Chapter Thirteen
Brooke
“Hi, I’m Brooke,” I say, giving a small, awkward wave. God, I really need to stop doing this. At first it was just a joke, something to tease Matthew, but now it’s like muscle memory. I drop my stupid hand back to my lap.
“I’m about twenty weeks,” I continue. “And I’m married. My marriage is… younger than the pregnancy.”
That gets a few chuckles from the circle of women around me, and I let out a small laugh too. “Yeah, it’s kind of a shotgun wedding, as you may have guessed.”
There’s a ripple of knowing smiles and nods, they get it, and it makes me feel a little less like I don’t belong here.
“My husband and I just moved to Brooklyn,” I go on. “I wasn’t actually going to come to this group at first. I told myself I didn’t need it. But the truth is…” I pause, twisting my fingers in my lap. “I don’t have a lot of support.”
A few heads tilt, their expressions softening, encouraging me to keep talking.
“I mean, I have my sister,” I say quickly.
“But she’s never been through pregnancy.
She’s got two kids, but they’re adopted, and they’re not any less her kids, obviously.
She’s just… she can’t really help me with heartburn or swollen feet or the creeping feeling that I’ve already failed before my kid’s even born. ”
The words tumble out faster than I mean them to, and I try to lighten it up with a smile. “And my mom’s dead.”
The room goes silent.
I laugh, loudly, and awkwardly, the sound echoing far too brightly in the small room. “She was, uh… killed. By my dad. And I guess that’s… not really funny.” My voice trips over itself, and I can feel the heat crawling up my neck. “So, I’m gonna shut up now.”
There’s a long, weighted pause. I glance around, wishing I could rewind the last ten seconds and keep my mouth shut. But then Sheera, the woman sitting across from me, the one who showed me this room and who looks like she could go into labour any second, gives me a small, understanding smile.
“It’s alright,” she says, her voice surprisingly steady. “All of us have things that aren’t funny. But we laugh anyway, because sometimes that’s the only way to deal with them.”
I blink, caught off guard. She gestures loosely around the circle. “Look around. It’s just us. No instructor. No therapist. Just five pregnant women who don’t really have anyone else either.”
I let my eyes move slowly around the room, taking in each face properly this time.
The woman sitting to my left speaks up next. She has ink covering most of her arms and curling up the side of her neck, bold and beautiful. She gives me a small smile before saying, “I’m Becks.”
I smile back.
“My boyfriend and I…” she starts, then lets out a small laugh.
“Though it might not look like it, we actually planned this.” She places a protective hand over her small bump, her voice gentling.
“But now…” She trails off, taking a breath like, she’s steadying herself.
“I love him. I really do. But when I found out I was pregnant, he left.”
The other women nod, like they’ve heard this before, but no one interrupts.
Becks tilts her head, like she’s trying to make light of it but can’t quite manage it.
“He said he got overwhelmed. And he did come back. He really did. But now…” Her voice cracks just slightly.
“Now I can’t shake the feeling that he could just leave again.
That one day he’ll wake up and decide he can’t do this, and he’ll just… take off.”
Her fingers curl protectively around her belly, and I feel a sharp tug in my chest. I’ve thought the same thing about Matthew more times than I want to admit. That one day he’ll wake up and realize this is too much, I’m too much, and he’ll bolt.
Becks lets out a small, bitter laugh. “I call him Road Runner and shit,” she says. “Because I don’t know how else to deal with it.”
“You’re not alone,” Zara says gently. She’s sitting on the other side of Becks, her buzz cut somehow making her look both fierce and heartbreakingly soft. “I joke about my situation all the time.”
She glances at me, then back at the circle.
“I was married to my high school sweetheart for twelve years. We tried to get pregnant, for so long but it just wasn’t happening.
And finally, I realized I wasn’t happy. So, I left him.
” She lets out a wry little laugh. “And then this happened. We decided to divorce with a bang. Literally.”
A few of us chuckle, though it’s tinged with sympathy.
“Now we live together,” she continues with a shrug, “but we’re not together. My friends call us the best divorced couple they know.” She rolls her eyes. “His girlfriend hates it.”
That earns a bigger laugh from the group, not because it’s hilarious, but because it’s painfully human.
The youngest woman in the group speaks next. She looks barely twenty, her features soft and her eyes downcast. “Mine’s from a one-night stand,” she says quietly. “I’m giving it up for adoption.”
