Epilogue
Willow
Six Months Later
The front bedroom and the living room of the small apartment that we’re still staying in are angled towards the exterior stairs.
I’m eight months pregnant, and I have the worst time sleeping.
Odin bought me a wedge pillow, but I’m so uncomfortable, and I have to pee so often, that there’s only so much quality sleep that is ever going to be had in the best-case scenario.
He’s fast asleep beside me, one hand resting on my hip, when I hear the car door and the telltale clang, scuffle, clang of footsteps on the metal stairs.
I slip slowly out of bed and pick up my oversized sweater from where I hung it on the back of the door last night.
I’ve had one of those pregnancies where nothing really showed or bumped out until the seventh month, and then all of a sudden, bump it did.
I kept wearing my regular clothes for as long as possible.
Odin has lent me his t-shirts for bed, and I’ve bought a few new pairs of pajama bottoms that I’ve upsized.
I’ve also got leggings in bigger sizes, and I’ve learned how to hack my jeans with the hair tie looped through the button, so I haven’t had to buy new ones.
I don’t really want to buy clothes that I’ll never wear again, so I’ve tried to pick things that are naturally oversized.
The duster is a beautiful cream knit sweater with a belt that can be cinched in, so I’ll be able to have it for years.
Odin would no doubt tell me to buy whatever I wanted, and to spoil myself, but I don’t need fancy clothes or any of the designer things to be happy.
What I need is him beside me in bed every night, keeping me warm.
I need to wake up beside him in the morning, and fall asleep with him at night.
I need all his little texts and calls throughout the day.
I need the shop, the club, my sisterhood, and this community, especially as I get closer and closer to having this baby.
I walk to the door and peek through the peephole, expecting to see someone from the club, or maybe Tarynn, or one of the other women, because we’ve all become so close, that dropping in at seven in the morning isn’t weird.
The last person I expect to see approaching the metal balcony at the top of the stairs is my mother.
My heart kicks up a noisy storm of wild beats in my chest. I’m immediately anxious and confused, but I’m also flooded with a tremendous surge of love.
I know that things have been said, and that some of them might be what you’d term unforgivable, but I don’t believe that truly.
I don’t think there’s anything that can’t be forgiven, at least not between the woman who gave birth and nurtured me.
Yes, life changed her. Yes, we had hard years.
We’re still in the middle of all of that, as far as our relationship goes, but after all this time of virtual silence, I’m relieved that she’s suddenly shown up here.
I don’t hesitate to pull open the door and step out into the chilly April morning. The days are getting longer and warmer, but the nights and early mornings are still crisp. Keeping in mind, that’s still coming from someone who is very used to being a Cali girl.
“Mom? What are you doing here?” I wrap my arms around myself, aware that my hair is frizzy from sleep, my teeth aren’t brushed yet, I have zero makeup on, my pink pajamas, and bare feet. I’m aware, but not self-conscious, not even when her light blue eyes sweep over me appraisingly.
“Are you going to ask me in?” She sniffles, then stamps her feet.
She always has loved dressing nicely, and this early morning is no exception, from her high heel stiletto boots to her black sheer tights, all the way to the figure hugging black dress and beige trench that she’s left undone.
I don’t suggest that she button it up.
I had no warning about this visit. I know my mom and she’s not the kind of person to fall all over herself, show an abundance of emotion, and say that she’s sorry.
If she is, she’s going to need time to talk it out.
I know people who have called her an ice queen, and I take issue with that.
You can’t assume that someone is cold and hard when you can only see their exterior.
“I- sure.”
I open the door and step back. The apartment opens into a small living room, and the tiny kitchen beyond.
To her credit, Mom doesn’t even seem to notice the details. She just wipes her boots on the black mat I have in front of the door, our shoes and boots lined up in a tidy row, and goes to sit down on the black leather couch. She crosses her legs and drums her fingers nervously on her knee.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? I haven’t had one yet.”
“No, thank you.”
“Alright. Water then? Or tea?”
