Chapter 18
brOOKE
New Year, New Brooke.
I knew it sounded trite, but after the drama of my past year, I was more than ready to turn over a new leaf.
My covered sessions with Cheryl had passed, so now I was checking in with her once a month.
One of my biggest resolutions was to get back in touch with my mom. I called her one day when I was off.
“Hi, sweetie,” she answered. “This is a pleasant surprise. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to check in. How are things with you?”
“Well, mostly good. Work is well, work. Normal things happening there. I broke my wrist last month,” she finished, as if it was a side note.
“Mom! Why didn’t you tell me?” What was up with the older generation throwing out major life news like it was a casual update?
“Well, I didn’t want to disrupt your life, Brooke.” She spoke matter-of-factly.
“This is definitely something worth updating me on, Mom.” I tried to keep the eye roll out of my voice. “How did it happen?”
“Well it was the silliest thing, really—I was just carrying in a big load of groceries from the car, and I guess I put too much weight on my wrist. I felt so silly. I am glad you called, though, because I’ve been meaning to reach out.
The doctors were concerned with the break, so they ran some tests. ”
“Okay—what kind of tests? Mom, are you alright?” Concern leached from my voice.
“I am, I promise hon. It turns out—I have osteoarthritis.”
I was stunned silent for a moment. My mom had always seemed so impervious to injury or illness.
She was probably one of the healthiest people I’d known.
She liked to joke that her family “came from sturdy stock.” It might have been shortsighted on my part, but I never really expected her to face any health issues. Certainly not at this age.
“So,” she went on through the phone, “the doctor asked me if I had any family history, and I’m sure she meant parents, grandparents, that sort of thing, but of course my mind went to you.”
“Yeah . . . how are you dealing with it, Mom? Are you following all the doctor’s suggestions?” I instantly went into nurse-mode. My mother was nothing if not stubborn.
“I am, I am, trust me. It’s the worst in the morning. I wake up so stiff and . . . Honey, I’m just so sorry.” It sounded like her voice had clogged with emotion, as if she was on the verge of tears.
“What?” I blurted out. “Why are you sorry?”
“I didn’t get it,” she nearly whined. I could hear sniffles through the line. My mom wasn’t one for displays of emotion. I think I’d seen her cry a total of two times, at each of her parents’ funerals.
“Didn’t get what, Mom? Are you sure you’re okay?”
She collected herself and took a deep breath.
When her voice came through the line again, it was back to its normal strength.
“Yes, and I don’t need you worrying over me, Brooke.
I’m just sorry I wasn’t more sensitive to how hard things have been for you.
I never really let myself imagine the pain and discomfort you might be feeling.
To receive an arthritis diagnosis so young like you did—I just couldn’t fully wrap my head around it. Maybe I didn’t want to.”
“I get it, Mom. You wanted me to be healthy. It’s a normal thing to want for your kid. I wanted me to be healthy, too.”
“I was naive,” my mom admitted. “You know I’ve never had much in the way of health problems, sturdy stock and all that”—I chuckled internally at the familiar phrase—“but it’s just such an inconvenience.
So many things I have to be more careful doing now, and I .
. . I just want you to know that I’m here for you.
I’m sorry if I wasn’t helpful enough before. ”
“I appreciate that, Mom. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“You’ve always been so strong and tried so hard to be perfect .
. . and that’s a good thing, Brooke. I admire that about you.
But I’m so sorry I wasn't there for you like I should’ve been.
Like I want to be. And I wish I had told you, but I’m telling you now .
. . You don't have to be strong all the time, my girl.”
We talked for another hour, my mom sharing stories about her most annoying coworkers, me updating her on Whit’s preparations for the new baby.
The conversation wasn’t perfect, but for us, it was progress. I thought Cheryl would be pretty proud.
I spent the rest of the month of January putting most of my energy into working in my new unit, as well as helping Whit get ready for the baby.
Basically, I spent 90% of my time distracting myself from thinking about Cade and our couch make-out session.
I wasn’t very successful.
When February rolled around, my coworkers began sharing their Valentine’s plans of ice skating, fancy dinners, candlelight concerts, and other romantic events that made an almost-24-and-single girl feel a deep pang of longing.
