Chapter 28
Staged Encounters
Andi
"You're fidgeting," my mother said, not looking up from the nail polish display. She held two bottles up to the light—one coral, one pink. "Which one?"
"The coral," I said automatically.
She tapped a coral-painted fingernail against her chin. "Hmmm. Maybe I'll alternate colors. Coral, pink, coral, pink." She passed both bottles to the waiting nail technician, then turned to me with narrowed eyes. "And would you please sit still? Your bouncing knee is giving me anxiety."
Bridget looked up from her phone, where she'd been scrolling through Instagram with the dedication of someone avoiding real conversation. "She's been doing it since we got here," she said with a little half-smirk that somehow managed to be both annoyed and affectionate. "It's driving me crazy."
"I'm fine."
"You've checked your phone six times in the last ten minutes, bouncing your leg, and not even paying attention to anything," Bridget said. "You're fidgeting."
I stuck my tongue out at her, "You're one to talk!" Leaning up to faux peek at her phone, "How are those firemen walking around with no shirts doing but playing with puppies?"
"Excuse you," she grinned, tilting her screen away. "This gorgeous Kiwi firefighter just slid into my DMs. We're eloping next week." She fluttered her eyelashes with such exaggerated innocence that we both burst into giggles.
"You wish!"
"Ugh. I do. Damn it."
Mom popped in right then, "My Danny's available! Save him from himself, please!"
Bridget laughed. "No can do, Mrs. D. I can't date someone who used to run around the neighborhood in his Superman underwear, singing the theme song at the top of his lungs. Some memories just can't be forgotten."
A laugh burst out of me, my shoulders shaking with it.
"Oh, my God! The Superman underwear phase!
I had completely blocked that from my memory.
" I wiped at my eyes, already reaching for my phone.
"I'm absolutely texting the family group chat right now.
Mikey's been looking for new material—this'll keep him going for weeks.
" I scrolled through my contacts, grinning.
"I wonder if anyone saved photographic evidence. "
My mom's eyes narrowed, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward. "Don't you dare! Why must you torment your poor brother?"
I raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Ma. Come on. It's practically in my job description. What self-respecting big sister would let a golden opportunity like this go to waste?"
Mom nudged Bridget with her elbow, eyes twinkling.
"Oh please, forget that Kiwi! You may have seen him my little guy in his undies, but you have to admit he grew up gorgeous.
Plus—" she wiggled her eyebrows "—you’re already like family and I wouldn't have to deal with some other girl trying to steal him away. "
"Ma!" I laughed, shaking my head. "Trust me, Danny's not going anywhere. Besides—" I shot Bridget a mischievous look as she widened her eyes in warning, "—she's been crushing on someone else since we were kids."
Bridget's eyes narrowed to slits, her smile so tight it looked painful.
"I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about," she announced to my mother before leaning in close to my ear.
"I swear on everything holy, Andi, one more word and I will end you.
I'm talking full best-friend nuclear option.
I'll tell everyone about the karaoke incident from college.
I'll post your seventh-grade yearbook photo that you think everyone forgot.
" She glanced at my mother, who was staring at her with wide eyes that screamed curiosity, then back to me.
"I'll forward your drunk texts from 2022 New Year's to your entire contact list."
I laughed, meeting her glare with a confident smile. "Mutually assured destruction, Bridge. I've got just as much on you! Bring it on, bestie."
My mother's mouth dropped open, her eyes widening with delighted shock. "Hold on—there's someone? All these years and I'm just now hearing about this? Spill it, right now!"
"Ma—" I started, but she was already leaning forward in her chair, nearly displacing her pedicure tech.
"Who is it? Do I know him? Is he nice? Does he have a good job?" The questions came rapid-fire, classic Patty Doyle interrogation mode.
Bridget held up both hands like she was stopping traffic. "Okay, no. Absolutely not. We are not doing this." She turned to me with a look that could have melted steel. "And you—you're lucky I love you, because that was a low blow."
"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. The panic in her eyes had been real, even if she'd covered it with threats.
"Uh-huh." But her expression softened slightly.
She took a breath, then deliberately shifted her body toward me, her voice losing its defensive edge.
"Enough about me and my nonexistent love life.
We're here because you're spiraling about Rebecca, and that's way more important than whatever ancient history your evil brain decided to drag up. "
My mother opened her mouth—clearly not ready to let go of this new information—but Bridget cut her off with a look.
"Mrs. D, I promise, there is nothing interesting happening in my love life. Unlike your daughter, who's dealing with actual drama. Can we please focus on that?"
My mother studied Bridget for a long moment, then sighed. "Fine. But this conversation isn't over."
"I'm counting on it," Bridget muttered under her breath.
Then she turned to me, and the playfulness was completely gone. "So. You want to talk about it, or are we pretending everything's fine?"
"Talk about what?"
"Rebecca filing for custody. Gavin freaking out. You pretending you're not freaking out." Bridget set her phone down and looked at me. "Pick one."
