Chapter Twenty-One
Brooke
Now this isn’t something I’m bringing up in the heat of the moment. This isn’t some offhanded comment meant to wound.
This is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.
Ever since I decided I wanted answers.
And realized I can’t get them.
Literally can’t.
When we found out I was pregnant, Matthew moved me in here before my first appointment. And I was grateful. God, I still am. He took care of everything, the lease, the furniture, the bills. He told me I didn’t have to worry, and I believed him. I let myself believe him.
Apart from a credit card with my name on it and a spot on the lease, I quite literally know nothing else. Nothing about the savings. Nothing about the mortgage. Nothing about the bills that keep this roof over our heads.
Matthew said he’d take care of it. And he did. So, I never questioned him.
I’m not saying he financially isolated me, not on purpose. But lately… the edges of his worldview are starting to come into focus. The way he sees women. The way he sees me.
He does the housework, takes care of Penny, babies me like I’m still pregnant. But when it comes to making decisions, real decisions, especially about money, he just… takes the wheel.
And when I call him on it, he says, “I do trust you. God, I had a baby with you.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Having a baby and being partners aren’t the same thing,” I say quietly. “God, that’s how you see me, isn’t it? I’m just like Penny to you. Someone to take care of because they’re too weak to take care of themselves.”
Matthew springs to his feet, eyes flashing. “Where the hell did you get that from? It’s not about trust, it’s about me being a father, being the…”
He cuts himself off, jaw working.
“The man of the house?” I offer, my voice soft but sharp. “Because I’m some weak little gazelle that needs protecting?”
Matthew’s jaw tightens. He looks away, shoulders rigid. “I’m just… being here,” he mutters. “Most women would be happy to be taken care of.”
I work my jaw, trying to keep my voice steady. “As hard as it is to believe, not all women want to stay home and be homemakers.” My pulse hammers in my ears. “And don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the hardest jobs in the world. But I don’t want it.”
He opens his mouth, but I shake my head before he can speak. “And besides,” I add, voice trembling but firm, “being taken care of isn’t the same as being treated like an equal.”
Matthe lets out a sigh, I can tell, he’s not listening, not really. But I have to try.
“I want to contribute to our family,” I say, emphasizing each word. “To our house. That shouldn’t all be on you. We’re young parents, neither of us exactly prepared for this. And don’t you want Penny to have a house someday? A yard, a dog?”
“I can do that.”
“Why should you?” I step closer, reaching for his hand. “Why do you want to run yourself ragged while I’m standing right here, offering to take some of it?”
He looks away, his jaw ticking. Then, gently but firmly, he slips his hand out of mine. “I just don’t, alright?” His voice is low, strained. “I can’t stop you from working, but I sure as hell won’t be happy about it.”
With that, he turns and walks down the hall, leaving me standing there with my hands still half-raised.
So much for trying to make him understand.
I’d love to do nothing all day. To just stay home and watch TV the way I did when I was pregnant, drifting through the days in a soft little bubble. But it wouldn’t be like that now. It would be me and Penny. Day in, day out. While Matthew’s always at work, trying to build a life while living it.
But you can’t exactly build a house when your family’s already living inside.
Anyway, what I want is financial freedom. A say in my own life. In our life.
I know Matthew thinks he’s making the sacrifice now, that he’s doing the noble thing. But in two years, ten years… he’ll realize just how unfair it is. He’ll resent me for it.
And even if he doesn’t… what then? Am I supposed to depend on someone else for the rest of my life? On my daughter’s father? Couples divorce. People die. Things fall apart. I want control. I want power.
Besides the Matthew I know, the sweet gentle man I married, will come around.
But he doesn’t.
For the next few weeks, he does everything he’s supposed to, he cooks, works, changes diapers, plays with Penny, except talk.
He doesn’t answer my questions. He doesn’t ask me to pass the wipes. He doesn’t look at me when he doesn’t have to.
I don’t know if he’s trying to change my mind or if he’s just that angry, but either way, it only makes me want this job more.
