“They are wired differently. I know that’s not a fashionable thing to say these days, and it’s not an excuse for inexcusable behavior, but it’s an explanation as to why they cannot find empathy in situations that escape their comprehension. They want to. Your father wanted to…” she trailed off, sighing. “I want you to remember your father is a wonderful man. He is deeply flawed, he’s human after all, despite what his business rivals may like to say about him.”
She smiled softly.
“But he loves you. Loves me. That love has looked different over the years, thinner in some places, especially when I was so lost in pain, and he didn’t understand that I resented him for going back to normal.” She paused, looking down at her manicure. “Or acting like he was, at least. It hit him in different ways. Ways that he didn’t show me.”
She nodded toward the door. “I doubt he’ll show you either, darling. The way he looks at you, the way he loves you… I can feel it in my marrow, just by looking at him. So I can’t imagine what it feels like.”
Before this, I would’ve said wonderful, exciting, safe, all encompassing.
Now it was stifling, heavy, uncomfortable, toxic.
I didn’t say any of those things to my mother.
“I’ve never met a man like that before,” she tapped her French manicured nail on her chin. “He’s very … intense. In a way that tells me he’ll do anything for you. But show you how he feels. How he bleeds. He won’t want to burden you with that.”
Yes, she saw a lot, my mother.
“Hold on to each other,” she whispered. “Tight enough to make your fingers bleed.”
I didn’t let her words penetrate.
“This is going to change you,” she stated the obvious, moving back to the tray she had arranged earlier. I hadn’t taken much notice of what she was bringing in and out of the room. It didn’t really matter.
“Fundamentally, right down to the core of you,” she carried on as I heard glass clanging, liquid sloshing. “I wish that wasn’t the case. I wish I could say that time heals all wounds and that, eventually, you will be the woman you were before.”
She walked over, handing me the crystal tumbler.
I paused at first, almost saying, ‘no thank you, I can’t, I’m pregnant.’
But I wasn’t.
Perhaps I wasn’t supposed to drink with all the drugs I was on, but I didn’t care. I doubted it would do any more harm. The glass was heavy, crystal. The clear liquid was probably one of the most expensive vodkas in the world.
I sipped it thankfully, savoring the burn at the back of my throat.
My mother did the same, settling herself in Karson’s seat. Stella, Zoe and Yasmin had all sat there, but the seat was somehow still his.
“But unfortunately, honey, as much as I’ve failed you as a mother in many ways, I’ve never lied to you. I’m not going to start now.” My mother’s voice was wary.
She regarded me, not masking her pain. “You are a different person than you were before. This will define you. Even if you spend decades pretending it hasn’t like I have. But you are different than me.”
She smiled sadly, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “So much better. You have genuine friends who have depth. Friends who won’t shy away from this, from being there for you. You have an intense man who would level cities for you. Eventually, you will find the strength to try again. And you will be a mother. One with an open heart. Because that, my sweet, is who you are.”
My heart thundered, and my heart dropped at the last part.
The vodka soured in my stomach, and my mouth went dry.
She expected me to try again.
Because she didn’t know I couldn’t carry a child again.
None of them did.
Was this going to be my fate? Everyone caring for me through this, helping me heal, expecting me to continue my life with Karson and try again?
No.
That couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t.