There’s no shame in her voice, just a calm certainty, like she’s made peace with it. “My parents support me,” she adds. “They’re letting me stay at home, but they kind of ignore…” She pats her tiny bump gently. “This.”
Her body is so slim I can’t even tell how far along she is. “I’m Ursula,” she finishes, offering me a small smile.
Finally, Sheera speaks up again. She’s the oldest of us all. “I have two kids,” she says with a sigh. “Both in college. And now…” She gestures at the gentle swell of her belly. “I’m starting again.”
She takes a deep breath. “My husband is thrilled. He thinks he’ll get to be here for everything this time, the ultrasounds, the feedings, the first steps.” She offers a small, almost wistful smile. “But me? I’m just taking it one day at a time.”
Her eyes flick down to her bump, and she lets out a small sigh. “I had to quit my firm because, as you can see, I’m not exactly young. And the doctor said no stress.” She gives a helpless little shrug. “So… I come here and pretend I actually have a life. Instead of just being a mom.”
“Don’t say that,” Zara cuts in gently but firmly. “We’d be lost without you.”
She turns to me then, a grin tugging at her lips.
“You know, we used to have this guy come in, a youth pastor or something. He’d sit here and tell us crap like, ‘Hold on’ and ‘You’re creating a miracle.
’” She rolls her eyes dramatically, and the room fills with soft chuckles. “We laughed Tim right out of here.”
“Now it’s just us,” Becks adds, looking around the circle with a small smile. “Four…” She pauses, glancing at me and my hands twisted nervously in my lap. “Now five women.”
Sheera leans forward, her tone softer now, almost maternal. “So, as you can see,” she says, gesturing around the room, “we’re not your typical breathe in, breathe out Lamaze class. We’re a little more honest. A little more real.”
Her words make a few of the others nod, and I feel the knot in my chest start to loosen.
“As for the heartburn,” she continues, tilting her head with a knowing smile, “try ginger tea after big meals. It’s not a miracle cure, but it helps.”
The group murmurs in agreement, offering little snippets of advice, “smaller portions,” “elevate your pillow” and it’s oddly comforting. They’re not doctors or instructors. They’re women who’ve been there, who are there.
“And for feeling like a failure…” Sheera’s voice trails off for a second before she meets my gaze directly. “I don’t think there’s a woman alive, a mother, who hasn’t felt that.”
Matthew
“The place is coming along nice,” Ma says as I push the door open to our new apartment.
“Ma,” I say, startled. “What are you doing here?”
She’s standing in the middle of the living room like she’s inspecting it for resale value, hands clasped behind her back. “I was in the neighbourhood,” she says breezily, like that explains everything.
I glance around automatically, scanning the space. “Where’s Brooke?”
She shrugs, casual. “Wasn’t here when I came to drop this off.”
On the counter, there’s a foil-covered dish, something heavy, probably lasagna or a casserole, because my mother has never shown up anywhere empty-handed.
I rub a hand over my face and exhale slowly. “Ma, we talked about this. You can’t just let yourself in. The keys are for-”
“Emergencies,” she finishes for me, with that practiced mom tone that suggests she doesn’t think this is a big deal. “I know. I just wanted to drop some food off for my son and his family.”
“Ma-”
She catches the look in my eyes before I can finish. “I didn’t know no one was home,” she says quickly. “I expected Brooke to be here. I mean, she did quit her job to stay home, didn’t she?”
“Not this again,” I mutter, heading for the kitchen to drop my keys. “Please.”
Ma doesn’t respond, but I can feel her eyes on my back. I’m too exhausted to fight about it today. I’ve been working overtime to cover for Brooke’s lost income, and it’s starting to catch up with me.
We’re doing fine, financially. But I’d like to have some money saved rather than living hand to mouth.
I stare down at the foil dish on the counter, fingers curling into the edge as I breathe in the smell of slow-cooked sauce and spices. Beef. Of course. It’s always beef. She knows Brooke doesn’t eat it, she’ll eat literally any other meat, but not beef and somehow Ma still “forgets.”
Brooke told me to let it go. She reminded me that my mother helped us find this apartment, that she brings us food even when I’m the only one who ends up eating it. That it’s her way of showing love, even if it’s clumsy.
I don’t wanna have another fight over her bringing us free food but how hard is it to just be considerate for once.
“Where’s Brooke?” she asks from behind me.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water before I answer. “She’s still with her Lamaze class ladies.”
“That’s nice,” Ma says, her tone wistful. “I wish I’d had the time for that when I was pregnant.”