flipped over, shooting him an angry look that she hoped he could still see in the dark, and said, "Just go sleep on the couch."
"What the fuck?"
"I'm serious. I don't even wanna be around you right now."
Instead of moving out of her bed, he just lay there, taking up way too much space, smelling absolutely disgusting, and complaining. "You know, I would think that after two years of doing this . . ."
"It hasn't been two years," she corrected. He'd officially been her boyfriend for her junior year only. Sophomore year had been . . . an experiment. On and off dating with the leeway to sleep with other people if they wanted to. Lately, she'd been asking herself why she hadn't just stuck to one of those off phases in their relationship.
"Come on, Clarke, stop being such a bitch," he said.
Outraged at his audacity to call her that, she sat up and screeched, "Excuse me?" It wasn't the first time he'd called her that, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but usually he said it when they were having sex. Which wasn't exactly a turn-on to her, but she'd always just dismissed it as one of his kinks. Maybe that was actually his perception of her, though. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised. "You can be such an ass, you know that?"
"Oh, yeah, and dating you's just been a walk in the park," he said sarcastically, finally getting up off the bed. "Do you realize how much you criticize me? If you're not harping on me about dropping out of college, you're mad at me for going out and having some actual fun."
His definition of fun just didn't match up with hers, though. Her friends wanted to have game nights, while his friends wanted to have bong nights. Half the time, they were so stoned that they didn't even leave the house. They just sat around on their couches laughing about the dumbest things.
"Sorry if I don't wanna sit around studying," Finn ranted, "or drawing stupid shit like this." He picked up her latest sketchbook off the dresser and started flipping through it angrily.
"Finn, put that down," she said, sitting up on her knees.
"Why don't you ever draw me?" he asked her. "Look, there's Lexa. Raven and Murphy. Harper and what's-his-face. Some random guy."
Not random, Clarke thought, worried what he would think when he discovered that the same guy was in there two other times.
"Where the hell am I at, huh?" he demanded, flipping towards the back of the book.
"Give me that!" she shouted, clamoring off the bed. She tried to grab it out of his hand, but he put his arm up to block her and held it away from her. "Finn!"
"Who the hell is this anyway?" he said, looking at another drawing of Bellamy. "Some guy you've been fuckin' behind my back?"
"No!"
"Well, screw him." He tore the page out of her book and ripped it in half.
"Finn!" He may as well have torn her whole heart in half right along with that picture, as dramatic as it sounded, because she felt like breaking into sobs. He dropped both halves of the paper down on the floor, then threw her sketchbook across the room.
Falling to her knees, she picked up the papers, fighting to hold back tears as she looked down at a now incomplete version of a guy who had been a much better boyfriend. A guy she missed so much even after all these years.
"It's not very good anyway," Finn grumbled, stomping out of the room.
She sat there once he was gone, her hands shaking as she tried to line the two pages up together again. A little tape could fix it. It was just one tear. One really big tear.
A few of her tears dropped down onto the paper, and she knew that would make the lead she'd used smear. She wasn't gonna be able to look at that drawing anymore without remembering this night and this moment. It wouldn't even make her think about Bellamy anymore. It'd only remind her of Finn.
Sadly, she crumpled up both halves of the paper and threw them in the wastebasket next to her dresser before storming downstairs to give Finn a piece of her mind. At 3:08 a.m. She felt so exhausted.
She found Finn in the kitchen, helping himself to plenty of things in her refrigerator. "Why are we even still together if we can't get along?" she asked him.
"I don't know," he replied with a flippant shrug, "because the sex is good?"
"It's not that great," she informed him, happy to knock his ego down a few pegs.
"Well, I haven't heard too many complaints," he said.
"Because you never ask. And you never ask how my day was. You never ask me how I'm feeling. You don't even care."
He shut the refrigerator door and threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. "What do you want from me, Clarke?"
"I want you to be a decent guy. For once."
"For once?" he resounded. "Alright, I know what this is all about. You're just pissed 'cause I won't move in with you."
She rolled her eyes, because yes, she was pissed about that, but if this was any indication as to what it would have been like, maybe she'd dodged a bullet.
"But you know what that sounds like to me, Clarke?" He pointed an accusatory finger at her and yelled, "That sounds like you wanna tie me down. Like you wanna rope me into some lifelong commitment, and I'm not ready for that yet. So enjoy this house that you don't even have to pay for 'cause your parents spoil you rotten."
"Fuck off, Finn," she growled. "I'm paying rent."
"Ooh, big deal. You know who's lookin' out for me, Clarke? No one. I gotta do everything myself."
"And what exactly are you doing?" she countered. "You haven't even found a summer job yet."
"I'll get one."
That was what he said every time she asked him about it, though. Every. Fucking. Time. "No, you won't. You never do," she said. "Remember last summer when I had to pay your rent just so your power wouldn't get shut off?"
