Chapter 29
Quincy
The Sunday before Thanksgiving, I dashed through a light rain into Henry’s as soon as they opened for brunch. I glanced around for Cynthia, but she wasn’t here yet. Not surprising since we weren’t supposed to meet for another few minutes.
“Quincy,” Arielle sang out as I walked inside.
“Hey, Ari. How are you?”
The hostess, who was twenty years old, curvy, and gorgeous, came around the host stand to hug me. “I’m good. We miss you.”
“I miss you too.” I did miss the people but not so much the job itself.
It had never been a good fit for me, the queen of clumsy.
I’d been planning to hold on to the server job for school breaks and summertime, but the longer I was away, the harder it was to think about coming back.
I’d much rather help Knox with Juniper, but he’d have a new nanny by then and wouldn’t need me.
That thought caused a sharp pang in my chest that stole my breath.
“Are you here for brunch?” Ari’s question distracted me from those unpleasant thoughts.
“I am. There’ll be two of us. Is table ten available?”
“Of course,” Ari said over her shoulder as she led me through the bar and to the left.
When we turned into the middle dining area, the fire was already glowing, emanating warmth throughout the room. The fireplace was on the back side, opposite the wall of windows that looked out over the lake. Ari took me to the table in the corner, the most out of the way.
Strategizing wasn’t my strong point, but Knox had helped me plot out the details of this meeting with my stepmom to help me be as comfortable and confident as possible.
We’d chosen Henry’s because it was as close to my territory as you could get.
The out-of-the-way table would afford us more privacy than others.
I’d been banking on the fireplace being on, hoping the cozy atmosphere would put both of us at ease.
Ari let me know Jack would be our server, then returned to the host stand. I’d been hoping for Jack. He could charm anyone and might help put Cynthia at ease. While I waited for her to arrive, I sipped on a mimosa and joked with Jack that I hoped he’d convince my stepmom to have one too.
When Cynthia appeared, my insides tensed, but I inhaled deeply as she approached, doing my best to put a genuine smile on my face. The mimosa helped.
“Quincy,” she said as she sat across from me. Her smile was thin, but it was better than a scowl.
Jack assured himself of a large tip when he did, in fact, convince her to join me in Mimosaville. While we waited for her beverage, she told me about Brayden’s basketball tournament and reminded me of Molly’s upcoming dance recital.
When Jack set her mimosa down, she practically leaped on it, which told me she too was on edge. She took several sips, then set the glass down, fidgeted with the silverware roll, and said, “What’s on your mind, Quincy?”
Here goes nothing, I thought.
“I…” My voice wavered. I remedied it with a drink, then blew out a breath. “I hate that there’s so much friction between us.”
Her forehead furrowed, and she cradled her glass with both hands. Maybe fragile champagne flutes were a bad idea. We should’ve gone with straight whiskey in an old-fashioned glass. If we got through this without me dropping any glasses or her crushing one with her tight grip, it’d be a feat.
“It’s always been that way,” I continued, “and I think… I know a lot of that’s my fault. So I wanted to start by saying I’m sorry I was so…against you when you married my dad.”
Cynthia let out a shaky “Ohh, Quincy.” She turned her lips upward in a flash of a sympathetic smile, and then it disappeared, giving way to a nervous fluttering of her features. “We did get off to a bad start all those years ago, didn’t we?”
“I was closed off and took my feelings out on you.”
Cynthia stared at her glass, nodding. Eventually she met my gaze. “Thank you. For apologizing.” She opened her mouth to say more. Closed it. I waited. “I imagine it was really hard for you to see your dad remarry.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It didn’t matter who it was. He could’ve married Beyoncé and I would’ve hated it.”
We shared a big grin imagining my dad with Beyoncé.
“I understand that now. Back then it was harder for me to grasp.” Cynthia studied her drink again.
“As much as I loved your dad, it wasn’t an easy time for me either.
There were all these…expectations.” With a frown, she continued, “I was as much to blame as you were, I’m afraid.
I don’t care what anyone says; it’s tough to step into the role of a stepmother.
Add to that a grieving girl who I didn’t know how to help, and the pressure I put on myself to be what your dad needed… ”
“You were what he needed. I wish I’d been mature enough to see that.”
“You were eleven, Quincy. You’d just lost your mom, and it wasn’t just any mom but the incomparable Reba Yates.”
She was incomparable, but I’d never expected that compliment to come from Cynthia. I peered more closely at her, trying for once to see Cynthia. Not my “evil” stepmom.
“Did you know her?”
With an uneasy laugh, she said, “Everyone knew Reba. Everyone loved her,” Cynthia said, not noticing how closely I was watching her, probably with a weird look on my face, as understanding struck me.
“She’s a lot to try to live up to, huh?”
