Chapter Twenty Eight
Brooke
“Oh my god,” I say, still in my work shoes, still holding my bag, blinking at him like I misheard.
Matthew’s practically vibrating as he chops the peppers, way too fast for someone this excited. “I mean… holy shit,” he says, eyes wide.
Quickly I put my stuff down, wash my hands then gently touch his shoulder, easing the knife from his hand before he takes a finger off. “How about I do this?”
He nods, practically bouncing away like he’s got too much energy to contain. “Do you know what this means? A salary bump and fixed working hours. I could actually come home at a normal time.”
I smile. “That’s amazing.”
He nods, eyes lighting up even more. “And for you too. I told them about how you were fired unjustly, and they’re probably going to offer you your old job back.”
I try to match his energy, try to smile, but it must not land. His face falls a little.
“I thought you’d like that,” he says, almost tentative now.
“I thought so too,” I admit, setting the knife down. “But… I like the agency. I get to stay local. And, bonus, there’s an ‘end call’ button for the assholes.” I try to make it sound like a joke.
But Matthew stills. “You made a whole thing about wanting your career, and now you’re saying no?”
I notice the shift in his tone, small, but sharp enough to cut through the earlier joy.
“I do want to work,” I say carefully. “But that doesn’t mean I want to jet off across the country right now. Especially while Penny’s so young.”
He nods a little too fast. “Of course.”
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
He shrugs. “Nothing.”
“Matthew.” I press. “Honesty, remember?”
He exhales slowly. “I just… don’t want you to regret it. Like you said, you can’t just go back whenever you want.”
I nod, because that’s still true. But I also know something else. “Yeah. But being a flight attendant isn’t something I feel like I can do right now.”
He goes quiet for a second, the energy that was buzzing off him earlier finally settling. Then he says softly, “If that’s something you’ve thought about and decided… then alright.”
His tone isn’t disappointed exactly, just cautious, like he’s testing the words.
I exhale slowly, tension I didn’t even know I was holding slipping out of my shoulders. “Yeah. I have.”
He nods once, a little more firmly this time, then reaches for the refrigerator, pulling out the butter. “Then that’s what matters,” he says simply.
I shake my head lightly, trying to shrug off the small, twisting pit in my stomach. It can’t be a good sign that
“So,” I say, keeping my voice even, “I’m gonna drop her off in the morning and you can pick her up?”
He nods. “That works.”
I offer a small smile, and we fall into an easy rhythm, soft conversation, small talk, moving around the kitchen. Things between us finally feel like they’re starting to settle.
I’m not na?ve enough to think we won’t fight again. We will. Probably soon. But the fact that he’s learning to step away from his own noise, to think before reacting. gives me something I haven’t felt in a while. Relief.
I wish I could say the same for my friends.
Becks has been quiet lately, quieter than usual, and that’s never a good sign.
Sheera’s still walking on eggshells around her husband, trying to hold everything together with frayed fingers.
And Zara… Zara’s ex has decided he wants her back.
It’s complicated for her, still having feelings, but knowing she can’t trust him.
As for Ursula, she’s taken a step back. She gave up her daughter, and no matter how right that decision was, being around newborns can’t be easy. So, we’ve given her space. We still text her, remind her we’re here, but we don’t push.
It’s strange, how everyone’s lives are shifting at once.
I wonder what the future will hold for my friends.
Matthew
I clear my throat, rubbing my knees. Then, with more energy than sense, I spring up and walk over to the window overlooking the street.
Dr. Bart stays silent on the sofa. It’s strange having him here, in the apartment I call home. But I figured if I invited my mom to the community centre, she’d catch on and never show up. So, the only logical move? Blindside her.
There’s a knock at the door.
I straighten. Before I can move to open it, I hear the familiar sound of keys jangling in the lock. My brows pull together. Brooke just left with Penny for the park, who the hell-
The keys jiggle again. Then there’s a harder, more impatient knock.
I swing the door open.
There she is. My ma. Standing in the hallway, holding up her old set of keys. “Why won’t my key work?”
I puff out my chest, steadying myself. “We changed the locks.”
Her face tightens, pissed, but I step aside before she can blow up out in the hallway where the neighbours might see.
Funny, this place was supposed to be a starter apartment.
But it’s beginning to feel permanent. We’re close to the subway, the park, Zara’s house.
The neighbours are families like us, some with older kids, some with younger, but all considerate, working their own 9-to-5 routines.
We might move to a bigger unit someday, but this place… it’s home now.
I shake my head at the thought and nod a quick greeting at Mr. Fray as he walks up the stairs.
Inside, my ma is already squaring off with Dr. Bart, who’s risen from the sofa.
“Ma, this is Dr. Bart,” I say, stepping between them. “Dr. Bart, this is my mom.”
He doesn’t extend a hand, and I’m glad. She loves leaving people hanging. It’s like a sport for her.
She crosses her arms. “So, this is what it’s come to? Inviting strangers into my son’s house to talk about me?”
I let out a slow breath, glance briefly at Dr. Bart, then say exactly what we’d rehearsed. “Ma, I want to talk to you. I invited Dr. Bart so he can keep us on track.”
She laughs, a sharp, condescending sound. “Yes, I know what shrinks are for.”
