CHAPTER 29 Everleigh Bradley
The Best Mother
I feel myself tearing up at his words to his mother.
I’m glad I convinced him to call her. I’m not sure he would’ve thought to do it if I hadn’t brought it up, and by the same token, despite the shudders bolting through my chest, I’m not sure I would’ve had the nerve to call my own mother without him beside me.
“Everleigh?” my mother answers when it’s my turn.
“Hi, Mom.” I start to cry. Ah, fuck. I’m supposed to be holding it together for my mom—supposed to be holding it together in front of Maverick, too—and I’m failing on both accounts.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, my voice trembling as I try my best to ward off the emotion.
I focus on continuing to push Jack in his swing.
“I’m…well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve been better. I assume you’ve heard the news?”
“I have, and I’m sorry.”
“We’re not telling anyone, okay? I just…I don’t want the looks the ladies will give me. I don’t want the sympathy. We’re just plowing forward. I have a life to live, and everything’s okay.”
Isn’t that what got us here? Plowing forward, pretending everything is okay…
I can’t imagine she didn’t feel some sort of change in her health. No pain in her breasts, no fatigue, not anything at all. It doesn’t add up, but knowing how vain she is and hearing her words about plowing forward tells me that she probably knew but didn’t care to do anything about it.
She had no interest in knowing the truth—or at least in finding out sooner so that this could’ve been identified and treated earlier.
And who knows what path she might’ve had if it had been?
Maybe I wouldn’t feel scared that this is the last conversation I’ll ever have with her as we all sit by waiting for her time to run out.
But knowing her the way I do, she never would’ve voluntarily taken treatment. She’s avoided any sort of medical doctor for years and years. She only goes to cosmetic doctors these days.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.
“No,” she says. She doesn’t sound sad or scared, but on the other hand, she also doesn’t sound like she’s in good spirits or joking.
She’s always been hard to read. Why would this be any different?
“I have the Unity Gala tonight and appointments to get to, dear,” she says. “You know how it goes. Spa, salon, stylists. The three most important S words.”
Right. Not strength, self-respect, or self-awareness. Not support, service, or selflessness. Not success or security. But spa, salon, and stylists.
It’s actually sort of incredible that my siblings and I turned out to be success stories given our roots.
Maybe we all have done our best to navigate away from them.
Maybe this position here in Vegas was always meant to get me out of Chicago.
It feels like I’m stumbling through it in a lot of ways, but it also feels like I’m holding my own and starting to build the base of my own company.
It feels like I’m working hard to achieve my dreams. Success, strength, and support. Those are my three S words.
“Of course.” I clear my throat. Is this where I tell her I love her and don’t want her to leave me too soon? Is this where I say she’s the best mom I could ever dream of having, the way Maverick said it to his mother?
Is that even true?
No. The truth is that I dreamed of having someone raise me who also valued success, strength, and support.
I dreamed of those mani-pedis with someone I could share my dreams with.
I dreamed of mother-daughter bonding activities, the sorts I ended up doing with Ivy when she was younger—from arts and crafts to going with her to try on prom dresses.
For the first time, I wonder if I should invite my little sister out to Vegas to stay with me for a few days. We could get mani-pedis together and go shopping and fill our days with the sorts of activities we both missed out on with our mother.
It’s not so much that it’s too late to change any of that now with my mother. It’s more the fact that she doesn’t want to change anything. And not knowing how much time she has left leaves me feeling like I should give her what she wants.
I blow out a breath.
“Well, have fun tonight,” I finally say.
“Thank you.” She ends the call, and that’s that.
I called. I tried to express myself to her. I failed.
But let’s be honest here. I failed because she made me fail. She didn’t open herself up to any sort of commentary at all. She wants to pretend it doesn’t exist, and who am I to mess that up if those are what could amount to her final wishes?
It’s her life to live. She’s the one who never wanted to be close.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Maverick thumbs away a tear from my cheek. I glance up at him. “Your call went better than mine.”
He offers a sad sort of smile, and he walks around the swing and pulls me into a hug. He holds me tightly for a few beats, and it feels good here in his arms. Better than I was expecting it to feel.
Necessary, even.
I pull it together. After all, I’m the caretaker, and right now, I have a baby in my charge along with a man who’s suffering in much the same way I am.
Maybe my mother is rejecting my need to feel like I’m doing something to help, but since she never was the caretaker in the family the way moms tend to be, I took that role upon myself. And I’ll continue to do that.
To that end, I text Archer once Maverick lets me go and moves back around the swing.
Me: Thinking about you, little bro.
I text Ford next.
Me: You doing okay with the news about Mom?
I text Madden, Liam, and Ivy just to check in. It feels more personal than our group chat. I’ll see Dex tonight when I drop off Jack.
That’s it. I touched base with all six of my siblings. If Mom won’t let me take care of her, I’ll do my best to take care of her children.
And as my eyes meet Maverick’s over the swing, I can’t help but think maybe I’ve finally met someone who can take care of me, too.