Because what he’s showing me, loud and clear, is that if I don’t do what he wants, he’s going to throw a silent tantrum.
Well. Screw him.
Tomorrow I’m going over to Zara’s to meet the new nanny.
I don’t start my new job at the travel agency until next week, but Zara and I agreed it would be better to ease Marta in, gradually introduce her to the kids instead of just throwing her into the chaos.
Marta is sweet. She’s in her fifties, with kind eyes and a calm, no-nonsense attitude. She’s the kind of woman who’d give you an extra cookie but you’d never dare talk back to. She raised her twin boys alone, so we know she can handle two babies without breaking a sweat.
Zara’s covering about seventy percent of Marta’s salary while I pay thirty. She says it’s because Marta will be watching the kids at her house, and she’s also agreed to do Thiago’s laundry and a few other household things.
But I know better.
Zara can more than afford Marta on her own. This is her way of making it easier for me without making it sound like pity.
I’d like to refuse but with my budget we can’t afford anyone half as nice as Marta.
Matthew
I’m chopping vegetables when Brooke walks into the kitchen with Penny.
The blade hits the cutting board in a steady rhythm, the only sound in the room.
I just got home from work, changed, and started cooking since Brooke was giving Penny a bath.
The doctor cleared her weeks ago to do everything normally again, but I’ve kept doing the cooking anyway.
I like it. It keeps me moving, keeps things… quiet.
She leans against the counter, watching me. I don’t look up.
Ever since our fight and her stubborn refusal to see reason, we haven’t really spoken. She tried to act like it never happened, but I can’t. I don’t have it in me to just reset like that.
The thing is, I don’t think I’m wrong. I’m not one of those guys who thinks a woman belongs in the kitchen or barefoot with a baby on her hip. I love Brooke. I trust her. But I’m giving her the chance to stay home with our daughter. How the hell can a mother refuse that?
All that talk about wanting “freedom” feels like code for not trusting me to provide.
I’m sautéing onions when Brooke says, “Can you take a few hours off tomorrow?”
I keep my eyes on the pan. “Why?”
She shifts Penny higher on her hip. “I want you to meet Marta. The nanny.”
I clench my jaw. “You picked one.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her nod. “Well, I would’ve asked your opinion,” she says evenly, “but you weren’t exactly talking to me.”
I finally look up from the pan. “And that’s my fault?”
She draws in a slow breath, her teeth clenched. “Are you implying it’s mine?”
I glance down at Penny in her arms, nearly two months old now, soft and warm and oblivious to the storm brewing over her head. I set the spatula down and wipe my hands on a towel before stepping forward.
“Give her to me,” I say quietly. She doesn’t argue. I take Penny gently, her tiny fingers curling against my chest, and it’s like the rest of the kitchen blurs out.
“I’m gonna spend some time with my daughter.”
I turn and head for the nursery, feeling Brooke’s stare burn into my back.
Behind me, her voice sounds pissed. “We have to talk.”
I don’t look back. “Not in front of our daughter,” I mutter, heading down the hall to the nursery and shutting the door softly behind me.
Penny’s already starting to get drowsy by the time I settle into the rocking chair. I hold her against my chest, her tiny breaths warm against my neck, and just rock.
Even after she falls asleep, I don’t move. I keep holding her. It’s not like I get that many chances.
I wonder if my ma ever did this. Sat like this in the dark, holding me after I’d fallen asleep. Probably not.
Ma.
I haven’t spoken to her since that day. She hasn’t tried, and neither have I. I guess I learned how to hold a grudge from her, after all.
A slow sigh slips out of me. I force myself to get up, careful not to jostle Penny. Gently, I lower her into the crib.
Not mine. Stella’s kids’.
I should’ve known how she felt the day she couldn’t even find my crib. The woman who kept every single one of my report cards, every art project, every photograph, and she couldn’t find my crib.
I shake my head, tapping Penny’s little belly lightly. “Why are all the women in my life so damn pig-headed,” I whisper. “You won’t be like that, right, baby?”