My mother's head whipped toward me. "Rebecca did what?"
I closed my eyes. "Ugh. She filed to modify the custody agreement. Claims she wants Charisse full-time."
"Oh, for the love of—." My mother rolled her eyes. "That woman. She's got some nerve."
"Yeah, well. Nerve is kind of her specialty."
"What did Gavin's lawyer say?" Bridget asked.
"That her case is weak. There are things she'd have to prove, like that life has gotten worse for Charisse—which obviously is such crap. Charisse is happy, guys. She is doing really well in school. She is thriving with Gavin. He's a really great dad."
"Good. So this is just desperation?"
"Pretty much." I watched the woman at my feet work, focusing on the simple, repetitive motion. "But it's still scary. There's going to be a hearing. A judge is going to look at everything."
"And that includes you," my mother said quietly.
I nodded. "Yeah. She talked about me in her filing documents. According to her, Gavin was 'reckless' in bringing me into Charisse's life without her having a say. She's claiming he puts me ahead of his responsibilities as a father."
Bridget snorted, ignoring the disapproving look from my mother. "Give me a break. I've seen how Gavin is with Charisse. That man schedules his entire life around her. He makes sure she never wants for anything."
"I know. But Rebecca's making it sound like I'm the problem."
My mother reached over and grabbed my hand. "Listen to me. That woman is trying to make you doubt yourself. She wants you to feel guilty. Don't give her that power."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder." She squeezed my hand. "You're a good woman, Andrea. You make that man happy. You're good to his daughter. Rebecca doesn't get to twist that into something ugly."
"Your mom's right," Bridget added. "Rebecca is desperate. Her relationship with David imploded; she has no job, no stability. And here's Gavin—stable, successful, happy. With you. She can't stand it."
I wanted to believe them. But there was a voice in my head—small but persistent—that kept whispering, what if? What if the judge believed Rebecca? What if being with me really did cost Gavin his daughter?
My mother's hand covered mine, her eyes softening. "I know that look, Andrea. Don't go down that rabbit hole."
"I'm not going down a rabbit hole."
"You absolutely are. I know my daughter. I know when you're in your head."
Bridget leaned back in her chair, letting the massage function do its work. "What does Gavin say about all this?"
"That we'll get through it. That he's not losing me or Charisse."
"And you believe him?"
"Yeah. I do." I did believe him. That was the thing. Gavin had finally worked to gain back my trust. At some point, you needed to either jump in or jump out, and I chose to jump in. He wasn't like Ryan. This wasn't some guy keeping me as a placeholder.
"Good," my mother said firmly. "Then you trust that. You trust him, you trust yourself, and you don't let that woman make you feel small."
For a while, no one spoke. I let my shoulders drop as the pedicurist worked, the warm water loosening knots I hadn't realized were there.
The massage chair kneaded my back in slow circles.
When the woman hit a ticklish spot on my sole with the foot scrubber, my unexpected giggle seemed to release something—a breath I'd been holding since Gavin had handed me those custody papers, his face drawn with worry.
"You know," Bridget said eventually, "if Rebecca keeps pushing, your family's going to get involved. And that's not going to go well for her."
I laughed despite myself. "My family is not getting involved in a custody case."
"Please. Your brother Danny's already asked if he needs to 'have a conversation' with Rebecca." Bridget's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "I think he was offering to play the tough guy on your behalf."
"Oh for the love of—he's a firefighter, not a mobster."
"Potato, potahto."
My mother chuckled. "Your brothers do love a good cause. And protecting their baby sister? That's the best cause there is."
"I'm not the baby. Danny is."
"You're my only daughter. That makes you the baby." She patted my hand. "And if this Rebecca woman thinks she can hurt you without consequences, she's got another thing coming."
The fierce protectiveness in her voice made my throat tight. This was my family—loud, overbearing, impossible to escape. But also unfailingly loyal, ready to fight for each other at a moment's notice.
"Thanks, Ma."
"Don't thank me. Just promise you'll tell me if you need help. Any kind of help."
"I promise."
As we exited the salon, fresh polish gleaming on my toes, I felt my mother's arms wrap around my shoulders in the parking lot.
Her perfume—the same warm, honeyed vanilla scent she'd worn since I was little—enveloped me as her lips brushed against my ear.
"That woman's got nothing on you," she whispered. "Remember that."
Bridget's hug was briefer, but just as fierce. "Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. Even if it's just to vent about how much Rebecca sucks."
"I will."
I drove toward home, feeling lighter than I had in days. My toes looked great. I'd spent time with people who loved me, and for a little while, I'd forgotten to be scared.
I was halfway home when I remembered I needed milk. And bread. And probably something that resembled actual groceries, since my fridge was currently housing leftover Chinese food and a questionable container of hummus.
I pulled into the Stop & Shop parking lot, grabbed a cart, and headed inside. Should have just gone home.