Page 30 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
"Dad! Don't! You stink!"
Laughing, I pulled away. "Fine. Well, will you be ready in an hour to go take care of Felicity's surprise?"
"I'm ready now! You're the one who's all sweaty and smelly. I'm not getting in the car with you until you shower, Dad."
I laughed. "Okay, yeah. I'll shower. Then we can head out and make sure her surprise is perfect."
Chapter 14: The First Step
~Caden~
I took the fastest shower of my life, water still clinging to my hair when I yanked on clean jeans and a lightweight blazer. My pulse felt like it was sprinting ahead of me, pounding in my ears as if it already knew how much today mattered.
Macy and I pulled into downtown, and miraculously I found street parking on the first pass. Normally I’d have circled forever, muttering about the lack of parking in Boston and the ridiculous traffic with nonsensically designed roads. Today it felt like the universe had decided not to stand in my way though. I opened the parking app on my phone, plugged in the space number, and almost typed it twice—I was so keyed up I kept checking to make sure I hadn’t reversed the digits. The little green confirmation screen popped up, and I grinned like an idiot at my phone. My success felt like a good sign.
Macy leaned over, eyebrows raised. “Dad, it’s just parking. You look like you won the lottery.”
I shot her a look, still grinning. “Don’t knock it. Perfect parking deserves a merit badge.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You’re such a dad sometimes.” But I caught the way her mouth tugged into a smile before she shoved her hands back into her hoodie pockets.
When I turned, she was already bouncing on her toes, sneakers scuffing the sidewalk as restless energy radiated out of her small frame. She wanted this as badly as I did—maybe more.
The jewelry shop was at the end of the block, its windows shimmered as the sun hit just right. Bright lights and polished glass reflected the world outside in sharp fragments waiting to be pieced together.
Inside, the air shifted—cool, quiet, reverent. The low hum of the A/C was the only sound. A clerk in a crisp gray vest greeted us with professional politeness.
“I called earlier,” I said, clearing my throat. “We’re here to have a piece engraved.”
The clerk nodded and placed a small pad on the counter. Macy slipped the white box from her bag, careful like it might shatter, and set it down. My daughter—who usually tossed her backpack on the floor and left her sneakers wherever they landed—was suddenly careful, reverent.
The clerk opened the box, pulling out the item I'd found a couple days ago following a day of hopping from one store to the next until I'd found just the right thing for Felicity. He pulled out the card beneath it which held something Macy and I had written together. His brows ticked upward in a subtle smile.
“Nice choice,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
Macy looked at me, wide-eyed. I gave her a small thumbs-up.
We watched as he carried the box into the back. Macy exhaled, the breath shaky, like she’d been holding it since we left the house.
“You okay, kiddo?” I asked.
She nodded but didn’t speak. Her hands twisted together, knuckles white. For all her nerves, I could see it in her eyes—this mattered to her. Not just for me, but for Felicity. She wanted this to mean something more than just a gift.
When the clerk returned, he carried the box like it contained something sacred. He placed it on the counter and lifted the lid. The inscription gleamed under the lights, each curve of the script sharp and deliberate. The words felt heavier than a brick of gold.
Macy leaned in, shoulders softening, her fingertip tracing the letters with a reverence that made my throat tighten. A hint of a smile tugged at her lips, hesitant but real.
The clerk closed the lid, tied the ribbon again with practiced precision, and slid the box toward us with a receipt tucked under a small envelope.
“It’s a beautiful piece,” he said. His eyes met mine, steady. “Good luck.”
Two words, but they carried weight. Like he knew what was at stake.
I nodded my thanks and slipped the box into the inner pocket of my blazer. My palm pressed against the fabric once, checking it was secure, like somehow the motion could anchor my resolve too.
Our next stop was a low brick building a few blocks away, the kind of place most people passed without notice. The sign out front listed job-training classes, a food pantry, a clothing closet. Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of coffee and copier paper. A volunteer in a blue polo shirt, hair silver and neat, greeted us with a smile.
I opened my mouth, but Macy spoke first.
