Chapter 16 #3
“Maybe not.” I peer over Brooke’s shoulder at the notepad covered in my own tidy script. “I trust your edits. And you’re right, I probably need to pare it down a little.”
“Just speak from the heart, hon.” Brooke puts a hand on my arm. “You’ll say the right thing, I promise.”
Between my heart and my gut, I’ve got plenty of parts I’m re-learning to trust. My bladder’s not one of them. “I need to pee again.” Wait, no. “Never mind. That was just a baby jabbing me.”
My doctor friend Molly sprints over. “Sit,” she commands as she whips out her blood pressure cuff. “If you’re doing this, we need to make sure you’re up to the task. I don’t want you stressing your body.”
“I’m fine.” I take a seat anyway, extending my arm so she can check me for the ten-millionth time. “It’s not like it’ll be more stressful trying to win Luke back than it is living without him.”
It’s been nearly a week since I kicked him out. Six days, two hours, and some odd seconds of anger and sadness and guilt. Almost the same amount of time I've spent learning to trust what I already knew in my heart. I’m starting a family with the world’s kindest man.
How did I miss the simple beauty of that?
“130 over 80,” reports Molly as she releases the blood pressure cuff. “I’m happy with that. Any cramping or spotting?”
“No. Just a little discomfort.”
Molly’s brow furrows. “Fever or increased swelling?”
“No.” Wincing, I shift in my chair. “It just feels like two ten-pound aliens keep tap dancing on my internal organs while fighting over the escape hatch.”
“Hmm.” She places two fingers on my wrist to monitor my pulse. “You’re probably due to have your cervix checked again.”
The door flies open, and Zoe and Erika rush through in time to hear most of that.
“Can we wait on the cervix?” Zoe unloads an armload of boxes onto the table. “We come bearing gifts.”
“For Luke.” Erika grins. “Okay, also for me. Can I just say how fucking cool it is that I get to do tune-ups on teeny-tiny cars? It’s a true test of my mechanic skills.”
I watch as my friends get to work. “Were you able to get everything?”
“Yep.” Zoe picks up a little pink van with yellow and orange surfboards sticking out of the back. “I still can’t believe this retails for nearly two-hundred grand.”
All the other women gasp, and I hustle to explain. “I didn’t really pay that! It’s not an original.” I mean technically, this one wasn’t cheap, either. “It’s a replica of the most collectible Hot Wheels in existence.”
Erika looks reverent as she cleans the pink paint with a cloth.
“The rear-loading Beach Bomb was created in 1969 with a prototype that originally remained in the possession of a Mattel employee. The surfboards made it too narrow and top-heavy, so they switched to side-mounted surfboards and a plastic sunroof for a lower center of gravity.”
Zoe points proudly as the other women cluster around. “Only two original pink versions are known to exist. We’re pretty sure this isn’t one of them. It’s probably one of the other colors that slipped into public circulation, and those are rare, too. We think somebody repainted it pink.”
“It’s insanely cool.” Erika sets it aside so the others can admire it. “We also tracked down a 1968 Beatnik Bandit. It was originally made in eighteen colors, but the pink one is super rare—only a handful were made.”
Molly looks nervous beside me. “They’re cute, but aren’t they a choking hazard for small children?”
“Don’t worry,” I promise my doctor pal. “They’re mostly for Luke, until the girls get old enough to safely play with Hot Wheels.”
Erika picks up the Beatnik Bandit and uses a tiny set of pliers to make an adjustment.
“You can save the vintage ones for display purposes only. We got tons of other Hot Wheels cars, plus this bomb-ass track. The girls won’t know the difference between the collectibles and the ones that don’t cost a small fortune. ”
Luke will know the difference, though. And I’ll let him decide how to use them. “We’ll see,” I say as Lucy flies through the door.
“I hit the motherlode.” Spitting hair off her face, she rushes toward me with a thick file folder. Dropping it on the table, she catches her breath. “This is everything. I sent you digital copies, too.”
“Thank you.” I peel back the edge of the folder, peeking inside to skim what’s in there. “Wow—you really deployed your private eye super-sleuth skills.”
My cousin beams. “It was easy, once we had the right name to work from. It’s all here—everything Luke could possibly want.”
Brooke looks up from editing my speech. “Well, not everything.”
“No?” And now I’m concerned. “What did I forget? This has to go perfectly and—”
“Honey,” Brooke says, resting a hand on my arm. “Just be yourself. Give him you—the most vulnerable, authentic, genuine Hazel you can offer. That’s what Luke wants.”
