Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Maeve drove home from the hospital strangely excited to see them both.
It surprised her how relieved it made her to think of Brodie and Zoey together in the house, laughing and joking.
The idea that, while it still made her very nervous, Zoey might now be able to enjoy the influence of two parents, which, Maeve assumed, could only add richness to her life.
Unless Brodie messed it up. But she’d been pleasantly surprised by him at the cabin.
He was different to his reputation. Seemed more reliable, less of a flake.
And none of it, absolutely nothing at all, had the slightest bit to do with the fact that when he locked eyes with her she felt a tingle through her whole body, when he smiled she could barely reply, when he looked her in the eye it was like the attention of the universe was all on her.
Exactly as it had been that night at the concert.
Exactly as it was sometimes when she woke up in the middle of the night having dreamt of him.
No, she was not driving home a little bit excited to see them because of anything to do with Brodie himself.
“Hi, guys, I’m home.”
She saw both their shoes by the front door. Big and small.
“In here,” Brodie called back, the deepness of his voice unfamiliar in their home.
For a split-second, it made her think what it must be like to come home to a partner, someone happy to see you, to hear about your day.
Someone who made your stomach fizz when you heard their voice.
Someone who wanted to be there waiting for you, uptilted eyes alight.
She chucked her keys in the bowl by the front door. Brodie was not her partner.
She glanced at her reflection in the hallway mirror—tired, always tired—pull yourself together, Maeve.
All the same, she fluffed up her hair a bit and tried to rub a bit of color into her cheeks before she walked in to see them.
The living room was chaos. Barbies everywhere, popcorn open on the table, spilling out; a board game started but not finished, empty Coke cans … and now Zoey had clearly insisted on a beauty tutorial.
Maeve rolled her lips together to stop from laughing at the sight of them, Brodie’s hair pushed back with a headband, each of their faces slathered with a green face mask, cucumber slices over their eyes.
“You’re too early!” Zoey lifted a cucumber. “We’re not ready for you to come back.”
But Brodie jumped up off the couch, whipping the slices of cucumber off and eating one whole. “I think we’re ready,” he said, and Maeve got the wary impression he’d been ready for some time.
She felt some of her excitement dissipate. “Sorry, I didn’t know how long I was going to be.”
Brodie grinned, cracking the mask as he said, “It’s not a problem! We’ve had a great time, haven’t we?” He glanced back at Zoey.
Maeve wondered if she was being over-cautious, aware that her hesitancy was perhaps too entrenched.
“I’m going to wash this off.” He pointed to his face mask and disappeared into the downstairs cloakroom.
She started clearing up the empty packets. “You have a good time, Zo?”
“The best!” Zoey said, trying not to move her face as she spoke so that the mask didn’t crack.
Maeve felt the flutter again. Nervous but excited. “Great.”
She was in the kitchen, getting rid of the trash, when Brodie came to the doorway and, still with the remains of some of the clay around the sides of his face, said, “I’m going to head off.”
Maeve nodded, she realized her fingers were trembling. She’d been going to offer him a drink but instead she said, “Okay, yeah, fine, I’ll walk you out.”
He went ahead, she tried not to be distracted by the lingering scent of him, the pull of his T-shirt across his back, the curl of blond hair at the nape of his neck. Keep it professional, Maeve.
He stopped by the living room. Too busy trying not to look at him, she collided into his back. Nose pressed into the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “Sorry!” She jumped away. “Sorry.”
He seemed unfazed, just turned and raised a brow. “You okay?” he said.
“Fine!” she replied brightly.
Then leaning into the living room doorway, he said, “Bye, Zoey,” all Brodie-esque cool.
“Bye,” she called back.
Maeve pulled herself together. Told herself it was simply that she was unused to having a man in the house.
It wasn’t until the door was opened and Brodie was outside on the stoop that she plucked up the courage to say what she’d been building up to.
“Brodie…” she began, sounding more insistent than she’d intended.
“Yep.” He turned, and for a moment she was struck silent.
