Chapter 33
Brooke
It is that bad. It’s so unbelievably bad.
Caleb drives us back to my house with one hand on the steering wheel and the other firmly holding mine. It’s a short drive, but long enough for the memories I’ve kept tucked away in little boxes to open and spill their contents all over.
I’m nine-years-old and Mom takes me to a meeting.
I sit quietly in the coffee shop until I see a classmate.
We goof around like kids do, and I accidentally knock over a coffee at the table next to us.
I apologize and clean up, but Mom yells the entire car ride home.
How could you do that to me? You ruined my meeting.
Think of everything I do for you, and this is how you repay me.
I’m in high school, she compares me to the other girls, mostly the girls from wealthy families. I’m voted to homecoming court, but not crowned homecoming queen. It’s my fault. Why can’t you be more like her? You messed up everything by not behaving like the other girls.
I start working at the agency and Mom praises my work, tells me I did a wonderful job, but follows up with I could have done much better. Reminds me that I have her to thank for my career.
Whenever I pushed back or defended myself, she accused me of creating drama, remembering something incorrectly, or said I was too sensitive. I’d end up apologizing to her for one of those things.
Those boxes in my mind must have been filled with glitter. I’ll never be ever able to pick up all the tiny pieces and tuck them away again.
Caleb pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine, never letting go of my hand. How can he sit here looking at me like…like that? How could Lynne and Paul spend the evening with me, laughing and telling stories, after what Mom put them through? How can they be happy that I’m dating their son?
The tears I managed to keep at bay in the Foley’s dining room fill my eyes, and I fight to keep them back.
I hate crying tears of sadness. Crying at weddings, at movies, and special moments, no big deal.
Crying because I’m hurt, never. Mom hated whenever I cried, especially if I was upset or sad. That’s for people who are weak.
“Brooke,” Caleb whispers. My name was so gentle coming from his mouth. That’s all it takes. The tears come storming out. Every little bit that I’ve tried to hold in. He unbuckles his seatbelt, then unbuckles mine when my hands are shaking too hard to do it myself.
“I’m…so…sorry,” I say between sobs. “Please…tell your parents again…I’m sorry.”
“Brooke.” He holds my face in his hands, wiping tears off my cheeks. “What do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”
“My mom…” I sniffle loudly. God, this is full-on ugly crying.
“Your mom, Brooke. Not you,” he says gently, not bothered at all by my ugly tears.
“She tried to break apart your family! It could have gone so differently. Caleb, you’re so lucky.
They love you so much. Your dad’s face when you were taking them through the plan, you should have seen it.
You were looking at the pages, but I was watching him…
oh my god, we should be celebrating.” I struggle for air between the tears and getting the words out.
“This is terrible…I’m making it all about me…
like she does. Oh my god, Caleb, I’m the worst thing for you. For your family. I need to go.”
I move to get out of the car, but Caleb’s hand is on my wrist, pulling me back to face him.
“Caleb…please.”
“No, Brooke. I’m not letting you walk away. And I’m not walking away from you. I’m not letting your mom get in the way of us. This is about more than what you learned tonight, isn’t it.”
It’s not a question. I nod.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head.”
We sit in the car, and I tell him about Mom’s behavior over the years.
The comparisons, the judgements, the gaslighting, the guilt-tripping.
That every disagreement is my fault. All the little specks of glitter in these boxes that will never be closed up again.
It’s a relief to share it all with Caleb. It’s been buried down so deep.
I tell him how it felt to sit outside with Lynne.
That the hug she greeted me with was warmer than any hug Mom’s ever given me.
How familiar and comfortable it felt to sit and talk to her after so many years.
I tell him that I loved being with her, but that it made me sad too.
That kind of relationship is something I’ll never have with my mom.
He holds my hand and listens, wiping away more tears as they fall.
When I’m finally out of words, he holds me.
“Brooke,” he says, pulling back to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You’re the best thing for me. No one could be better.
You’re nothing like your mom. She doesn’t hold a candle to you.
