Brooke took a gulp of wine. “I may look calm to you, but I’m really like those ducks at the Daffin Park pond back home. Gliding over the water on the surface, but underneath it all, I’m paddling like hell trying to keep afloat.”
Marie cocked her head and studied her daughter. Brooke’s dark hair was pinned up in a messy bun on the top of her head. She wore a loose-fitting T-shirt and denim shorts. She was barefoot and needed a pedicure. And there were dark circles under her eyes.
“I wish you’d called me sooner,” Marie said. “I wish you’d let me pitch in and help. Not just with money, but with Henry. I know you prize your independence, but sometimes I feel like you’re deliberately shutting me out. And it makes me sad. You and Henry are my world, Brooke.”
“I know,” Brooke said with a sigh. “I don’t mean to shut you out. It’s just … I guess I feel like I have something to prove. You know, that I can do this. Work. Raise a child. Just be a competent human being. But it’s so damn frustrating. If I’m home with Henry, I’m anxious that I should be at work, doing lawyer stuff. And when I’m at work, with a client—not that I have that many—I feel guilty that I’m not home with my child. And, Mom, I suck. At everything. I suck at life. I really do!”
Marie got up and sat down beside her daughter on the sofa. She wrapped both arms around her and laughed. “You don’t suck.”
“No,” Brooke insisted, “I do. What kind of mom lets her kid break an arm at the park? What kind of lawyer can’t even make enough money to pay for decent health insurance for her family?”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on yourself?” Marie asked. “Do yourself a favor and stop trying to be a superwoman.”
“I’m not. I just want to be half as good a mom as you were when I was growing up.”
“Is that what this is about?” Marie asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re comparing yourself to me? But that’s crazy! You’re a single working mom, raising a child in a town where you have no support system. I had the luxury of being able to quit my job when I had you, because your father was more than able to support us.”
“And you did everything, and you did it perfectly,” Brooke said. “Beautiful, spotless house, gourmet cook, on every committee in town … and I know Dad wasn’t any help with any of that.”
“It was a different time. None of the women in our social circle worked outside the home. Even the women who had MDs and PhDs and JDs after their names quit their jobs to stay home with their babies.”
“You sound wistful about that,” Brooke said. “Did you ever wish you hadn’t quit?”
“Sometimes,” Marie admitted. “Not at first. I mean, I waited until I was over forty to have you. So I’d had a great career, and when I finally did get pregnant, it was such a shock, I thought, well, I should just stay home and raise this miracle child of mine. And that ought to be enough.”
“And then?” Brooke prompted.
“I couldn’t get you to sleep or nurse. I was a miserable failure. And I wasn’t used to failing at anything. I’d always been good at everything when I was working.”
“So what did you do?”
Marie reached over and stroked Brooke’s hair, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. “I did what you should have done. I finally called my mother and told her I needed help.”
“That’s when she moved down to Savannah to live with us?”
“Yes. She literally saved my life. Yours too.”
“God. It must be an inherited trait. Remember? I had to quit nursing Henry after two months because he wasn’t latching on. And he didn’t sleep the whole night until he was almost two,” Brooke said, shuddering at the memory.
“You should have told me,” Marie scolded. “Why wouldn’t you call me up and tell me what you were going through?”
“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “I guess I thought it would be like surrendering. Admitting that I couldn’t take care of my own child.”
“You can’t do it all alone, honey,” Marie said softly. “Nobody can. Not even you.”
“I see that now,” Brooke said. She stretched out on the sofa and put her head in her mother’s lap. “I don’t know if it’s the wine or just having you here, but all of a sudden, I sort of feel okay. I think maybe it’s gonna be okay.”
“I’m glad,” Marie said. “You’ve changed, you know, since you moved down here.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet. One thing that I think is good is that you’re not as driven as you used to be when you were working in Savannah. You used to scare me, you were so focused. Work, running, work. I used to wish you’d slow down and have some fun.”
“And the bad?” Brooke was almost afraid to ask.
“Oh, Brooke.” Marie sighed. “Your self-esteem is so low. What happened to my golden girl? The triumphant soccer player, the kid who went to summer camp by herself at the age of six and never looked back or acted homesick? It hurts me to see you being so hard on yourself.”
Brooke felt a tear slide down her cheek. She swallowed hard and tried to find the words.
“I screwed up. Royally. Let you guys down. Left poor Harris standing at the altar. Left Dad holding the bag for that hideously expensive wedding. Quit my job, ran away from home, and if that’s not enough, I got myself knocked up. Had a kid out of wedlock. I’m like some big, stupid sitcom. Only nobody’s laughing.”
Marie pushed Brooke off her lap and prodded her back into a sitting position. “Look at me, Brooke Marie. Tell me the truth. Do you regret not marrying Harris?”
“No,” Brooke said quickly. “Just the way I handled everything.”
“Do you regret having Henry?”
“Never! He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“That’s what I thought,” Marie said. “So you made some mistakes. Doesn’t everybody?”
“Maybe,” Brooke said, still unconvinced. “But you can’t pretend you were thrilled that I got pregnant the way I did.”
“The baby was definitely a surprise,” Marie admitted. “I wasn’t even aware you were seeing somebody. And you still haven’t told me anything about Henry’s father. All I know is that you say he’s not in your life anymore. That’s the part that’s really hard for me. I know you, Brooke. I know you don’t have casual relationships. So this man … this mystery man. He’s still Henry’s father. Our boy has his DNA. And I’m only human. I can’t help but wonder about him. Why aren’t you together? Did he hurt you that badly? Are you still in love with him? Is he a good man?”
Brooke looked into her mother’s dark blue eyes and saw only love and acceptance. She felt herself exhale slowly. Holding the secret of Pete, she realized, was exhausting. And senseless. And selfish.
“His name is Pete. Pete Haynes,” she began. “Henry has his smile. And his big feet. And yes, he’s a very good man. I think you’d like him. And I know he’d love you.”
The words came tumbling out, like a dammed-up torrent of story and emotion.
She told her mother how she’d met Pete during her summer job in DC. Her harmless secret summer fling. How she’d run into him at the barbecue restaurant in Savannah, at a lunch meeting with her wedding florist, for God’s sake!
“Seeing Pete, after all that time,” Brooke said. “I can’t even describe how I felt. It was terrifying. I was already having these nagging midnight doubts about me and Harris. If we were really right for each other. And then to run into Pete—two weeks before my wedding! It was like seeing a ghost, Mom. I hadn’t thought about this guy in years. At the end of that summer, I came home and moved in with Harris and started law school. Mentally, I put Pete Haynes in a shoe box, taped it up, and shoved it in the back of my closet. But that day, at freaking Johnny Harris Barbecue, the tape came off. And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop thinking about Pete.”
“I wish you’d told me,” Marie said quietly.
“I couldn’t tell you, because I couldn’t admit it to myself. I was having anxiety nightmares. Panic attacks. I got some Xanax from a girlfriend at work, but the Xanax just made me feel stoned. It didn’t get Pete out of my head.”