His hair was damp from where he’d washed his face and was half swept back, half falling forward, his eyes questioning rather than glinting, he looked boyish, maybe how he had at school or that night at the concert.
She could barely find her words, but she knew she had to say what she was going to say before she changed her mind.
Pulling the door closed behind her, she stepped down so she was level with him.
“Brodie, I think we should tell Zoey the truth.” She was so nervous she could barely concentrate, half from being in his proximity, half from what she’d just said.
But she felt the start of a smile as she warmed to the idea, her confidence in it, in him, growing as she spoke.
“I think it’s time to tell her you’re her dad. ”
Silence.
She saw it in his glance to the right. In the closing of his mouth. In his swallow before he spoke. And inwardly kicked herself for believing.
“I, er—” He stalled.
She waited. Heart on pause. Please don’t say it, she thought, seeing suddenly the image of her daughter lying innocently on the couch in her face mask and cucumber on her eyes.
Maeve wanted to gather her up and press her close to her chest. Saw herself moments ago bumping into him like a flustered schoolgirl with an overactive imagination.
Brodie ran his hand through his hair. “I’m actually going away for a bit.”
Maeve’s hands tightened into fists, nails pressing into her palm. She felt her teeth clench. Her back ramrod straight. She knew, for Zoey’s sake, she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Oh, right. So…?”
Brodie tipped his head side to side, did an uncertain wince. “So, I think maybe let’s hold off for a bit. Maybe have a think again when I get back.”
She could barely believe it. Her stomach hollowed. “When will that be?”
He sucked in a breath. “It’s hard to tell with these kinds of trips. Could be a week, could be a month.” He laughed like it was all just a joke.
She shook her head barely able to believe what she was hearing.
“What?” He had the audacity to feign innocence.
“Are you really doing this?” She had to confirm.
“Doing what?” Again with the innocence.
She stepped forward, closer, feeling the ire coursing through her body, seething through her muscles, just shy of pushing him with both hands, she hissed, “You’re running away.”
“I’m not running away, I’m going on a vacation.” He said it like she was making a big deal of something.
“You’re running away and you know it.” She could cope with him running away from her—she’d been stupid to fall for his charm—but running from Zoey… Her lip curled. “You didn’t have a vacation planned.”
“I did!” He laughed.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me.” Her blood was pounding.
“I’m not laughing at—”
She cut him off. “This is a child’s life.
Your child. You said you wanted to be a part of it.
You don’t just go on holiday, Brodie, in the middle of getting to know an eight-year-old, that’s not how it’s done.
” She had to step away from him. “I knew you’d do this.
” She turned, pushing her hands through her hair.
“It was too good to be true—the cabin, the jokes, the ‘I’m great with the kids.’” She shook her head at her own naivety.
“Even your darn smile. You’re perfect for five minutes, but it’s all just…
” She searched for the words. “What is it, Brodie? An act?”
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t refute it.
There was no hint of a smile now. The jokey claims of a vacation gone.
No witty comeback. Just the silence confirming that he was going and who knew when he would be back.
Maybe, at best, he might tell Zoey six months from now and swoop into her life every now and then with Taylor Swift tickets.
Maeve almost stamped her foot. “I’m so stupid!”
He pushed his hands into his pockets, wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” She laughed humorlessly, then she sighed, knowing the gates were open now and at some point she would have the task of explaining to her daughter that this restless, unreliable guy was her dad.
Somehow make sure she never got too close because he would always let her down. “You’d better go.”
Brodie looked down at the tired welcome mat for a second then up at her, brow furrowed, the eyes of a sad, regretful child, and nodded.
Maeve didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to feel remotely sorry for him, so she turned and went inside, closing the front door without looking back.
For a second, she stood there, exactly where she’d been just quarter of an hour ago, checking her reflection in the mirror. What a fool. Who gets duped by the same guy twice? Maybe he’d send her another signed photo. She closed her eyes and felt the sudden overwhelming press of tears.
“Mom!”
She quickly wiped them away. “Coming, honey.”