Chapter 31
ICE CREAM MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER
LYDIA
My phone rings as I finish writing Fletcher’s name on the gift tag. I glance down, expecting it to be one of the girls or Dottie, since we’ve been talking about baby shower ideas all morning, but my mom’s name lights up the screen.
I take a deep breath and debate my options. I could answer it, wish her a Merry Christmas, and listen to her talk for however long about the next trip she’s planning, or what drama her friends at the dinner club are getting into lately.
Or I could ignore it, like I told myself a few weeks ago that I should. Part of me is curious to see what she has to say, still yearning for the attention my inner child needs.
I sent my parents the ultrasound photo the other day, giving them a quick update and letting them know all is well with the baby and me, but I haven't heard back. I’ve been talking Dottie’s ear off, texting her with random questions, and basically pretending she’s my mom.
Without thinking more, I swipe my thumb across the screen, answering the call.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, resting a hand on my not-quite-there baby bump.
“How are you?” Her voice is the familiar cool tone it always is.
“I’m doing well.” It’s surprising that she asks how I am. I keep speaking so she doesn’t try to take over the conversation. “I had my ultrasound the other day. Did you see the photos I sent?”
“I did, yes.” Her voice is even, not betraying any sort of emotion—joy or otherwise.
“What do you think?” I cautiously ask.
“It’s an ultrasound photo. It’s not like I can see what it looks like.”
The small amount of hope I had deflates like a balloon. “Right,” I murmur, picking at a loose string on the hem of my shirt. Hanging up would end badly, so I change the subject. “What are you and Dad doing for Christmas?”
“Your dad’s co-pilot invited us to the dinner club with his wife.”
“Oh, that’s nice of them,” I say, trying to hold back my tears.
“Yes, very nice. Now, are you going to be having a baby shower?”
Her words are such a shock that I nearly choke on air.
Why is she asking about a baby shower when a minute ago she couldn’t care less about the ultrasound of her grandchild? I haven’t heard from her in months.
“I am,” I tentatively say. “My friends and Fletcher’s mom are hosting it.”
“And you didn’t think to include your mother?” she asks, more quietly. “That’s just cruel.”
“I…” What does she want me to say? “I didn’t think you’d be interested in coming.”
Mom scoffs. “My daughter is having a baby. I should be the one hosting your baby shower. It would make the most sense to have it at the dinner club, so all the ladies can come.”
What is happening? The dinner club? Hosting? “What? No, Mom—”
She interrupts me. “We will have to plan it for some time before you can no longer fly. When are you due?”
“May twenty-seventh,” I say, my mind running on overdrive. “Wait, Mom, no.”
She finally stops her rambling.
“I’m having my baby shower here,” I state firmly. “I don’t want to fly for my baby shower. Besides, if we had it there, none of my friends would be able to come.”
“Well, you can’t expect me to host it when I’m across the country.
” The subtle irritation I’ve heard in her voice anytime something doesn’t go her way is slowly appearing.
“Mothers typically host their daughter’s baby showers if there are no aunts on her mother’s side.
I can’t believe you would take this opportunity away from me. You know I love hosting parties.”
I try not to let the guilt take over, but it’s there, sinking its claws into my chest and digging deep.
“I already have someone to host it.” I press a palm to my forehead. This conversation took a turn, and I am still trying to catch up. “Remember?”
This is the last chance I have for her to try to be a part of my pregnancy, of this part of my life, hits me. I know it’s futile, but I want to try anyway.
“I know it would be hard to host it here, but I want you to be a part of this. Will you please come here? I can give you Grace and Zoey’s numbers. I’m sure they’d be happy to have you help.”
There’s a long beat of silence, then a heavy sigh. “Yes. Give me their numbers.”
A breath of relief escapes my lungs. “I will. Thank you. I’m excited for you to be a part of this.”
Really, I am. I want my mom to be happy for me, to be happy for me, and to be part of my child’s life. If this is the first step, I’m ready to take it.
“Yes, well, we’ll see,” she says hesitantly. “I should go. Send me their numbers so we can coordinate.”
“I will, I love you,” I say, hoping that she says it back.
“Mmm, yes. You too. Goodbye.” She hangs up the phone before I can speak another word.
After the call ends, I’m left feeling conflicted, confused, nervous, and honestly a little steamrolled.
Was I guilted into that? The last five minutes are a blur. I set down my phone, slumping back into the couch. Thankfully, Fletcher will be home soon.
I didn’t even get the opportunity to tell my mom we’re dating.
A shaking on my shoulder pulls me out of a deep sleep.
“Lydi,” a familiar voice says.
My eyes flutter open to meet the green ones that take up residence in all my dreams.
“Hey,” I mumble, my voice scratchy from sleep.
“I brought you ice cream.” Fletcher looks a little anxious for some reason. His brow is furrowed, deep lines marring his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” I sit up on the couch.
Must have fallen asleep after the phone call with my mother. I was a bit overwhelmed, and resting on the couch felt like one of the only options to keep me from going overboard.
“Nothing,” he rushes to say. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I’ve heard to never wake a pregnant person, but I didn’t want your ice cream to melt.”
I quirk my eyebrow, stifling a giggle. “I think the saying is to never wake a sleeping baby, not a pregnant person, but thank you.” I scoot back, pulling my blanket over my lap. I hold out my hand, making a grabbing motion with my finger. “Gimme.”
Fletcher laughs, then hands me the pint of double brownie chocolate ice cream. He passes me the spoon and sits on the couch next to me.
“Santa came early,” I say, gesturing to the ice cream. “Thank you, Santa.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Claus.” He laughs again, leaning over and kissing my temple.
I scoop a hearty spoonful out and shovel it into my mouth. When the burst of chocolate lands on my tongue, I groan. “So good. How did you know I needed this?”
“Hunch. Gimme a bite.” Fletcher opens his mouth.
I offer him a spoonful of the ice cream. “My mom called me today.”
I take another bite, so my mouth is full.
Fletcher doesn’t say anything at first, just rubs my shoulder. “What did she say?”
“The whole conversation was a bit of a blur.”
I tell him about the call, leaving no details out, and explain that she wanted to take over the baby shower.
“Do you want her at your baby shower? I mean, she hasn’t exactly been supportive during your pregnancy this far.”
“I do,” I say carefully. “I mean, she’s my mom.”
“That doesn’t mean she has to be there,” he replies, eyeing me slowly. “She upset you. If you want her there, that’s your choice, but I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“I know. I’m still a little raw after everything, and the call happened so fast, but I do want her there. I want a relationship with her.”
Fletcher pushes my hair from my eyes, wiping a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. “Okay, beautiful.”
I can tell he wants to say more, maybe to protect me or stand up for me, but he doesn’t, and I’m grateful.
I may have made the wrong choice, but I can’t help hoping she changes for the better.
That she asked about the shower gives me faith that the time apart has changed things, and maybe she’ll be more excited.
She’ll want to be a part of this chapter of my life.