I bite back the retort sitting on my tongue and gesture toward the chair. She doesn’t exactly grace it with her presence; she drops down like this is a waste of her time.
I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, with Dr. Bart angled between us like some kind of human buffer.
She crosses her arms tighter, chin tilted up.
I study the woman who raised me, the woman I’ve loved my entire life. She looks almost exactly the same. A little older, sure, but still with that same proud, unyielding posture. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re here, needing a mediator to even talk, I’d almost believe nothing had changed.
Her gaze flicks around the apartment. I wait for the inevitable question about Brooke or Penny, but it never comes. Instead, her eyes snap back to me. “Talk.”
I take a breath, grounding myself the way Dr. Bart taught me. “What happened to my father?”
Her face hardens. “I told you. He left-”
I cut her off. “The truth.”
Something shifts in her expression. Not guilt, exactly. More like she’s trying to figure out how much I already know. “Who told you?” she finally asks.
I let out a sharp scoff. “Does it matter? You told me he left when in reality… he’s dead.”
Her jaw clenches, her shoulders going stiff. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?” My voice cracks on the last word, not because I’m weak, but because it hurts. “The only thing I needed from you was for you to be my mother. But instead, you used ‘work’ as an excuse to get out of that when you and I both know you didn’t have to.”
She glares at me, chest rising and falling. “That’s not true,” she spits. “You have no idea what it was like. What I sacrificed.”
I keep my voice steady. “Then tell me. Tell me the truth.”
Her throat bobs, but she doesn’t say anything.
Dr. Bart shifts slightly, but his voice stays level.
“This isn’t about blame,” he says. “It’s about filling in the empty spaces.
Matthew grew up with pieces of a story. If you don’t give him the rest, those empty spaces stay filled with pain and resentment.
This is your chance to give him something real. ”
Her fingers curl tighter into her arms. “I didn’t have a choice,” she finally mutters. “Your father died, and suddenly there was this money, enough to build something for myself for once, for us. I wasn’t going to waste it playing the poor single mother while everyone pitied me.”
“So, you lied,” I say softly.
Her eyes flash up to mine, wet but sharp. “I protected you. I didn’t want you to grow up spoiled and entitled just because your father died.”
I shake my head slowly, the ache pressing into my chest. “Instead, you let me grow up blaming myself for you not being there.”
She shakes her head hard, like she can shake the words right out of the air. “I was there for you. Maybe I didn’t come to games and plays, but I was there where it mattered. Jesus, Matthew, I found you this apartment. I let that woman into my life. I made sure she wasn’t scamming you.”
The words stop me cold. That woman. Brooke.
My voice drops. “What do you mean you ‘made sure’?”
She waves a hand, like it’s nothing. “I did what any good mother would do. I made sure she was who she said she was. That the baby was-”
She clamps her mouth shut.
I lean forward slowly, my pulse pounding in my ears. “That the baby was what, Ma?”
She looks away, but it’s too late. Her silence gives her away.
“You didn’t,” I whisper.
Dr. Bart shifts slightly, his tone still calm but firmer now. “What did you do, ma’am?”
She opens her mouth, shuts it, then snaps, “I got a test, alright? A paternity test. I wasn’t going to let my son ruin his life raising some other man’s child.”
The sound that rips out of me is somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. I shoot to my feet so fast the coffee table rattles. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yell, the control I’ve been holding together splintering. “You tested my daughter? My daughter!”
“Matthew,” Dr. Bart says, voice low and grounding, but I’m already shaking.
“She’s my family,” I choke out. “Brooke trusted me. Trusted us. And you-” I point at her, my hands trembling, “-you violated everything.”
My mother stands too, defensive now. “I was protecting you! How was I supposed to know-”
“She’s not you, Ma!” I roar. “Brooke isn’t you. I’m not you. And Penny sure as hell isn’t your mistake to clean up.”
She reels back like I’ve struck her, one hand tightening over her chest. Her face crumples, but I can’t pull it back now.
“You can’t come back from this,” I whisper.
Dr. Bart’s voice cuts through, edged with warning. “Matthew, perhaps you should think before you say something that’s permanent-”
I shake my head hard, the words already sitting heavy in my chest. “I have been thinking, Bart. Ever since she overstepped before. This-” I look at her, my tone leaves no room for doubt, “-this isn’t something Brooke will forgive you for.
And even if she does, I won’t. I asked you into my home because I trusted you.
And you-” my voice cracks but I don’t stop, “-you broke it.”
She gets up fast, trying to reach for me but I step back. “I’m your mother, Matthew. You can’t just-”
“I can,” I say quietly. And the stillness that follows is louder than any yell. “Being my mother doesn’t give you the right to keep crossing lines like this. To treat me like I’m still that kid you get to control. You’ve crossed a line you don’t get to come back from.”
Her mouth opens, no sharp retort this time, no rehearsed defence. Just silence.
I take a step back. “From now on,” I say, my voice trembling but firm, “you don’t get to be a part of Penny’s life. Or mine.”
Tears stream down her face, the anger slipping into panic. “Matthew-”
I shake my head once, final. “Goodbye, Ma.”
Dr. Bart doesn’t move. He doesn’t need to. The words hang there like a slammed door, until she finally turns and walks out of the apartment.
For good.