Winning Brynn (Seattle Strikers)

62. Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-two

Brynn

Morning arrives all too quickly. My eyes crack open, sticky with sleep, to find Salem already awake beside me. She’s sucking on the sleeve of her giraffe-printed onesie, the soft material stretching across her chubby limbs as daylight pours through the drapes.

According to my phone, it’s a little after eight a.m. Leo must have left for practice hours ago, but I guess I was so exhausted that I slept through it.

“Muh! Muh!”

“I still don’t know what that means, ladybug. But I’ll get it soon, I promise.”

She blows a spit bubble in reply, patting two tiny hands on my cheeks. Wiping the spittle from my face, I rub my eyes and pull myself up to rest against the headboard. Everything aches, my head, my body, my heart.

Last night shouldn't have affected me as much as it did. I'm Salem's nanny, so what does it matter to me if her real mom is back? Or that said real mom is my friend, Issy, who I apparently don't know at all anymore. Never once in the time we've known each other has she mentioned a daughter. In fact, she used to grimace every time the subject of children was mentioned in her presence.

But maybe what I was seeing in those moments was deep-buried pain—guilt, even, rather than disgust. Or I’m reaching because I don’t want to think that my friend and the woman who abandoned Salem so coldly are the same person.

Sure, we haven’t known each other for long, in the grand scheme of things. But I thought we’d built up a close enough friendship over the last year that she’d tell me something as significant as that.

It hurts that she didn’t.

It makes it harder to understand why she did what she did and not jump to conclusions that she is everything Leo believes her to be. But for the life of me, I can’t seem to marry the woman I know with the things she did.

Just dumping a baby on the doorstep of a man she met once with a lawyer and some paperwork that rids her of responsibility so that she could move to Bali and never mention her daughter again goes against everything I thought I knew about her.

Isabella isn’t callous. She isn’t cruel, or soulless, or selfish. She’s warm. Quiet. Compassionate and kind.

It doesn’t make sense to me.

Not every woman is destined to be a mother. It's a choice I firmly believe in. Women aren’t put on this Earth for the sole purpose of reproduction. We have value that goes far beyond that. And I don't begrudge her for giving up her child, but I do for the way she went about it.

She didn't tell Leo, and she should have.

One simple conversation would have made it easier for everyone.

With a sigh, I pull Salem into my arms and climb out of bed. "Come on, ladybug, let's change your diaper and get you some breakfast."

She clings to my shoulder and rests her face in my neck as I carry her through to the living area, holding me as if sensing that I need it. My eyes water. Resting my own head on top of hers, I breathe in how it feels to have her in my arms.

"Muh." She strokes my cheek, her fingers gently brushing over my nose, my brow, and my eyelids. "Sad."

"Oh no." I pull back to look at her. "You're sad?"

She shakes her head. "Muh."

"I'm sorry, baby girl. I don't know what that means."

She pats me again. "Muh." She frowns, her movements growing in frustration.

But I don't understand, and as much as it disappoints us both, no amount of repeating or patting is going to help me to. So, I opt for the art of distraction.

Grabbing a plushie that was left on the rug last night, I pass it to her and let her play with it as I set about getting together diapers, wipes, and fresh clothes for both of us. A ladybug-printed romper for her, and gym shorts for me that I throw on under Leo's tee. The earthy, autumnal scent of him still clings to the fabric, and it’s a needed comfort to have it surrounding me, like he’s holding me and telling me everything will be okay.

Laying Salem on the sofa, I get her changed. She holds her stuffed toy out in front of her as I do, babbling away as if in deep conversation. It makes me laugh, but it's a sound laced with sadness. Everything feels heavy now. Tainted. Forever changed.

Her mom is back, and Leo is resuming his search for a new nanny. I don’t know how many more mornings I’ll get to have with her—a fact that makes my heart sink like lead.

Once I’ve finished changing her, I tuck my hands under her arms and sit her up so she can look at me. "You know I love you, baby girl?"

She giggles, spinning her stuffed lion in her hands and chomping on his ears. She has no idea what I'm saying, but I feel the need to tell her anyway.

"I just want you to know that, no matter what, I love you. Even when I'm not here anymore, I'll still love you, okay?"

Another giggle, another chomp on the lion's ear, another inaudible babble.

I nod as if she's answered with words. "I'll take that to mean you understood everything I said and that you love me too."

She lifts her arms up and waves her hands until I reach for her again and pull her back into my arms.

"Nana."

"You want a banana for breakfast?"

She nods.

"How about banana pancakes?"

She nods again and squeals.

"Order received." I give her a salute with my free hand and earn myself a magical laugh.

