26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Is it me, or does it feel like there’s more to the whole Ed story than we thought?
” Hope mused from her perch on Effie’s bed.
Her head hung over the edge, feet propped on the wall as she stared at the swirls of plaster that spanned the ceiling.
Her gaze dropped to Effie, sprawled like a starfish on her faux sheepskin rug.
“What do you mean?” Effie asked, her voice quiet.
Hope knew her dear cousin was still reeling.
No one hated confrontation more than Effie.
After her call for an explanation, dinner was tense.
It culminated in a fantastic explosion of rage and pent-up resentment from Pamela that scared Issa into frantically flying about and nearly colliding with Ed’s nest of perfect hair.
Effie and Hope retreated shortly thereafter, vowing they’d scrape caked-on food for hours and endure dish duty later rather than stay another minute in the powder keg.
Maybe everything that happened with Brayden had Hope seeing the other side of things for the first time, but she had the distinct awareness that there were two sides to a broken heart.
“In a perfect world Ed would have wanted to stay home, provide in ways that didn’t require him to travel the world, but what if . .. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
Hope wasn’t sure she could make such a leap.
Not when it questioned the integrity of the stories Pamela had been telling about Ed their whole lives.
She didn’t want to burst Effie’s bubble if she hadn’t dared consider a different reality herself.
But Effie sighed. “What if my mother pushed him away?”
Hope spun her feet down off the wall and came to sit cross-legged on the bed.
Effie’s question meant that they could travel down this road and look at their supposed curse from a new angle.
“Maybe he never really wanted kids and your mom thought she could change him. Or maybe she gave him an ultimatum or wasn’t willing to include him in planning their life together? ”
The latter felt painfully true for Hope.
She was disturbingly close to causing her unborn child the same kind of heartache she and Louisa and Ellen had endured because she never asked Brayden what he wanted.
Never included him in the reality when it showed up in two pink lines.
She had almost ruined her chances of a real family.
Not that she and Brayden were back together. Not yet.
She hadn’t wanted to know Brayden’s side of things or how he wanted their relationship to move forward.
She didn’t want him to weigh-in on the being growing in her belly.
She was selfish, short-sighted. It was everything she’d confessed to him at the park about why she didn’t give him a chance.
Why she kept the baby a secret. It was the most shame she’d ever felt, and it still formed a greasy pool in her chest.
Effie rolled onto her stomach and propped herself on her elbows. “ My mother does like to be the center of attention,” Effie mused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted all of him or none of him.”
“But is that fair? If there are kids involved?”
“I don’t think so. But Ellen wasn’t exactly planned.
And whatever mom thought families should look like didn’t jive with Ed’s vision, I’d guess.
And when he didn’t bend to her vision, they probably spiraled and totally collapsed under the weight of Louisa’s arrival.
” Effie huffed and buried her face. It was more words in a row than Hope had heard Effie utter in a while.
She didn’t envy whatever cocktail of flavors poured over Effie’s tongue as she said them.
“I suppose I know what that kind of stubbornness feels like,” Hope said, hands soothing the squirming beast beneath her naval. Bug seemed an inadequate nickname as of late, given the unrelenting martial arts and acrobatics that began whenever Hope dared be still.
The pity in Effie’s gaze stung like a paper cut. Hope knew she’d brought this on herself in more ways than one. “Maybe we’re the problem. That’s the Thatcher curse—not knowing when—”
“There is no goddamn curse,” Dorothea huffed from the open doorway, a tray of tea and croissants in hand.
Effie hurried to take the tray and set it on the rug with her while Grams lowered into the rocking chair Effie had saved from the front porch after everyone thought it was ready for the dumpster.
Hope shimmied from the bed joining Effie on the floor, her back resting against its edge.
“Tell that to Mom, Aunt Tibby, Louisa, and Ellen,” Effie quipped. “Though Ellen seems cautiously optimistic about Brayden and Theo.”
“You should always be optimistic when it comes to love,” Grams said. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the chair, gently swaying back and forth, her slippered feet barely reaching the ground .