“I drove all the way here to tell you that you can’t get married. I forbid it. I gave you time to come to your senses, but this isn’t the future that you deserve. Come home to LA. I’ll help you raise the baby.”
My whole body is instantly flooded with tension.
Not at the thought that Odin might have woken up and heard that either.
If he is awake and he knows that my mom is here, he’ll give us a few moments together to sort things out.
I do know that if for a second, he thinks I need backup, he’ll be out here in an instant, offering me his silent, smiling, polite support.
He’ll make my mom a cup of coffee whether she wants one or not, and honor her like an expected, long awaited guest. I know that he’ll only ask her to leave if lines are crossed and she hurts me.
So far, none of that has happened.
I no longer need any caffeine, though. I’ve been cutting way back, just having a small cup in the morning and drinking peppermint tea throughout the rest of the day when I need something warm and soothing.
This is just my mom being my mom, expressing herself in the only way she’s seemed to be able to do since my dad died, but I’m jittery enough.
The matching black loveseat sits across from the couch, a rectangular coffee table in the middle.
I sit down across from my mom, so we’re facing each other.
I rest my hand on the swell of my stomach.
We found out we’re having a boy, and we decided on a name instantly.
Caden, after my dad, although we haven’t picked a middle name yet.
Caden is still sleeping. He likes to kick rambunctiously all night long and then fall asleep first thing in the morning, when it’s time for me to get up.
“Mom. I appreciate the offer of help, but we got married almost six months ago,” I point out as gently as I can. “I’ve done a lot of living in that time, and my home is here. What happened with your job?”
“I took some time off. Vacation days.” She takes that tone that says she doesn’t want to talk about any of that. “Don’t worry, I haven’t quit or lost it. I don’t need you to look after me.”
“Okay.”
She’s more defensive, her fingers picking up the pace as they drum against her knee, even though I haven’t tried to argue with her. “I’m worried about you.”
“I know you are. You’re my mom.” She blinks at that, like she expected that I’d tell her she’s no longer any parent of mine. “The baby is healthy. Everything is going well.”
“You panic married your ex-fiancé’s father, who is twice your age, because you got knocked up after a one-night rage revenge stand,” she snaps, throwing us right back into hostile territory, erasing all this time and how I’ve tried to move past the hurtful words of our last conversation a few days before the wedding.
Still, I’m not going to rise to it. I don’t know if that’s what she wants. Her words might be harsh, but her tone is laced with worry and her face just looks… tired. Way older than the last time I saw her. Like she’s spent every single second of these months apart worrying about me.
I don’t want to drive us further apart. I want to fix this.
I’m still hopeful that despite everything, we can.
“I did tell you before that none of that was how it happened.” Being patient doesn’t mean not telling the hard truths.
In the past, I might not have been able to, but I need to be firm about this.
“I’m going to have to ask you to be respectful of Odin and me, or I’m not going to be able to continue this conversation.
I’m your daughter and you’re my mother, and I love you, but I feel like we haven’t understood each other in a very long time. ”
Mom rears back like I just struck her. “You didn’t even try. You had your own trajectory and that’s all you cared about.”
My heart aches. This is exactly how I didn’t want this to go. “I hope that you know that’s not true. It’s one thing to be angry, but it’s another to say things that aren’t true and will hurt another person for years if they think that you really see the world that way.”
“I did what I had to do to keep your life from falling apart. I knew you were always going to go back to school. You had no interest in being the kind of wife that Preston wanted.”
I really don’t want to go back to discussing this.
We’ve all moved on. “You’re right. I didn’t want to quit school.
I didn’t understand just how deep his insecurities went.
I thought that we’d fall deeper in love, and we could be honest with each other about what we wanted and support each other’s dreams. Letting someone else tell you that you aren’t doing it right unless you’re making a certain amount of money, have a house with x number of square feet, a woman on your arm who looks and behaves a certain way—that’s not living.
” That’s all I want to say about that, but Mom hasn’t run out of arrows to fire yet.
“He’s engaged. To a politician’s daughter.”
“His mom did send me the link to one of the news articles when it happened.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t blocked her.”