Chapter 7
Rachel
By the time I finally allow myself to crash against Sophie’s sectional couch with a cup of hot tea in my hand, I’m exhausted.
And it’s only Saturday morning.
Sophie saddles up next to me, bringing her knees to her chest with one arm and holding her mug of tea in the other. All five of our kids are playing on the floor next to us while Will and Karan are changing the sink in Sophie’s bathroom.
Playdates like this are common for us, but for the last couple of weeks, we’ve been so busy that we haven’t been able to catch up. Between moving Océane into our guest room a few weeks ago and taking the kids to a bunch of Christmas activities, I haven’t had much time to catch up with Sophie.
Right away, she detects something’s wrong.
“Girl, talk to me.” She scrunches her nose and frowns. “The guys are gone, and the kids are distracted, so tell me what’s up.”
I let out a deep sigh and straighten my back just enough so I can deposit my mug on Sophie’s coffee table.
Although Sophie has been in our lives for only just over a year, I trust this woman with my life.
Already, she’s like a sister to me. It helps that Will gushed about her for ten whole years before they finally got together, so it’s like I got to know her before I even met her.
Still, bringing what I have on my mind out into the world feels like a betrayal of my vows. Right now, the man I love is somewhere in this house, performing manual labour despite his exhaustion from work.
Tendrils of shame creep up around my spine at the thought of giving an ounce of attention to these seedlings of ideas trying to implant themselves into my brain.
My eyes start to burn. I swallow the lump in my throat and look down at my hands, trying to focus on the sounds of my boys laughing in the background.
But Sophie is too perceptive. “Rachel? Oh, honey…”
She places her own mug down and scoots closer to me, her long arms enveloping my shoulders.
It would be easy to let the tears fall. Sophie is safe. But I don’t want to alert the kids.
So I swallow again and take a deep breath, nestling my head against Sophie’s shoulder.
“Things are fucked.”
“Okay.” Sophie pulls away from me to hand me my mug. “Drink. Then tell me.”
I close my eyes, letting the warmth of the mug seep through my fingers.
The aroma of chocolate mint tea wafts through my nose.
It’s a small comfort for the current turmoil fighting its way through me.
I take a sip and let the hot liquid coat my tongue, then swallow to let it warm me from the inside.
“I brought Océane to live home with us without asking Karan first.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I shut my eyes in shame.
“Wait, what?” I open my eyes again, terrified of Sophie’s reaction, but the look in those blue eyes of hers just seems… confused. “Like, permanently?”
“Yeah.”
I proceed to tell her about the day I had to bring her to the hospital, and about the state of her apartment. With every moment, Sophie looks more and more horrified.
“Why doesn’t Will know about this?” she breathes out. “He’s trying to be more active in her life.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I haven’t told him yet.”
The last thing I want is to overwhelm Will with a sense of duty. He’s already riddled with enough guilt for nearly avoiding Océane for years on end while he was struggling to come to terms with his own demons.
“And you didn’t tell Karan?”
“I know.” I cringe. “Well, I told him after I’d already invited Océane. But I didn’t really give him a choice.”
“Why?”
Once again, I detect no judgement in Sophie’s tone. She’s simply trying to understand.
I take another sip of tea to stabilize myself. It’s a constant effort to keep the tears at bay.
“Well, part of it is that I couldn’t live with myself if Karan said no. I can’t leave Océane out to fend for herself. But…”
Julian toddles over to the couch, most likely bored with whatever the older kids are doing. He stretches his chubby arms out toward Sophie, who immediately picks him up.
“Hey, baby.” She turns her attention to me while she places Julian on her lap. “But what?”
“But I guess…” That’s the part I’ve been struggling to reconcile with.
I tighten my grip on the mug. “I’m just so sick of Karan letting Martine push him around, but the worst part is how Martine keeps overstepping her boundaries with the boys, and Karan doesn’t seem to mind.
So I think I didn’t tell him just to be petty. Which I hate.”
I grit my teeth and take a steadying breath again.
“Okay. Yeah, there’s a lot to unpack here.”
Julian grabs a strand of Sophie’s golden hair and puts it in his mouth.
“Yuck, Julian!” She pulls the strand back out and laughs, then wags a finger at him. “Mommy’s hair isn’t for eating.”
Julian gives his mother a mischievous smile.
He’s absolutely adorable, but I definitely don’t miss those days. Especially with twins.
I look out at my boys on the living room floor, my heart tugging in my chest. They are their own people by now, and I love who they’re becoming.
I can’t help seeing their father every time I look at them.
He’s in the light golden brown of their skin, the shiny gleam of their black hair, their large almond eyes framed by thick black lashes.
When I think of Karan, I think of home. I think of a sturdy boat keeping me safe in turbulent waters. I can hardly tell where I end and where he begins, our souls so deeply entwined that they might as well be one and the same.
The moment he came into my life, everything clicked into place. It was never difficult. We naturally drifted to each other, and loving him became second nature.
What happens if that changes?
“You know we could take her, right?” Sophie says, her voice soft as she strokes Julian’s hair. “I’m sure Will would agree.”
“No.” The word is immediate, reflexively bypassing my brain altogether. “She’s my responsibility. I’ve always been the one to care for her. I’m not going to let her down.”
“Okay, so what did Karan say? What does he think?”
“Does it matter?” The tears threaten to surface again when I look Sophie in the eye. “It’s not like he asks me my opinion on much anymore. He just does whatever he wants… or rather, what his mommy wants.”
Sophie cringes. “That attitude is not a good sign.”
“I know.”
“Just last year, it was like the two of you couldn’t get enough of each other.”
“I know.”
“And now you’re not even on the same team.”
I nod slowly as I stare out into space. “I know.”
And that’s the problem. I know it all too well. That knowledge is an ugly thing, a weight settling deep into my bones, festering with dread as I keep wondering:
Am I the only one between the two of us who knows?
Am I the only one who cares?