The Meeting at the Production Office
At the production office, Claire introduced herself to Willa before speaking to anyone else.
Grant was waiting.
He stood when she entered.
“Willa. I’m so glad—”
“Please don’t hug me,” she said.
He stopped.
“Of course.”
We sat with Willa between us.
Claire said the project wasn’t yet contracted.
They’d heard Grant’s story but hadn’t yet confirmed the family history.
“Then I can help,” Willa said.
She opened her notes on her phone.
“First question. When did you start raising me?”
Grant shifted.
“It’s complicated.”
“What year?”
“Willa, honey—”
“Don’t call me that.”
Silence.
Claire looked at Grant.
“You told us you’d been closely involved throughout her childhood.”
“In spirit,” he said.
Willa tilted her head.
“That’s a pretty long commute.”
Reid made a strangled noise.
Grant’s jaw tightened.
Willa kept going.
“Your script says you taught me my way around the kitchen. Which house was that in?”
“The details can be revised.”
“The details are my life.”
She told Claire about moving between foster homes.
About meeting us at four.
About the rabbit and the sleeve.
About learning to bake in our kitchen.
She didn’t sound rehearsed.
She sounded 16.
Angry.
Curious.
Tired of being discussed.
Claire turned to us.
“You’re her adoptive parents?”
“Legally and otherwise,” Reid said.
I handed over copies of documents confirming our adoption, with Willa’s permission.
Claire examined the dates.
Then looked at Grant.
“Why are they described as family friends?”
“My representatives misunderstood—”
“You approved the script,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
Willa closed her notes.
“I have one question just for you.”
Grant leaned forward.
“Anything.”
“You knew about me before I was adopted. Why didn’t you come?”
His expression changed.
He seemed to forget Claire was there.
“I was young. My career was starting. They told me you were blind, and I didn’t think I could handle everything you’d need.”
Willa nodded slowly.
“So when I needed a parent, my blindness was too much.”
“That’s not what I—”
“But now you can get paid to talk about raising me because I’m blind.”
Nobody interrupted her.
I remembered the ten families who’d passed on Willa.
All those people who’d decided her blindness made her too difficult to love.
And now the man who’d stayed away wanted to make millions telling the world how he’d raised her.
Grant looked at the table.
I thought of that unanswered question in Grant’s folder.
His team hadn’t known what Willa would say about her father’s absence.
Now they were finding out.
“I made mistakes. I want to know you now.”
“Maybe one day we can talk,” Willa said. “But not while you’re selling stories about me. And not because somebody paid for a camera.”
Claire closed her folder.
“We can’t proceed on the account we’ve been given. We’ll need to review this with our legal team.”
Grant started protesting.
Willa stood.
Grant looked up.
“Could I at least give you my number?”
She considered it.
“You can leave it with my dads. If I want it, I’ll ask.”
Reid didn’t move to take out his phone.
Neither did I.
For once, there was nothing we needed to arrange on her behalf.
May you like
“I’m done.”
We left together.
