Chapter 7
Missy
My bad luck is fucking contagious, I thought as I glanced out the window to see Blair walking toward the front door, one arm strapped to his chest in a dark blue sling.
I had to fight off a panic attack to drive through Vancouver traffic, then let a doctor I’d never met take my child away from me to be knocked out and cut up.
I had to do it all with no support, and my mechanic—my lifeline— down one appendage.
I wrenched open the door as he approached. “Are you okay? What happened?”
A little color rose in his cheeks, and for once, it was him avoiding eye contact with me.
“I slipped in the shower and dislocated my shoulder.” He sounded a little sheepish.
“How did you even drive here? You can get into a lot of trouble doing that with one hand.”
“No comment,” he muttered and looked over his shoulder at the truck. “So this changes things a bit,” he said, gesturing to his arm. “I can steer well enough with one hand and my knee while going slow, but I think it is safest if you drive.”
Blood that had been happily circulating in my veins froze in place, and a feeling of pressure landed in the center of my chest. I glanced over at his truck.
Four doors. Long box. Wide as a freaking tank.
Compared to my SUV, this thing was practically a city bus.
“I’m not sure if I can do that.” I chewed the inside of my cheek.
He frowned and glanced back at his truck. “Why not?”
“I don’t know if I can handle something that big,” I blurted out.
He smirked, and I blushed as I realized what I’d said. Thankfully he let that one go.
“It isn’t that different from your SUV,” he said. “And I’ll be right there to help you. The important thing is that it has airbags and all that safety stuff for Sophia. Oh, and it actually runs.”
My back was up against a wall. I needed the spark plugs to get to the hospital tomorrow for Sophia’s appointment, and clearly Blair couldn’t do it alone. Saying I was a strong, independent woman was one thing, but it was time to put up or shut up. “I’ll get Sophia.”
We got on the road, and Blair was right. Once I got my bearings in my lane, it wasn’t that different from my SUV. I hadn’t had to park the monster yet, but I’d worry about that once we got there.
“So what is it like being a mom?” he asked.
I blinked. It was a complicated question.
Many parents were quick to tell you that it’s rewarding.
They’ll say that it’s work, but it is worth it, and that it is the best thing they have ever done.
I feel like that gives the impression that you can always see the bigger picture.
That even when you are sleep deprived, frustrated, struggling to breastfeed, or covered in spit up, you can sigh and say to yourself, I will miss this one day.
I felt like I was doing it all wrong when I didn’t feel glowing love for my little bundle every time she blew out a diaper or woke me up to cluster feed.
I didn’t want to be Ms. Negative Nelly. I loved my daughter with more of my heart than I knew I had, but there was no reason to lie.
Babies are a lot of work. That didn’t mean you regretted them; it meant that maybe there are some things that you can’t prepare yourself for.
Besides, learning and adapting on the fly can be a scary and vulnerable thing to do.
“It is a little overwhelming,” I said.
He nodded. “Do you have much help?”
From Sophia’s dad was the silent end to that question. I didn’t want to talk about him. Our relationship was complicated. It hadn’t started that way. He wanted a family, and I wanted security. And it worked for both of us, until it didn’t work for me.
“Growing up, it was just me and my mom. She was over the moon when I got pregnant with Sophia, but I’m pretty much doing it on my own now.”
He glanced over his shoulder where Sophia played with her feet in the back seat. His face lit up. “Is it okay if I ask why?”
I caught up with a slow-moving semi-truck and carefully checked the mirrors before switching lanes. “It’s a long and ugly story.”
“We’ve got time.”
I rolled the question around in my mind, debating how to answer. My relationship with my mom was complicated and always had been. “She isn’t happy that I am not marrying Sophia’s father, and won’t talk to me unless I change my mind.”
My answer hung in the air between us like a heavy fog. When he replied, it was with an eerily calm voice. “So you have to deal with all of this alone because she wants you to marry someone you don’t even like?”
I pushed my hair off my face. My instinct was to defend my mother, but I knew her refusal to speak to me was manipulative in the worst way possible.
She was going to lose her relationship not just with her daughter, but also her granddaughter.
I doubted she realized that, though. She expected me to back down and do things her way, like I always had.
“Her philosophy in life is, ‘Why earn money when you can marry someone who already has it?’”