And it dawns on me that things aren't so bad so long as I can still hear that sound. That maybe I can worry about what's to come later and just try to enjoy every moment I have with her until it's time to say goodbye, even if it will shatter me into pieces when that time comes.

I’ve just put Salem down for a nap when there’s a knock at the door. I don’t need to look through the peephole to know who it is. I can sense it in the heaviness of the atmosphere, in the sadness that’s wafting through the thick wood of the front door.

With a long, steadying sigh, I pull it open.

Issy’s eyes find mine, hopeful and red-rimmed from crying. Her usually soft face is swollen and blotchy, her neck and cheeks a deep scarlet, and she’s wearing matching white sweats that look like they’ve seen better days. “Can I come in?” she whispers.

Mutedly, I nod and stand to the side to let her pass.

We walk in silence down the hallway to the living area, her eyes widening as she looks around the space as if this is the first time she’s really seeing it. “This place is so nice.” She sighs, gazing at the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominate the entire wall on the west side of the apartment. “You can see the Olympic mountains from up here.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful,” I return, my voice flat and dispassionate. Though I don’t disagree with her. Leo’s apartment is stunning, so soft in its design and furnishings, with a view that still renders me speechless whenever I take a minute to breathe it in.

But small talk has never been my strong suit, and I’m not in the mood to try it now.

She flinches at my tone, tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie until I motion for her to take a seat in the living area.

“Coffee?”

She nods, her eyes dipped. “Please.”

I brew a pot, though I take my time doing it. I need a minute to gather my thoughts, to calm my breathing and remind myself that this situation isn’t about me. As uncomfortable as I am, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I’m only the nanny. This is about Leo and Isabella and the baby they made together.

“Thanks.” Issy blinks up at me with genuine gratitude when I hand her the coffee cup and take a seat on the opposite side of the sofa with my own.

Throwing a blanket over my lap, I tug my legs under myself and sip at the scalding liquid.

Several long beats of silence follow until I start to believe that this is all the visit will entail. A miserable, endless silence filled only with the sounds of our uneven breaths and the occasional slurp of coffee.

Finally, Issy shifts in her seat. "I don't know what to say."

"I think we should start with my most burning question," I preface. "What the actual fuck?"

It probably isn’t the most effective way of initiating this conversation, but apparently, my mouth got bored of waiting for my brain to formulate something more compassionate.

She startles. Her gaze dips to a throw pillow as she pretends to study the fabric. "I'm sorry."

“For what, exactly?”

“All of it, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She releases a prolonged sigh, resting the rim of her cup against her chin as if it will protect her. “I didn’t want you to judge me for giving up a baby. And I was scared that you’d think of me the way I already think about myself. That there’s something wrong with me.” A single tear rolls down her cheek. “That I’m defective. So, I just didn’t tell anyone.”

Something splinters in my heart.

Reaching across, I take her hand with my own. “I don’t judge you for that, Issy. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you for making that decision.”

Her brow furrows in disbelief. “What?”

“It isn’t for me to judge the choices you make about your own life.”

It really isn’t.

Women don’t fit into boxes, regardless of how much the world might try to make us. We’re conditioned to be nurturers from the moment we’re born, through the clothes that we’re dressed in, and the toys that we’re given to play with. We wear bunnies and lambs on our onesies, while little boys get dinosaurs and roaring lions.

Girls are taught to be soft, whereas boys are taught to be brave.

We’re taught to be nurturers, whereas boys are taught to be adventurers.

But we’re so much more than that.

Women are soft, nurturing, patient, compassionate, and caring. But we’re also bold, and brave, and fucking ferocious.

And yes, I want to be a mom, but that’s a decision I made myself. Not because the world told me that’s how I should feel. And it doesn’t make Issy any less of a woman just because she doesn’t feel the same.

“Society loves to make us believe that having children is all we’re good for, but it’s not true. We’re so much more than just a womb, you know? So, no, I don’t judge you for deciding that motherhood isn’t for you, but I am struggling with the way you went about it.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers curl around mine as she nods in understanding.

I drop her hand as I brace myself to ask my next question. "Did you know Salem was yours the whole time I was nannying for her?"

Her eyes widen. "No."

"Because you thought my brother's name was Adam?"

She nods. "Yeah, I must have misheard when you told me. And after that one time, you never called him by his name, you’ve always just referred to him as your brother. So when you corrected me, I put two and two together."

"Why did you still come?"

"I don't know." Her breath shudders as she exhales. "At first, I freaked out. I wanted to get straight back on the plane and fly home, but I…” She trails off, gnawing at her lip. “I guess I couldn’t resist. I’ve thought about her every day since I gave her up. Last night was the first time I held her. I didn’t even hold her the day she was born.”

