Ma exhales, the sound more like a sigh than a breath. “It’s just… different,” she admits, her eyes fixed on the sink. “When you’re together all the time on a cruise, sunshine, cocktails, someone else doing the laundry, it’s easy to like someone. But now that we’re back in the real world, I’m remembering all the reasons I never dated before.”
I grin, because I know she’s opening the door for me to tease her. “Me?”
She shoots me a look, one eyebrow arched. “Not you.”
I raise a brow of my own. “Notjustme?”
A reluctant smile tugs at her lips. “Not just you,” she concedes. “I didn’t want to be tied to an ego again. I didn’t want to bend myself around someone else’s wants and moods. I raised you to pick up after yourself and if I didn’t pick up after my own child, I sure as hell am not going to pick up after someone else’s.”
I can’t help but grin at that, the memory slipping in before I can stop it. “Yeah,” I murmur, “I remember.”
And I do, every single time she smacked me upside the head for leaving my underwear on the bathroom floor, or when I’d leave a sink full of dirty dishes waiting for her after work. I remember her lecture about how‘if you’re old enough to make a mess, you’re old enough to clean it up.’At the time, it felt like nagging. Now I realize it was her way of teaching me to be responsible, to not expect anyone, especially a woman, to clean up after me.
She must see the memory on my face because her expression softens. “See?” she says lightly. “I wasn’t just yelling for no reason.”
I snort. “Could’ve fooled me back then.”
Her mouth twitches. “You’re lucky I didn’t toss those dishes out the window.”
I shake my head, smiling into my glass. It’s weird, even now, with a baby on the way and a family of my own forming, she still manages to make me feel like that teenage boy trying to dodge chores.
But beneath the teasing, I know what she’s really saying: she’s done taking care of people who refuse to take care of themselves. And maybe that’s why she’s okay being on her own.
It’s not loneliness. It’s peace.
Chapter Fourteen
Brooke
I head home after a slow walk, one hand on my belly the entire way. It takes me longer than it should, the stairs feel like a marathon these days, but I manage. The apartment is empty when I finally push the door open, just like I knew it would be. It’s Sunday, but Matthew’s working again.
I can’t blame him. He’s working hard for me, for us, for the little life growing inside me. Still, it feels like the closer I get to my due date, the more he works away from home. I try not to take it personally, try to be practical but every Saturday and Sunday when he rushes off to work, it stings.
I hardly see Stella anymore, either. After her ex-husband’s brief, miserable attempt to gain custody, he disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving her with nothing but a stack of attorney bills and a few more grey hairs. She’s been busy trying to console the kids and she did throw me a baby sure, but God, I miss her.
The Lamaze class has become my lifeline in the meantime. They’re more than classmates now; they’re the only people whoget it, the sleepless nights, the weird dreams, the things you’re too embarrassed to admit out loud. I did suggest we come up with a better name for ourselves, but the girls were adamant:don’t mess with perfection.
And maybe they’re right. Especially since we’re not even in the community hall anymore.
The youth pastor, the one Zara said they scared off with their eye rolls and sarcasm, came back. This time with his father. We were told to either fall in line or find another class.
Now we meet wherever we can, parks when the weather’s good, cafés when it’s not, even the occasional jamboree class if someone can sneak us in. It’s chaotic and messy, but it works.
Sheera and Zara both had their babies already, tiny, perfect, squirming bundles of exhaustion and joy. It’s strange seeing them in strollers now instead of stretched out on yoga mats beside me. Becks is due next week. Ursula’s adoption family is flying in from out of state.
And that leaves me.
It seems I’m next.
I press a hand gently to my bump as I lower myself onto the sofa, breathing through a sudden, unexpected wave of nerves. My due date was yesterday… and still, no baby.
It’s winter, freezing cold outside, and yet I’m sofreaking hotI could melt snow just by standing next to it. Seriously, it feels like my belly is a portable heater strapped to the front of me. A few weeks ago, I was so overheated I walked outside in the snowwithout a coat.
Boy, was Matthew pissed.
It turned into our first real fight. Sure, we’ve had small disagreements, about food, about where to put the crib, about whether pickles and a milkshake count as a “meal” but nothing major. Honestly, we haven’t spent enough time together to actually fight. But that day? He called me selfish.Selfish.
Me, a woman who hasn’t seen her toes in months. To someone whose centre of gravity is so off she nearly cries if she drops something on the floor. To a person whosenose has gotten bigger.
