Without a word, she placed her phone down on the table, the mouse’s voice still squeaking, and went out to join her colleagues; her friends; her life.
Before the controlled chaos kicked in of the ambulance arriving, she allowed herself a moment to think about what she’d just done. All that pride. All that harm it had caused. She didn’t have to be bound by it. Whatever she did, her parents would be like that. Whatever success, whatever failure. There was no pot of acceptance waiting at the end of the rainbow.
Why did she need it, anyway?
As Brodie said, “If Zoey’s your biggest failing, then believe me, you’re doing more than okay!”
As Brodie said, “I’d be proud of you if you were my kid.”
As Brodie said?—
The doors to the ambulance bay flew open and it was go, go, go. She didn’t have time to think more about the fact she was quoting all the things Brodie had said.
ChapterThirty-Eight
Back at Maeve’s house, Brodie couldn’t sit still, hemmed in by the floral wallpaper in the living room, the bright primary colors of the family kitchen, the color-changing bubble bath in the bathroom. Out the window, he could see the orchard and the mountains behind, the epic landscape making the rooms feel like cages. Even the view was loaded now with expectation and decision. There was no escape. At the ranch there would be questions from his mom. At the polo club, Logan would corner him, having almost definitely spoken to Noah. In the diner, Ren would tip her head knowingly.
Anywhere he went in this town there would be questions from someone.
He sat at Maeve’s kitchen table, fingers pushed into his hair.
You gotta sit with it.
No, he didn’t.
He stood up. He was too hot. His legs were restless. He couldn’t breathe.
“You okay, Dad?” Zoey asked.
“Fine!”
Dad.
They were making Slime at the kitchen table. Zoey had a zip-lock bag full of glue and some magic liquid, glitter and food coloring that she’d had to pull up a chair to reach at the back of a cupboard. Brodie had been sitting next to her, he’d poured glasses of OJ, opened a packet of Oreos; it was easy, mundane, everyday stuff.
Now that he was standing up, however, he surveyed the scene wondering if he should be doing more. Should he beguiding Zoey with more life lessons? Should they be studying? Watching educational documentaries? Should hebe somehow imparting fatherly wisdom? What did he know that he could tell her?
He thought of earlier, when he’d asked Maeve if she was ashamed of him. Why wouldn’t she be ashamed? He’d never had to justify his existence to a woman before and when it came down to it, what did he have to offer?
What if he ruined Zoey’s life?
His mom rang, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, to see if he wanted to drop by for dinner. Relieved for the reprieve, Brodie took the phone call in the hallway.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m with Zoey.”
“Bring her with you.”
He didn’t want to see his dad, face more denigration.
“No, it’s okay, thanks.”
His mom didn’t push it. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it.”
He was about to hang up when he found himself saying, “Mom?”
“Yes.”
Brodie paused, tracing his finger over one of the lines in the hallway wallpaper. “How did you know how to be a parent?”