Once I’m sure she won’t wake up, I grab the monitor and head to the kitchen. I can smell the stir-fry. Brooke’s sitting on the sofa, feet planted on the ground.
I drop beside her, leaning back because I’ve already resigned myself to a fight. “You wanted to talk,” I say flatly. “So, talk.”
She raises a brow at me, then shakes her head slowly. “Why are you acting like an ass?”
I let out a sharp laugh. “I’m acting like an ass? How?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Ever since Penny was born you’ve changed. First it was about inviting your mom when I asked you not to. Then you hid money problems from me. And now you’re acting like a condescending shit because I won’t stay barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen.”
I clench my jaw. “I kicked my ma out of my life for you. I dealt with the money so you wouldn’t have to. And now I’m giving you the chance to stay home with our child, but sure, call me an asshole.”
“I don’t want to stay home!” she yells, loud enough to make the baby monitor hiss for a second.
She jabs her hand toward the hallway, toward Penny’s room.
“And you didn’t kick your mom out because of me, you did it because she wouldn’t accept us.
And you didn’t tell me about the money because you don’t think it’s mine. ”
I push up from the chair; she’s putting words in my mouth. “I never said that.”
My mouth opens, the words catching somewhere in my chest. “You really think I’m like that?”
Brooke’s voice doesn’t shake, but I can feel everything behind it anyway. “I didn’t. Not at first.” She exhales. “But ever since we had Penny, it’s like you became this… sexist, I’m the man of the house person. And I don’t even think you realize it.”
Her eyes glisten, not with tears but disappointment. “You want me to stay home. You. Not me. And somehow, I’m the bad one for saying no.”
“I thought you’d want to,” I say, weakly. It sounds pathetic the second it leaves my mouth.
“I don’t,” she says firmly. “I love our daughter, just like you do. But I do not want to be a stay-at-home mom. And if you would for one second take your ‘I provide’ mentality out of it and think practically, you would see how impossible that is.”
I open my mouth but Brooke holds up a hand and goes on.
“What happens if something goes wrong? If we lose your income? What then? I’ve got no experience other than as a flight attendant.
I can’t just pick that back up after ten years, even five.
We live in New York, Matthew. We wouldn’t even be able to afford this apartment on a waitress’s salary, let alone buy a house. ”
My chest tightens, and the words slip out before I can stop them. “It’s like you’re… preparing for me to fail.”
“I’m preparing for life,” she fires back. “Because life happens. People lose jobs, people get sick, people leave. I can’t just hand over my entire future and hope nothing bad will ever happen.”
Something sharp twists in my gut. “I don’t want you to hand it over. I just-” I stop myself, because what I’m about to say sounds exactly like what she’s accusing me of.
Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge. “You grew up in a single mom household. I’ve heard you say multiple times, how she held everything together. How you never wanted for anything.”
“I didn’t,” I murmur.
“Then why, do you insist on me staying home?”
I stare at her. “I never missed my dad,” I say quietly. “But I missed my ma. All the damn time. She was always working, always tired. I don’t want Penny to be like that, growing up with a mom she barely sees.”
Her jaw tightens. “And I don’t want her to grow up with a mom who has nothing of her own. Who wakes up one day and realizes she can’t stand on her own two feet if she has to.”
I drop back onto the sofa, the exhaustion of the entire day pressing down on me. After hours of running after Dan the Duck and dealing with everyone else’s mess, I don’t have much left in me to fight her.
Brooke stays standing, hands clenched at her sides, her breathing steady but sharp.
Her voice is quiet, when she says. “Penny will never be alone. Because she has two parents who will always be there for her. But I want a partner who can be in the places I can’t, without making me feel guilty for it. ”
I lift my eyes to hers, the weariness settling into something colder. “What are you saying?”
She swallows, her throat working as if the words scrape coming out. “Maybe we rushed into this. Marriage. Parenthood. Without ever really knowing what the other person wants.”
For a second, everything inside me stills.
“Give me the man I married back,” she says, voice breaking just enough to hurt. “Or I’m done.”
With that she turns and walks away.
I stay there long after she’s gone, wondering how we ended up here.