One night I found myself flipping through my high school yearbook, reminiscing.
I reached for my phone, hovering over Cade’s contact.
We’d only ever texted at this point, never called.
I didn’t even know if he’d pick up—he could be working, or on a date (boy, that’s an unwelcome thought).
I pushed to call, and my anxiety skyrocketed with each consecutive ring.
Finally he picked up, out of breath. “Sorry B—I was in the shower.”
Cue that mental image.
“I just wanted . . . to say hi.”
“Hi.” I could hear his smile, and I smiled back.
“Remember Johnny Campbell?” I blurted.
“From school? Yeah.” He laughed. “Where did that come from? Haven’t thought about him in years.”
“I’m looking through the yearbook.”
“Oh God, Brooke—” his voice came out in a huff. “Make sure you avoid any pages where I look scrawny and goofy.”
“You weren’t scrawny,” I defended, internally chuckling at how he used my full name when he was being more serious. “I forgot you’d played soccer.” I ran my fingers over the glossy pages.
“Champion benchwarmer,” he said in a braggy tone. I laughed. “Unlike Miss Volleyball Star.”
“You know what I miss?”
“What’s that?” I heard him moving around, maybe laying down on the bed or the couch.
“I miss your basement.” I flopped onto my own bed. “I thought about it that week at your parents’. House feels weird without it.”
“God, me too. Can you believe they filled it in before the rebuild? I guess it was old and the wiring was faulty. Not up to code. The fire department thought it was probably the source of the fire. My mom freaked—she knew how much time you and I spent down there. She didn’t want to think what would’ve happened if we’d been down there when it started. ”
“I didn’t know that was why,” I said quietly.
“Lot of memories down there,” he said softly. “It’s so funny that we both kind of picked our jobs based on that experience.”
He let the somber tone hang in the air for a moment, then he took on a more playful tone. “I’m surprised you came back over after the rebuild, when I couldn’t woo you with my awesome hangout space anymore.”
“It was a tough decision, really,” I teased back. “But you still had that epic yard.”
“Is that why we were friends, B?” he ribbed me. “You used me for my yard?”
I laughed, then his voice came through the line again.
“How’s Whitney? Must be getting pretty close, right?”
“Yeah—she’s 36 weeks. Just a few more. Her birthday just passed, but she wouldn’t let me do anything to celebrate.
She’s so freaking stubborn about things like that.
She’s definitely getting uncomfortable this late in the pregnancy, shuffling around the house and stuff.
She’s so independent, though. She barely lets me help. ”
“Still . . .I’m glad she has you.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I’m glad I have her, too.”
“Send me a pic of you and Maple?”
I smiled, moving to the end of the bed and pressing my face against her fur. “Say cheese, Maple,” I told her, snapping the pic.
“Perfect,” he said when the photo went through.
“Do I get one of you?”
“I guesssss,” he said teasingly. “I need a haircut, though.”
I admired the picture when it came through, tracing my fingers across the phone screen.
“I like your hair,” I murmured. “Tell me something funny that happened recently,” I said, desperate to return to a place of humor.
“Oh my gosh,” he began, his voice already more animated.
“We had a call out at work last week for a person trapped. This frat guy got into his trunk for a prank and locked himself in. By the time we got him out, he was about to wet himself with panic. His stupid frat brothers were on the curb laughing themselves to tears.”
“Oh my—I don’t know whether that’s funny or traumatizing.”
“Both?”
We continued the call, bantering back and forth. Before I knew it, two and a half hours had passed, and I was yawning.
“Tired, B?” he asked me.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Sometimes my shifts really get to me. Today was a long day. Hang on, I’m gonna brush my teeth. Gimme a sec.”
A few minutes later, I was climbing into bed.
“Hey, Cade?” I said through another yawn.
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay on with me, til I fall asleep?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me a secret . . .” My voice was barely above a whisper, each sentence punctuated by yawns.
“I’ve missed your voice,” he confided.
My heart started thumping.
“I’ve missed yours too,” I admitted. I coached myself into being brave. “Come to Boston for my birthday.”
Seconds ticked by. I held my breath.
“Okay,” he said quietly into the line.
I fell asleep with a smile on my face.