Chapter 26
Gwen
The diner had gone through a glow-up since Gwen’s high school years.
No more cracked red vinyl booths or sticky Formica.
Now there were reclaimed wood tables painted in chalky pastels, mason jar light fixtures, and chalkboard menus in looping script that made “Turkey Reuben” look like an artisanal delicacy.
Each table had a thrift-shop mug filled with daisies or carnations.
The bones were the same, but someone had slapped “shabby chic” on top of the grease.
Her mother sat by the big window, sunlight slanting across the table and catching in the steam from her coffee. She was already halfway through her first mug. Her mother never waited for Gwen to arrive before ordering coffee.
“Sit,” she said, with that tone that was part command, part concern. “You look drawn.”
Gwen slid into the chair across from her, tugging her blazer sleeves straight. “Good morning to you too.”
Her mother stirred her coffee with a spoon she didn’t need. “You’re working too much again.”
The waitress appeared, pad in hand, all easy warmth. Gwen ordered coffee and dry wheat toast — her fallback when her stomach was knotted tight. Her mother ordered the short stack with a side of bacon, unapologetic.
When the waitress moved off, her mother gave her a pointed look. “So. How’s work?”
The script hovered on Gwen’s tongue — fine, busy, a promotion is coming — but the words came out different. “They’re going to offer me Principal Architect.”
Her mother blinked, then sat back. “Well. That’s the top of the ladder, isn’t it? Exactly what you’ve been killing yourself for.”
“Yes.” Gwen forced a small nod.
Her mother’s brows knit. “But?”
Gwen swallowed. “But I can’t breathe when I think about it.
” She looked down at the daisies between them, their cheeriness almost obscene.
“It’s this redevelopment. A whole historic neighborhood leveled.
Families uprooted. They call it revitalization, and I sit there smiling, but all I can think about is Maggie.
How she’d look at me if she knew all the details. ”
Her mother was quiet for a long moment, then set her spoon down. “So it isn’t just about work. It’s about who you want to be. At work, and at home.”
The waitress returned with steaming plates. Gwen stirred cream into her coffee, her hands careful, deliberate, to keep them from shaking.
Her mother cut neatly into her pancakes. “And Maggie?”
The air thickened. Gwen heard herself say it flatly. “She said ‘divorce’ in therapy last week.” Gwen’s throat went raw. “And I didn’t fight her.”
Her mother set her fork down. “Do you want a divorce?”
The question slipped past Gwen’s defenses. She swallowed hard. “No, not at all. But she’s tired. She thinks I’ll never choose her. And maybe she’s right.”
Her mother’s gaze softened. “You’ve spent so much of your life proving yourself at work. Promotions, projects, presentations. But you don’t have to prove yourself to Maggie. You just have to be present.”
They ate in silence for a while. Gwen pushed dry toast around her plate. Her mother steadily worked through her pancakes, efficient as always. The diner hummed with low chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, a toddler babbling two tables over.
Then her mother said, almost casually, “I almost left your father once.”
Gwen’s head snapped up. “You what?”
Her mother’s gaze didn’t waver. “He started making decisions for our life without me. Tried to move our family out of Austin without even asking for my opinion. I packed a bag one night.” She sipped her coffee.
“But he came home, and we talked until sunrise. About everything we were afraid of. It didn’t fix it all at once, but it gave us a place to start again. ”
Gwen blinked. “You never told me that.”
“You were a child. Children don’t need to carry their parents’ failings.”
Gwen stared. “And now?”
Her mother folded her napkin, precise. “Now you’re not a child. You can see me and your father as humans, and humans make mistakes. We worked hard to get our marriage back on track.”
“How long did that take?”
“Take? It’s not past-tense work. It’s present tense, constant work,” her mother quipped with a small smile.
The daisies in their chipped vase bobbed slightly as the air conditioner kicked on. Gwen stared at them until her vision blurred.
Her mother reached across the table, laying a hand briefly over Gwen’s. “You don’t have to be the best at both right now — career and marriage. But you do have to decide which one matters more in this moment. Because it seems like your marriage cannot exist with your current priorities.”
Gwen’s throat tightened. “I thought I was building a life for us. Every late night, every project. I thought if I built something big enough, it would carry us both.”
“And maybe it could have,” her mother said, not unkindly. “But if Maggie never felt carried, then it wasn’t working the way you hoped. That doesn’t mean it can’t. It just means you have to build it differently.”
Gwen looked at her, surprised by the note of compassion under the critique.
Her mother smiled faintly. “You’re my daughter. I want you happy. Whether that’s in the corner office or at home making muffins with your kids. But don’t let this drift away without making the choice yourself. You deserve better than that. So does she.”
Gwen gripped her mug tighter, the ceramic biting into her palms. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The question of career or marriage sat heavy in her chest, the kind of decision that promised to break her open either way.
Her mother, seeing the look on her face, reached for her coffee again. “You don’t have to decide today.”
The silence stretched until Gwen forced herself to breathe. “Thank you, by the way. For still helping both of us with the kids.”
Her mother waved it off, as if the words embarrassed her. “You know I love spending time with those little angels.” A faint smile tugged at her mouth. “I’m here whenever you — or Maggie — need me.”
Gwen nodded, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. “I know.”
For the first time, she admitted silently: she couldn’t have both. The title. The life. One would kill the other.
And she didn’t know which she was ready to let go.