“Lord, yes.” Cynthia sipped her drink thoughtfully, set it back down. “Every single person in town knew her and loved her. She was a successful career woman, involved in every cause known to mankind, and Super Mom as well. And I was scared that if I didn’t measure up, your dad wouldn’t be happy.”
“Oh,” I said, sitting back in my chair as I let that sink in.
“I’m pretty secure in my career,” she continued.
“I’ve been with Dr. Julian since my early twenties.
I run that office for the dear man. I’ve tried to stay involved in town events, causes, fundraisers, all those things over the years.
But motherhood…” She expelled a breath that sent her long, auburn-brown bangs flying away from her face.
“Some people have a knack. A strong maternal instinct. Like Reba. She had it in spades. You do too, Quincy. Me?” She scoffed and shook her head.
“I don’t have that instinct. A squirming newborn can still send me right over the edge.
I have to talk myself down, remember I’ve had three babies.
But it doesn’t come naturally. No surprise to you, I know. ”
“Kind of like waiting tables, or really, walking in general doesn’t come naturally to me.” I grinned self-consciously.
Her sympathetic expression said she couldn’t debate that.
“Hannah, Brayden, and Molly know you love them,” I went on. “That’s most important.”
“After Hannah was born, I suffered from postpartum depression for months. I was so afraid I was a disappointment to your dad.”
It was my turn to frown. My dad was one of the most devoted people I knew. “He loves you, Cynthia. I’ve never doubted that.”
“I know that. God bless the man.” Her face slipped into a deep frown, and I thought I saw her lower lip quiver.
“It’s my own insecurity. I know that too.
I let Reba get in my head from the grave.
Trying to measure up.” She let out a self-effacing laugh.
“No one can measure up to Reba, and I say that with full respect. I don’t care what year it is or how far we’ve come; there’s still a lot of pressure on us women to be good at everything, isn’t there?
To have the successful career and make a living.
To run the household and keep a beautiful, clean house. And to be Super Mom.”
It was the first time she’d ever spoken to me as an equal, woman to woman, as if we were in the same boat. And we were.
We absolutely were, I realized.
Her words dug down deep and rustled something awake in me.
“I need to knock that right off,” Cynthia said. “All of us women do. As long as we let ourselves feel inadequate for not being as amazing as Reba, God rest her soul, we’ll all be going in circles trying to find some unattainable happiness.”
“Yes.” I nodded, my thoughts suddenly spinning out of control.
“I’ve not set a good example for you, Quincy. It’s never been my intent to replace your mom, but I should’ve been a better role model. A better stepmother. I’m sorry.”
“Isn’t that falling into the same trap?” I asked. “Saying you weren’t good enough, when you were doing the best you could?”
She looked pensive for a few seconds, then met my gaze. Slowly her mouth curved into a slight grin. “You might be right,” she said sheepishly. Her grin faded. “I’m glad you initiated this conversation. It’s long overdue.”
I breathed out and nodded. I was glad too.
“I hope we can find a way to start fresh. Not really start over, because we’re different than we were back then.”
“Older and supposedly wiser,” I said.
“Supposedly.”
We both laughed quietly.
“I’d like it if we could get along better. Treat each other better,” I said.
“Yes.” Cynthia reached across the table and put her hand on mine, squeezed it. “Yes, let’s.”
I wasn’t naive enough to think we’d be best friends or even close. That would take time. But today we’d connected on a level other than insecure stepmom and difficult stepdaughter. We’d connected as two women trying to do their best. Failing sometimes but trying.
She raised her mimosa glass, nearly empty, and said, “To being happy with ourselves and better to each other.”
“Cheers.” I clinked my glass to hers, sipped the rest of it down, and dug into my quiche again.
Silence settled in around us as we caught up on the eating we’d half neglected while we talked. My thoughts rained down on me, only slightly clearer than five minutes ago.
I’d realized I felt that pressure Cynthia described. The driving belief I should try to live up to my mom. How did that even make sense?
She’d been an amazing person. She’d loved what she did—the job and the involvement and the family, everything—and had been good at all of them. That was Reba Yates, but it didn’t have to be Cynthia, and it didn’t have to be me.
While my dad hadn’t intended it, he’d wanted nothing more than for me to find my career path, my life’s calling, even when I was still with Mitchell. I’d chosen teaching because it seemed the best fit for me with my maternal instinct, as Cynthia called it.
But did I really want to spend the next however many years going to college just so I could have a career, as opposed to a job I loved that paid the bills?
I’d been so determined to forge ahead and make something of myself, I’d forgotten to think about what would make me happy.
While I could fully admit waiting tables wasn’t my life calling, what about nannying? I adored what I was doing for Knox and Juniper. I knew I was good at it.
My eyes had been opened, and ideas were filling my head, ideas that made me smile. I’d spent a lot of time figuring out what career path might suit me. I wasn’t going to change plans on a whim. But I definitely had some soul searching to do, and fast.