The Man at the Door
On Willa’s 16th birthday, Reid and I were preparing her favorite dinner.
She’d insisted on making her own birthday cake.
The frosting was still cooling when someone knocked.
Willa was upstairs talking to a friend.
I opened the door.
The man outside looked painfully familiar.
We had watched his latest movie that weekend.
Grant.
Then I noticed his eyes.
His mouth.
Willa’s face, practically photocopied.
I’d never seen him in any photographs from her file.
“I’m Willa’s biological father,” he said. “May I come in?”
Reid made coffee.
Grant barely touched his.
“I know I’ve missed a lot,” he began. “I’d like to do something for her now. College tuition. A bigger house. Whatever helps.”
“Why now?” I asked.
He leaned forward.
“I want her to come stay with me. Tell me what it would take. I’ll give anything.”
Reid set down his cup.
“You mean you’d like us to ask whether she wants to meet you?”
Grant glanced toward the stairs.
“No. I literally need her to live with me. Next month.”
“She doesn’t even know you,” I said.
He opened his bag and withdrew a folder.
“My team put together a proposal. Nothing happens without your cooperation.”
Inside were television interview dates.
Questions.
Answers written beneath Willa’s name.
In one, she described how Grant had taught her to navigate the kitchen.
I looked at the Braille labels on our jars.
“She’s never even met you.”
“That’s why we’d need time together first.”
Reid turned a page.
According to the script, we’d been family friends who occasionally helped out.
“You told people you raised her?” Reid asked.
“In an interview. I mentioned having a daughter. Things went further than I intended.”
“So correct it.”
“People want to meet her.”
Upstairs, Willa laughed.
Grant looked toward the ceiling.
Then back at us.
“I can pay for her education. Set her up for life. Surely there’s an arrangement that benefits everyone.”
Reid stood and pushed the folder across the table.
“Leave.”
But I’d reached the last page.
One question had no scripted answer.
“What would you say to people who believe your biological father abandoned you?”
I read it twice.
Then closed the folder.
“An interview might be possible,” I said.
Reid stared at me.
“Nathan?”
“On one condition.”
Grant grabbed his pen.
“Name it.”
“We get the complete proposal, the producer’s contact information, and every claim you’ve made about Willa. Then she decides whether she wants anything to do with it.”
“Of course,” Grant said too quickly.
“And you don’t contact her behind our backs.”
He nodded.
Reid knew me well enough to stay silent.
Grant clearly didn’t.
“For context,” Grant said, opening a second folder, “this is a major project.”
His interview had gone viral.
A production company was discussing a documentary about his life as a father raising a blind daughter while building a successful acting career.
The proposed deal could earn him millions.
Provided Willa participated.
And footage showing them living together.
“You sold them a childhood you weren’t there for,” Reid said.
“It’s still in development,” Grant replied. “We can shape the story.”
I asked why he thought we’d help.
He slid another document toward me.
Our bakery’s expansion pitch.
Not an approximation.
Our actual pitch, including the projected costs of two locations.
“How did you get this?”
“My adviser knows someone at the investment firm you approached. He obtained a copy.”
My stomach turned.
Grant tapped the numbers.
“Three million dollars. From my own funds, once we have a signed agreement. Enough to open both sites and launch the classes.”
He’d researched our dream.
Our setbacks.
Everything except our daughter’s favorite cake.
“In exchange?” Reid asked.
“A temporary residence arrangement. Public cooperation. A consistent story. You’d be compensated for your discretion.”
Reid didn’t glance at the amount.
“No.”
Grant blinked.
“You haven’t considered it.”
“I heard you.”
“This changes your business.”
“She’s not inventory,” Reid said.
Grant looked at me.
I pushed the second folder back.
“Neither of us is selling our daughter.”
“You’re being emotional.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s generally what happens when somebody offers to buy a child.”
He said it was only for filming.
That we’d still see her.
That she’d have every advantage.
I stood.
“Whatever answer she gives about meeting you, she’s not moving in as part of your deal.”
For the first time, Grant seemed to understand we weren’t negotiating.
He left his card.
May you like
I kept the interview folder.
Not the money proposal.