You’re the best wedding planner not because of her, but in spite of her.
You’re kind and generous. You care about the people around you.
You make plans and lists and color-coded binders for them and your clients, all so they can be their best. You champion them.
You support them. We’ll celebrate the farm.
But, Brooke, I need you to know how incredibly special you are.
How perfect you are. How perfect you are for me.
I’m not going to let something Judy did twenty years ago get in the way of the best thing that has ever happened to me. ”
Caleb’s words have me crying all over again.
The office is empty when I arrive early on Tuesday morning.
I know Mom won’t be here—she likes to waltz in as close to the team meeting as possible and have a Miranda Priestly moment—but I’m still relieved when I see her office empty.
I haven’t spoken to her since my world shattered at the Foley’s dining room table last week.
It’s been shattering, slowly, for as long as I can remember.
I’d just gotten so good at pretending it wasn’t.
I spend the morning getting organized for the week and weekend ahead. My checklist is three pages long, I have dozens of emails to send and several final planning meetings—all for the Quincy wedding. The most important wedding of my career. No pressure.
Mom arrives five minutes before the meeting.
It’s good she’s instituted such strict boundaries around our work relationship.
That’s the only thing keeping me in my seat and not barreling into her office to have it out.
I guess I wouldn’t do that. I shouldn’t do that despite the small part of me that so badly wants to.
During the thirty-minute consultation yesterday, the therapist Jordan recommended made it clear that I should not engage in any confrontational conversations with Mom right now. I need to get through wedding season so I can distance myself and get some clarity.
If I’m lucky, Mom will announce her retirement soon, and most of this can be swept into one big box to be forgotten about forever.
Dr. Drury wasn’t too thrilled with that plan.
But she was pretty impressed with the outline I emailed her ahead of my session.
It included names and descriptions of family and friends who might come up in our sessions.
As well as a list of the memories my mind refuses to tuck back away.
It wasn’t color-coded—I didn’t want to scare her—but I was pretty chuffed with myself.
“Ladies.” Judy claps her hands three times, and the room quiets instantly.
“Let’s get started. As you all know, we have the most important wedding of the season, of the year, of my career, this weekend.
This wedding will be featured in the Times and all over social media.
We’ve planned a full weekend of luxury events for the Quincy and Redbank families… ”
“Using the word we pretty loosely there, Judy,” Maddie whispers from her desk.
I’m too enraged to laugh. I shush Maddie quietly.
“Brooke, something you’d like to share?” Judy chides.
Shit.
“Yes. We have been working hard,” I say, my tone coated with anger.
I rise from my chair and look her square in the eyes.
They go wide for a brief moment before she puts on her unaffected mask.
She doesn’t like my display of insolence, but I no longer care.
I’ve never spoken to her with this much defiance before.
I might not be ready to confront her narcissistic behavior right now, but I am ready to stand up and take claim to the events I’ve been planning.
“Before I get into the logistics for the weekend, I want to thank everyone for the hard work you’ve put in leading up to this wedding.
This scope of work takes many hands, and every single piece is important.
Now, on to the fun! Load-in begins this afternoon.
Warehouse Rentals will have the tent up tomorrow morning.
On Wednesday at four o’clock, we have the final walkthrough followed by an all-hands meeting with the Warehouse Rentals and Foley’s teams.”
Mom scoffs loudly at the mention of Foley’s. I assume she’s forgotten herself, but when we make eye contact, I know she meant for it to be heard by the entire room.
“Judy,” I say, refusing to cower and holding her gaze, “Caleb and his team have been nothing but professional throughout this entire process. We’ll show them the respect they’ve earned and work with them as partners like the professionals we are.
” When I look back to the staff, I’m met with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
I may have avoided direct confrontation, but I’ve certainly made a scene.
“The assigned staff have received the timelines and remaining action items for the week…” I continue presenting to the staff. Eyes return to normal size and mouths close, but I must black out because the next thing I know, I’m back at my seat and the next planner is up.