18
Penny
Eventually, Ryan and Emma go home, leaving me to my own thoughts, and of course, that’s when my mother decides to call. Again . My phone alerts me to her decision by furiously vibrating on the wooden bench beside me.
I love my mother. I do. She’s a good person… In her own way. She is the parent who stayed , and I truly believe she did the best she could with what she had at the time.
Growing up, she taught me everything she knew, from the history of Australia, to how to get a bathroom spotlessly clean with minimal products. She spent hours in the kitchen with me, teaching me the importance of patience and persistence, along with every recipe she knew. She also took in Molly when she needed a home and passed on her love of gardening and plants to a girl that she came to consider her own.
Then, when she met her now husband, Gary, and decided to trade in our family home for a caravan for the two of them to travel in, she gave me and Molly the money she had left over from the sale, to buy our shop. To chase our dreams.
I love her for that, but part of me can’t help but feel like the money was a sort of goodbye. Like a ‘My work here is done. You’re on your own now, kid’, kind of gift, because ever since she got re-married, being Gary’s wife has become her entire personality. While I’m happy that she’s happy, as her child, sometimes, it hurts to know that her dream was to run off and start a new life without me.
“Fuck it,” I mutter to myself, reaching for my phone. Why not add her bullshit to the mix?
“Hi, mum,” I say after sliding my thumb across the screen to answer the call.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she coos. “How are you?” I can hear Gary in the background yelling at what I assume is a football game on the television given the cursing and mention of a ball being dropped.
“Pregnant.” The word just comes out.
Could I have eased her into it, absolutely, but when has that ever been my style?
“Sorry,” she says, the background noise lessening. “Can you repeat that?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant ?”
“I am.”
Silence.
More silence, and then finally, she asks, “With who’s child?”
“Mine.”
“Don’t be cheeky. You know what I’m asking, Penelope McIntyre.”
“Beckett is the father, mum,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“ Okay … and Beckett is?”
I freeze, mouth gaping.
Have I seriously never mentioned Beckett to my mother?
Fuck. Surely. How could I not have? I mean, we don’t talk often, but…
“He is, I mean, he was…”
“Yes?”
I roll my shoulders and take a deep breath. “Beckett is a tattoo artist who works in town. He’s incredibly talented, and we were dating for, well, for a while. I’m pregnant, and we’re going to have a baby. A son .”
“A boy,” she whispers. “Oh, sweetheart.” I hear her sigh, and I deflate a little, because I know what’s coming next. “What do you mean you were dating for a while ? You’re no longer together?”
“No,” I reply flatly. “We’re not.”
“And why not? You’re pregnant. Surely-”
“The pregnancy doesn’t change anything, mum. We aren’t together, but I can do this. I can-”
“Oh, Penny. You have no idea what it’s like to raise a child alone. How lonely it is, how hard, both emotionally and financially…”
Here we go.
The number of times I’ve heard the story of my father leaving her when I was eighteen months old, only to turn back up when I was four, full of apologies and remorse. Truthfully, she shouldn’t have taken him back. He only turned around and left her for another woman when I was sixteen.
“I’m fine, mother ,” I say before she continues, knowing she hates it when I call her that. “The café is doing well, and I’ve got my nest egg saved away for a rainy day. You know that.”
“But-”
“Please, just don’t.”
“What happened?” she asks, and I hesitate, unsure exactly what she’s referring to. “With him.”
Oh, the fun part.
“We just parted ways.”
“You know damn well I can tell when you’re fibbing, daughter of mine.”
“We had a fight.”
“And?”
“And… he moved on before I had a chance to apologise.” Ugh, that hurts to say.
“Mmmm.” I can feel the judgement coming through the damn phone. “You are far too much like me, Penelope. At least you found out now, before the baby came, I suppose. A leopard-”
“Never changes their spots. I know. I know.”
The mantra has been drilled into me since the day my father left for good, but for some reason, using the phrase while referring to Beckett feels wrong.
“I’m sure one day you’ll find your own Gary and settle down.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at the statement.
Gary’s such a great guy.
He’d never cheat.
The man can’t cook, do his own laundry or stop himself from popping into the pub for a go on the slot machines every day after work, but he’d never cheat, so…
She lets out another sigh when I don’t respond. “Do you need anything? I suppose we could put off our trip to Perth, if you’d like me to come down and help you get everything in order. Gary will be disappointed, but-”
“No!” I rush out. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll get everything sorted. No need for you to cancel your plans.”
“You’re sure?” she asks, far too cheerfully.
“I’m sure.” I lean back into the bench and adjust my face so that it’s back in the sun’s rays and let the sting of her excitement melt away.
I should know better by now than to expect my mother to put me before her husband.
Swiftly, she changes the subject to her up-and-coming holiday plans and then informs me she needs to go and make Gary a snack.
I sit there for a while after our calls ends, my phone clutched tightly in my hand as I stare out at the water, watching the little ripples on the surface form around the ducks as they gracefully glide from place to place, their tiny babies following closely behind them, and then a deep voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Pen?” I turn toward the sound, squint against the sun, and raise my hand to shield my eyes.
Beckett .
Beckett’s here…
“What are you doing here?” I ask, as he sits down beside me, still wearing his black Inked on Agnes T-shirt.
He shrugs, relaxes against the backrest, and looks out at the water as I look at him. “You were upset. Where else would I be?”
“I didn’t even tell you where I was…”
He huffs out a breath. “I know you, Penny. I know you bake when you’re angry. I know you wallow on the couch when you’re sad, and I know when you’re frustrated, you come here .”
“But I didn’t ask you to-”
“You didn’t have to, and we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But I’m going to sit here with you until you’re ready to go home, okay?”
I don’t agree, but I also don’t tell him to leave, because while I’ll never admit it, my soul feels more at ease whenever he’s around, whether that be from across the café, or sitting right next to me on this bench.
“You just missed Ryan and Emma. They were here feeding the ducks.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yep.” I avert my eyes to the calm water in front of us. “And I just spoke to my mother. I told her that I was pregnant. About the baby. About us …”
“And how did that go?”
“About as well as you’d expect.”
He nods, and I turn to him. “Have you told your dad?”
Becketts mother took off with her tennis instructor when he was young, and he hasn’t seen her since. Said he has no interest in finding her either, which I understand. I feel the same way about my father.
Ironic, isn’t it? That he and I both came from homes, from parents , broken by infidelity.
His father is a lawyer, in some fancy firm in Melbourne, and despises the fact that Beckett traded law school for a tattoo gun, so I’m not surprised when he shakes his head in response. “No. I called him yesterday, though. After the scan. Left a voice message. He just hasn’t called back yet. I did speak to Ryan’s mum, Lucy, though, and she’s already started knitting us a baby blanket.”
I snort at that and shake my head. I’ve heard all about Lucy Anderson and how nurturing and motherly she is towards those she considers her family. She welcomed Molly and Emma into her home without question, and while I love that for Molly, I can’t help but wonder what that’s like; to have that kind of unwavering support from someone you barely know.
Hell, even from someone you do know.
But then I remember that I have two women, sitting at home, waiting for me to come back, who show me that kind of love and support every single day, despite my short comings, and then, instantly, my jealously morphs into guilt.
“I should go home…”
Beckett nods at my statement, but despite my best efforts to force myself to get up and leave him sitting here, I can’t. So, instead, I relax back into the bench, mimicking his position, and I stay for a little longer.