Conflicting feelings battle each other inside of me. Her pain and regret are visceral. I can feel it billowing out of her in dark, swirling waves. And I feel sad for her. Truly, deeply sad.

But I’m also angry. Because I haven’t forgotten how much hurt she’s caused Leo with her actions. And showing up here when she knew no one was expecting the bomb her presence would drop on us wasn’t fair to any of us.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, crying in earnest now. “I should have told you who I was when I realized. I just… I panicked.”

“I need to know why you didn’t tell Leo you were pregnant, Issy. You clearly knew where he lived. Do you not think he deserved to know that you were having his baby—before you had her dropped off on his doorstep with no warning?"

Her knees resume their bouncing. She flings her gaze around the room, trying to find a spot to focus on so that she doesn't have to look at me. “I actually didn’t know where he lived.”

“What?”

“He’s a public figure. That information isn’t available freely.”

“But what about when you, um…”—I clear my throat, gritting out the next few words—“slept together?” She grimaces, as if she, too, can feel how awkward this is. “That happened at my place in Cincinnati.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She coughs. “It was my lawyer who found his address when Salem was born, and I asked him not to give it to me.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to be tempted. I gave her up because I knew I couldn’t give her what she needed. I’m not selfless enough to be a mom, and she needed someone who would be completely, unyieldingly committed to her. And sure, I make okay money, but I certainly don’t have the kind of money that Leo has. I wanted her to have more love and opportunities than I was able to give her.”

“You were worried that you’d show up and disrupt her life if you knew where she was?” I ask, trying my hardest to keep my voice gentle. “Like you have now?”

She winces. “Yeah.”

“So, what changed yesterday?”

“I wasn’t strong enough to turn around and go home.”

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell Leo you were pregnant.”

I hope she understands the hurt she's caused by hiding her pregnancy from Leo. He missed out on watching his baby grow, on preparing to be a father, on making decisions about his own life.

Maybe he would have tried to make it work with her, though the thought makes my heart twist with jealousy. But I know Leo. And I know how much he wishes he could give his daughter a family, so he would have done what he thought was the right thing, even if it would have made him miserable in the long run.

And if Issy hadn't wanted that, if she'd still wanted to give up Salem and move to Bali, he wouldn't have thought twice about taking sole custody. But at least he would have had time to prepare for it.

Issy would have known that too, if only she'd given him a conversation.

“I didn’t have his number,” she sighs. “And I figured he wouldn’t believe me if I’d reached out on social media.”

“You could have called the Seattle Strikers and asked to speak with him. You could have had your lawyer find his number.”

“I know.” She hangs her head in defeat. “Honestly, I was terrified of telling him, but I should have tried harder. I’m sorry. I’m just so, so sorry.”

“It isn’t me you should be saying that to, Issy.”

“I know.” She sniffs, wiping her nose on her hoodie. “I don’t think Leo wants to hear it, though.” She chokes a sad chuckle, and I can’t help but put my coffee down on the table and wrap my arms around her.

Because I believe her.

I don’t think she ever meant to hurt anyone, and I truly believe that she hates the fact that she did. People fuck up every day. Yeah, she fucked up big time, but it’s clear to see that she’s been living with the agony of her decision every day since she made it.

She hasn’t been pretending that Salem doesn’t exist, like Leo and I had both thought.

She’s been thinking about her every day, calling her “baby girl” in her head because she didn’t know her own daughter’s name, and beating herself up because she thinks she’s broken in some way for not wanting to be a mom.

She’s caused a lot of pain to other people. But she’s been hurting too.

“He’s scared,” I tell her softly. “I think he thinks you’re going to try to take Salem away from him.”

Her breath catches as she gapes at me. “I would never do that.”

I nod. “He doesn’t know that, though.”

“He’s a good dad to her, right? He loves her?”

I smile because I can’t do anything else when I think about how Leo is with his daughter. “He’s the best,” I tell her honestly. “And he loves that little girl with everything he has.”

Her shoulders sag in relief, as if they’ve been rigid with tension and worry since the day she gave up Salem. “That makes me really happy.”

“Do you love her?”

Her expression is honest and true when she says, “Yes.” She blows out a long breath. “Probably not in the same way that Leo does, but in my own kind of way, yeah.”

“Do you really want to be in her life?” I ask, though I’m hesitant as I do.

Because what I’m about to suggest has the potential to ruin what I have with Leo. He might mistake it as a betrayal or think I’m not on his side, even though that wouldn’t be the case. I am on his side. But I’m on Salem’s too. If having a relationship with her mom is a possibility, then she deserves to have it.

Issy nods silently, fresh tears waterfalling down her swollen cheeks.

“Then I’ll talk to Leo.”