"You paid with your—your allowance from your parents!" he bellowed. "You're spoiled, Clarke. You've never had one tough day in your life. Not ever."
When he said that, the multitude of tough days that never quit tormenting her came at her full force. She'd never told him about any of those things, though, because he wouldn't understand. If she told him she'd had an abortion, he wouldn't have even thought it was a big deal. He probably would have changed the subject in two seconds flat. "You have no idea what you're talking about," she said, glaring at him.
"Fuck this," he said. "I'm done. I'm over it. This whole thing, you and me . . . it's just not worth it anymore."
"Fine," she said as he headed for the door.
He stopped in his tracks, spun back around, and said, "Just like that? Fine?"
"What, do you expect me to be devastated?" Her relationship with this guy was edging closer and closer to emotional abuse every single day, and she wasn't about to let herself become a victim to that. It was better to end things now than let the problems continue to fester and grow. "You're not some great catch, Finn, and maybe I'm not, either, but at least I know what love is. And what it isn't." They'd had some fun over the past two years, sure. Not every day with him had been a bad one. But when Lexa had told her that there was someone out there for her . . . she hadn't been referring to Finn Collins. Either there was someone better, or there was no one at all, because this guy was not her soulmate.
"Fine," Finn said. "Fine. Go fall in love, Clarke. See if you can find someone who wants to put up with you." He threw open the door, walked out, and slammed it shut behind him. It made a noise so loud that she couldn't help but jolt. The first thing she did was run to the door and not only lock it, but deadbolt it so that he couldn't get back in even if he tried. She was never letting him back in again.
...
All they'd wanted to do was have beach time. With their baby. It already wasn't the sunniest day outside, but Finn's presence made it even gloomier.
"Let me try to handle this," Clarke said, standing up to confront her ex-boyfriend. "What're you doing here?" she came right out and demanded.
"Wanted to talk," he said. "Tough loss last night, by the way."
Bellamy, thankfully, ignored him, and just stayed down on the sand with Avery, helping her fill up her bucket.
"We have nothing to say to you. Leave us alone," Clarke told him. "If you wanna talk, do it through your lawyer."
Unfortunately, he didn't go away. He looked down at Avery, put on his best sad puppy dog face, and said, "We had a good thing going with our arrangement. A couple hours on Sundays. Can't we just do that again?"
"No." He'd ruined that when he'd kissed her.
"You're making this really hard, you know that?"
"I don't care." She felt so much stronger than he was that she wasn't even going to pretend to feel sorry for him. "I'm putting my family first, and you're not a part of that. You never will be."
"I'm not asking to be part of your family," he said. "I just wanna-" He probably would have finished, but Avery made a sound that silenced all of them.
"Da-da."
Clarke turned back around to look at her daughter, who was just staring up at Bellamy with a look of wonder on her face. He gazed back down at her with utter adoration in his eyes and whispered, "What'd you say, sweetie?"
She started to reach up for his beard, then put her hand down on top of his leg instead. "Da-da," she cooed again. And it was clear who she was speaking to.
Clarke's mouth dropped open as she realized that their daughter was saying her first word. "Oh my god," she gasped in amazement, crashing back down onto the sand beside them.
"Wait, she might say it again," Bellamy said, holding Avery up in front of him.
"Who's that?" Clarke said pointing to Bellamy. "Who is that, Avery?"
With that big, bright smile of hers, she said it yet again. "Da-da."
Clarke let out one big, proud sob and held her hand to her heart, totally overcome with the happiest of emotions. She didn't even have to look at Bellamy to know that he was grinning from ear to ear.
It took her a few seconds to even remember that they weren't alone, that someone else was there. Finn stood a few feet away from them, alone, just watching. She met his eyes, not willing to give him sympathy or even pity. In fact, she was glad he'd been here for this, to hear Avery make her own proclamation about who her father was. There had never been any choice to be made, but if there had been, a six month old little girl had just made it.
Like a wounded animal, Finn's shoulders slumped. He put his hands in his pockets, slowly turned, and sulked away. Good riddance, Clarke thought. He deserved to feel miserable.
"Avery, you smart little girl!" she exclaimed, refocusing on what really mattered about the moment she'd just experienced. "Come here." She took her from Bellamy and gave her a hug. "I'm so proud of you."
"Who's that now?" Bellamy said, pointing to Clarke. "Can you say Ma-ma? Ma-ma?"
Avery didn't say Mama. But she did laugh, for whatever reason. And that was enough to make both her parents laugh, too. "Don't worry," Bellamy said, "that'll be the next one."
Selfishly, she hoped so, but if it wasn't, it didn't matter. What mattered was that Avery's first word had been exactly what she'd always hoped it would be. And she'd said it to the right person, to the one and only person who would ever be her Da-da.