Chapter 25 #3
My throat goes instantly, excruciatingly tight.
“You don’t think it’s selfish?” I blurt.
“To bring a person into this? Not just into the world, with all the pain and uncertainty. But into me. A single person, with my grief?” Her doe eyes dart between mine sympathetically, and I can’t help but care about her answer.
All this work I’ve been doing to guard myself from other people’s opinions, and in a blink, I care desperately about Wren’s.
Woman to woman, but especially as someone who successfully brought a kid into the world and up in it, under less-than-ideal circumstances, herself.
If there is any veracity to my face having that truth-serum quality, I hope I’m summoning it.
She looks down over the edge at the water, organizing her thoughts.
“You know the one thing I found to be the most difficult about motherhood, especially in the beginning?” she asks.
“The absolute, unending relentlessness of it. Like, it took my brain a long time to wrap itself around the fact that there was no calling in sick. I was seventeen, so for me, it was the idea that I couldn’t just opt out and sleep in on the weekends.
I couldn’t just take myself on an errand when I felt like grabbing something.
Nothing could ever be that simple again.
” Her shoulders hike up, and the arm around me squeezes.
“I had to pack accordingly, carry the right shit with me all the time. Consider how he was doing that particular day. And I mean, yeah, those of us who are lucky have support systems and people in our lives who step up to help. We have people in our lives who see it when we need a break, or see whatever it is we need. Sometimes it’s just a change of scenery. Sometimes it’s another set of hands.
“But the thing about motherhood is that once it’s there, it’s there when you open your eyes and when you close them.
It doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you, but you’re a person who mothers now.
And I think . . .” She sighs and takes back her arm, then wraps one of my hands in both of hers.
“I think maybe one of the only things that could possibly prepare you for that aspect of it is grief. Grieving. I can’t think of anything closer, in fact. ”
She tightens her grip reassuringly. “You have to consider how it’ll feel in certain situations.
You have to check in with yourself and give yourself grace.
You don’t get to call out of grief, because it’s part of who you are, but it is not the sum of you.
You are a person who grieves, and I believe that your capacity for love has been strengthened by it. ”
My lungs work in quick, thin breaths. I don’t know what to say, so I hug her instead.
Ellis clears his throat loudly. “Uh, Bea? Bea, your, err, your pole,” he says.
I straighten out of the hug, and sure enough, the tip of my pole bounces down in an aggressive arc.
Excitement surges so fast I struggle to get the words out. “F-FISH ON! FISH ON!”
I hear a distant Woo! from somewhere else on the boat and clumsily get the rod in hand. I crank the reel like we were instructed. Reel down toward the water, pull the pole back up. Reel down again. It is immediately a battle. I press my toes up against the lip of the boat to give myself leverage.
Ellis stammers out a bellow before he’s shouting that he has a fish on, too. He gets his in the boat before I’m able to. My line starts whirring for what feels like the millionth time, and I let out a frustrated groan. My arms feel locked up. Even my legs are trembling.
“Do you want some help, Bea?” Ellis asks me.
“No,” I hear over my shoulder. Silas stands there with one of his proud, unshakable smirks. He dips his chin at me. “She’s got this.”
I grit my teeth and keep moving the reel, centimeter by grueling centimeter.
“Fish on!” squeals Wren.
I don’t know how long I work at it. Wren and another sailor get theirs in before I’m able to bring in mine.
The muscles in my hands cramp, and either a tear or a bead of sweat rolls down my cheek.
My bruised, sore ass aches with every tiny movement.
Pretty soon, I’m cussing up a storm, growling like an animal, and yelling out crackbrained things.
“I will NOT be bested by some Picasso-ass looking fish! I fucking hate Picasso!” Someone gasps and I think I hear them mumble, “That feels unnecessary.”
“FUCK THIS FISH! AND FUCK PICASSO!” I insist.
“FUCK PICASSO!” Silas echoes behind me.
A deckhand comes over and asks us to cool it since there are also kids on this boat. I see the flash of a white belly surface in the water not far off and the captain yells, “WE GOT A BARN DOOR!”
“Silas, I can’t feel my hands!” I cry.
“I know, baby. You’re almost there.”
Baby? Or Bea? I’m too exhausted to care. “I’m afraid I’ll let go and lose it!”
“You won’t,” he urges. “I won’t let you. Look, I’m right here.” He comes up close behind me, and his hands cup my elbows. I lean back into him and try to tilt the pole up. He helps me by his fingertips but doesn’t otherwise interfere.
More crew members start to gather around, leaning over the boat with tools in hand. One of them tells me I’m going to need to take a big step back when he says.
“Now!”
Silas yanks me back with one arm and holds the pole steady with the other. He collapses into a bench with me in the cradle of his lap. The crew hauls the fish up in a net, still thrashing and thudding violently. Everyone cheers around us, but I look to Silas.
“Tell me it’s a new world record,” I gasp.
“It’s a new world record,” Silas confirms.
“It’s maybe sixty pounds?” says one of the crew, quizzically.
“It’s the biggest fish anyone has ever caught, ever,” Silas insists.
“It’s at least the catch of the day,” the captain amends cheerfully.
Pools of turquoise travel in loops around my face. I can feel my beanie sliding askew, and I’m still trying to swallow back air. My entire body shakes from adrenaline, and my teeth start to chatter.
“You hear that?” Silas asks. “Catch of a lifetime.”