“They still arguing down there?” Hope dared to ask.
“Ed and Ellen are having their scotch,” Grams answered. “And I am communing with my two favorite granddaughters.”
“You’re not supposed to say that,” Effie scolded despite her amusement.
Grams shrugged, eyes still closed. Hope had the sense she was the sage and they were the disciples ready to be passed the torch. But only silence followed.
Hope poured the tea, filling the two cups Grams brought for her and Effie. They nibbled on the chocolate croissants casting inquisitive looks at each other, waiting to see what Grams would say next.
Dorothea took a deep breath, her chest rising beneath her crimson dress with its white polka dots. She folded her leathery hands in her lap and finally opened her eyes. They squinted first at Effie then at Hope. “How’s the book coming?”
“It’s going to the printer this week. Ready to release next month,” Hope said proudly. Sometimes it still amazed her that she lived this dream. She admonished herself for taking it for granted when everything else seemed to be going awry. She wondered if that was Grams’s point.
“And did you do that by yourself?”
Hope stumbled over her words. The short answer was no , but it felt more complicated than that.
“I wrote all the words, developed the characters, created the world. So the writing I did alone, but my editor helped polish it, Effie bounced ideas around with me. A bunch of beta readers gave me feedback. My agent got the deal for the trilogy, so I was able to be paid to write the second and third books.”
“Could you have done all those things yourself?” Grams continued, and Hope wondered where she was going with all this. Effie’s twisted brow told Hope she wondered too.
“I suppose. Self-publishing is big right now. I would have probably hired a cover artist, but beyond that, the actual formatting, printing, marketing, and sales would have been up to me. I could have done it, but it would have taken far more confidence than I have to see it through on my own.” Hope shuddered at the thought of having to blaze her own trail online and convince the world she had a right to be published without the backing of her team.
It was a daunting, terrifying prospect, one she felt relieved and grateful that she’d avoided.
“But, in the way you chose to move forward—waiting for the right agent and publisher—you get to live in the space you thrive in. The writing. And they handle the stuff that’s too heavy for your hands? They make it easier for you to be great?”
“Absolutely,” Hope replied.
“And you trust them to take care of you?”
Hope’s shoulders softened, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yes.”
“And you surrender full control when you’ve done your part, so the vision you have can come to life in the best and easiest way possible?”
“Yes,” Hope said again, this time her smile on full display. Effie seemed to snag the thread of the conversation too, based on the twinkle in her eye as she smirked at Dorothea.
“Right then.” Dorothea sighed, planting her hands firmly on the armrests.
“We’re not solitary creatures. We hens may flock together, but sometimes we need a protector, a confidante, someone we trust implicitly to hold our interests as sacred as their own.
But it goes both ways.” Dorothea stood on aching knees.
“And sometimes we just need a good strong cock . ”
“Grams!” Effie blushed, her high-pitched squeal so obviously the reaction Dorothea aimed for.
“You’re too easy, Effie, dear,” Grams teased before shuffling toward the door. “I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”
Hope bit back her laughter as Effie rolled her eyes and chomped into her croissant. Through her flakey mouthful she said, “I guess we were onto something.”
“Seems like it.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
Hope gave a dramatic sigh. What was she going to do? Brayden had heard her out. He didn’t mock her fears or blame her for having them. He didn’t even seem to judge her for acting on them. He only seemed sad that she hadn’t trusted him with them.
If she took Grams seriously, she would have to admit that the life she wanted, the vision she held of backyard picnics and a family with Brayden, was only possible if she was vulnerable and persistent.
She’d been rejected ninety-seven times before she landed her agent.
She could weather Brayden’s rejections if it meant showing him how much he meant to her.
Hope would choose him again and again until she demonstrated that he wasn’t auditioning for a role in her life, but that he already had it—as co-parents, partners, lovers.
Whatever the case, they would hold each other’s dreams and bring them to fruition together.
Even if it meant Hope wouldn’t end her nights in his arms.
Rejection had rarely scared her. But not trying for what she wanted certainly did.