The only business I like working on these days is Cecilia's, and half the time, she doesn't want my opinions. The thought makes me smile.
The autumn's late sunlight streams in through the bay windows, tinted orange from the shifting leaves on the great trees. I look around my office, memories interposing on one another, a kaleidoscope of the past and present and future. Seeing my father and grandfather in here, arguing about trusts and investments. Myself, twelve and sullen, giving my grandfather the silent treatment. He'd been sitting in the chair I'm in. Or Cecilia and me in this room, newly married and unsure of one another, sorting through documents that tore my heart to shreds.
A small hand curls around the half-open door and pushes it open. Philippa's ponytails are half-askew, her brown eyes curious. "Daddy?"
"I'm in here."
"Whatcha doing?"
"Working. Did you just wake up from your nap?"
She shakes her head, but the imprint from her pillow marking her cheek give her away. I push back from the chair and open my arms. Philippa runs on legs that have too much energy to ever walk. I swing her up and put her on my knee.
Her little body is sturdy, and getting heavier by each passing month. The marvel of her hasn't stopped knocking the breath out of my chest. How can a person be so tiny and still be a fully formed human being? When they'd placed her in my arms at the hospital, she'd been so small. Minuscule and infinitely precious, her head fitting in the palm of my hand.
Impossible. Incredible.
"Whatcha working on?"
"Numbers, lots and lots of numbers."
She screws her face up and I laugh, pressing down on her button nose. Philippa has so many of her mother's features, including the beautiful eyes, but her hair, as Cecilia likes to remind me, is all mine. As light blonde as mine had been at her age.
"I know you don't understand it, honey."
"Boring," she says. "Daddy, let's go outside."
"You want to play?"
"Isn't it snack time?"
She shakes her head, eyes glittering. We both know it is.
I lift her up and walk out of the office, and Philippa sits content on my hip, happy to be carried. Cecilia keeps telling her that she needs to walk more, and that her mother is too far gone to carry her, but she knows she can still demand rides from her dad.
"Outside, outside, outside!" she sing-songs.
"Your playhouse?"
"Where's Bonnie, then? And Mommy?"
"I don't know," she says, eyes blinking at me. For a two-and-a-half-year-old, she's remarkably clever. Too clever for her mother and me on frequent occasion.
"Oh, really? I'm going to guess Bonnie put you down for a nap, and after you woke up, you were to go straight to the kitchen for snack time. But you went to my office instead. Hmm?"
She giggles, leaning back in my arms. A sticky hand presses against my mouth. "No!"
"No?" I mumble. "I don't believe you."
"Shhh, Daddy!"
"Mmhm. Right."
We walk through the living room, past the French doors that open up to the backyard. Philippa makes a sound of protest.
"Nope," I say. "We're informing your mother about your little escape first, before we play."
I find my wife in the dining room. She's pacing in front of the reading nook she'd created, her headphones in and hands at the small of her back.
"No," she says. "I don't think that's a good option. Can you get another appraisal? Thank you."
I hoist Philippa up and we stand in the doorway, watching Cecilia pace.
"Mommy's working," my daughter whispers.
I nod. "She'll be done soon."
Cecilia spots us and gives us a wide smile. Then she looks down at her belly, back up to me, and rolls her eyes. Ah. So our son is doing backflips again. I'd tell him to be nicer to his mom if I he could understand me.
"Look," Philippa says. "Look, look."
She's pointing at Cecilia's feet. She's in slippers, but they're not matching. One is her gray, fluffy slipper and the other is too large and leather. She's wearing one of mine and one of her own.
I chuckle, and Philippa laughs along, her toddler laughter filling the dining room. Cecilia turns to look at us with warm eyes. Her free hand is smoothing over her rounded belly, and I watch the movement. My beautiful wife. "That's good. Thanks for getting back to me. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
She pulls out her headphones. "Sarah?" I ask.
Cecilia nods, pushing hair back from her forehead. She looks flushed. "It's about the West Coast expansion."
"She's good. I'm glad you have her on board."
"So am I. But what do we have here? Did you wake up from your nap, honey?"
Philippa squirms in my arms and I set her down. She's moving before she hits the floor. "Yes! And Bonnie wasn't there! So I went to Daddy!"
"We're going outside to play," I say.
Cecilia runs a hand over our daughter's fair hair. "Oh, are you? Do you have time for that?"
"I do."
"Good. But that means there's a certain little girl here who has to have her afternoon snack."
Philippa looks up at her mom, hopefulness etched on her face. "Can I have a Pop-Tart?"
"Ice cream?"
"No. There are apple slices and peanut butter for you in the kitchen. Go on. The faster you eat, the sooner Daddy will take you outside."