Cassidy steps up beside her. “It’s what we all want for you, too.”
“Yep.” Erika looks up from the tiny car. “The Hazel we know isn’t just a badass boss bitch. She’s kind and sensitive and loving.”
Zoe grins beside her. “She’s also one sexy-ass mama.”
“Thank you.” Tears fill my eyes as I gulp back the lump in my throat. “What would I do without you guys?”
Cassidy sets down her clipboard. “You’ll never have to find out.”
“Nope.” Lucy moves forward, forming one edge of the circle around me. “We’ve got your back, Hazel.”
“And your front.” Molly sets down her stethoscope. “And all your other parts.”
Moving as one, these women wrap me in a big group hug. “We’re family forever,” Brooke says. “And family takes care of family.”
Sniffling, I spit out her hair. “I love all of you so damn much.”
“Good.” Lucy draws back and smiles into my eyes. “Now you just need to tell Luke the same thing.”
My phone starts to buzz, breaking up our hug-fest. Wiping my eyes, I glance at the name on the screen. “My mother,” I say. “I’ve been trying to reach her.”
“Go ahead and take it,” Cassidy says. “We’ve got this handled.”
“Thank you.” Heaving myself from the chair, I put the phone to my ear and answer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hazel. Thank you for your email. How disappointing it didn’t work out with Easton Wherclift.”
“We’ll find someone else,” I assure her. “That’s actually not why I’ve been calling.”
“Oh?” My mother sounds wary. “You haven’t given birth yet, have you?”
“No, but that’s part of it.” Where do I start? I haven’t rehearsed this, so I just blurt it out. “I love you, Mom. But sometimes I struggle to believe you love me.”
“Hazel, that’s silly. Of course I love you. You’re my daughter.”
“Do you remember what you said when I told you I was pregnant?” I don’t give her a chance to respond.
“You told me how hard it is, being a mother. You said it would break my heart and leave me feeling horrible about myself. You called it a one-way ticket to pain more profound than I could imagine. Is this ringing a bell?”
My mother says nothing at first. Then, she sighs.
“I never knew how to be a good mom. I didn’t have one, and I felt lost from the start with you.
Even your loathsome father knew more than me about being a parent.
The two of you had this bond from the start, and I just…
” Her voice breaks a little, and I hear her taking deep breaths.
“I didn’t know how to be part of that. And you were so perfect.
So perfect, Hazel—smart and beautiful and kind and loving with everyone—from your grandparents to your cousins to your dollies.
” She laughs, but it sounds more sad than joyful.
“Even at seven years old, you had more mothering skills than I ever did.”
“It’s not about skill.” I’m not sure how, but somehow I know what to say.
“It’s about being there for your child, again and again and again.
It’s admitting you don’t know everything but showing up anyway.
It’s about pouring so much love into someone that it makes up for the fact that you’re screwing up just as often as you’re getting it right. ”
Mom sniffles. “I wish it wasn’t too late to go back. I’d do things differently, Hazel. I’ve always wished we could be closer.”
“We can. You don’t have to go back to do that.
” I’m crying again, wondering why it took me so long to have this conversation.
“We can start fresh, Mom. We can have the kind of relationship I’ve wished for.
It sounds like you’ve wished for it, too.
” I choke on a surge of surprise at that fact. “I had no idea you felt the same way.”
“I’ve been too afraid to say anything.” Her laugh sounds more like a sob. “You’ve always been so much braver than me. You’ve always just known how to have the hard conversations.”
“I haven’t always.” But dammit, I want to get better. “I’m learning, too, Mom. I’m trying every day to get a little bit better.”
“Maybe,” she says softly, “we can try together.”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
“I love you, Hazel.”
It’s the first time she’s ever said the words first. “I love you, too.”
“Can you forgive me for being a terrible mother?”
“You weren’t terrible. You were just doing your best.” I sense she needs more than that. “I forgive you, though.”
“Oh, Hazel.” She draws a shuddery breath. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you. Thank you for helping me practice having tough conversations. I—I really needed this.”
“I’m glad I could help.” She sniffles. “I had no idea forgiveness could feel this freeing. Do you feel it, too?”
“Yes.” I’m crying again, and I let the tears flow. “I feel it.”
And we say our goodbyes and I hang up the phone, I feel ready at last to face Luke.