“I would never trust a gardener,” Denise said, sitting across from her daughter. “I should plow the whole thing under and pour cement. That would be easy.”
“You’ve never been into easy. You love your flowers.”
“Most days.” She poured iced tea. “How’s the show going?”
“They announce the contestants tomorrow.”
Humor brightened her mother’s dark eyes. “Will we see you on the list?”
“Hardly. I wouldn’t have anything to do with them if Mayor Marsha hadn’t guilted me into agreeing.”
“We all have a civic responsibility.”
“I know. That’s why I’m doing the right thing. Couldn’t you have raised us not to care about others? That would have been better for me.”
“It’s ten weeks, Dakota. You’ll live.”
“Maybe, but I won’t like it.”
Her mother’s mouth twitched. “Ah, that maturity that always makes me so proud.”
The teasing was good, Dakota thought. Things were about to get a lot more serious.
She’d put off this conversation for several months now, but knew it was time to come clean. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep things a secret, it’s that she knew the truth would hurt her mother. And Denise had already been through enough.
Dakota took a cookie and put it on a napkin in front of her but didn’t taste it. “Mom, I have to tell you something.”
Nothing about Denise’s expression changed, yet Dakota felt her stiffen. “What?”
“I’m not sick or dying or going to be arrested.”
Dakota drew in a breath. She studied the placement of the chocolate chips, the rough edges of the cookie, because it was easier than looking at the one person who loved her best.
“You know at Christmas I talked about wanting to adopt?”
Her mother sighed. “Yes, and while I think it’s wonderful, it’s a little premature. How do you know you won’t find a wonderful man and get married and want to have kids the old-fashioned way?”
Material they’d been over a dozen times before, Dakota thought, knowing she only had herself to blame. Regardless of her mother’s opinion, she’d gone ahead with the paperwork and had already been vetted by the agency she’d chosen.
“You know my period has always been difficult for me,” she began. While her sisters sailed through “that time of the month,” Dakota had suffered from a lot of pain.
“Yes. We went to the doctor a few times about it.”
Their family doctor had always said everything was fine. He’d been wrong.
“Last fall things seemed to get worse. I went to my gynecologist and she did some testing.” Dakota finally raised her gaze and looked at her mother. “I have a form of polycystic ovarian syndrome and pelvic endometriosis.”
“What? I know what endometriosis is, but the other?” Her mother sounded worried.
Dakota smiled. “Don’t panic. It’s not all that scary or contagious. PCOS is a hormone imbalance. I’m handling it by keeping my weight down and exercising. I take a few hormones. On its own it can make getting pregnant really difficult.”
Denise frowned. “All right,” she said slowly. “And the pelvic endometriosis? That means what? Cysts or growths?”
“Something like that. Dr. Galloway was surprised I had both, but it can happen. She cleaned things up so I don’t have the pain anymore.”
Her mother leaned toward her. “What are you saying? Did you have an operation? Were you in the hospital?”
“No. It was a simple outpatient thing. I was fine.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because that was the least of it.”
Dakota swallowed. She’d been so careful not to let anyone know. She hadn’t wanted to have to listen to sympathy, to hear people say it would be fine when she’d known it wouldn’t be. She’d been in a place where words would only make things worse.
But weeks, then months, had passed and the old cliché about time healing all wounds was nearly true. She wasn’t healed, but she could finally say the truth aloud. She should know—she’d been practicing in her small rented house for days now.
She forced herself to look into her mother’s concerned, dark eyes. “The PCOS is under control. I’m going to live a long, healthy life. Either condition makes it more difficult to get pregnant. Having both of them means it’s pretty unlikely I can get pregnant the old-fashioned way, as you said. Dr. Galloway says it’s about a one-in-one-hundred shot.”
Denise’s mouth trembled and tears pooled in her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “Oh, honey, no.”
Dakota had half expected recriminations. A cry of “Why didn’t you tell me?” Instead her mother stood, then pulled her to her feet and held on as if she would never let go.
The warmth of the familiar embrace touched Dakota’s cold, dark places. Those buried so deep, she hadn’t even known they were there.
“I’m sorry,” her mother told her, kissing her cheek. “You said you found out last fall?”
Dakota nodded.