Chapter 38
LE CHTEAU WHATEVER
LYDIA
TWENTY-ONE WEEKS PREGNANT
“Do you want to have a theme for the shower?” Grace asks, scribbling in her crinkled notebook.
We’re at Grace’s small apartment this morning to plan the baby shower. We have a FaceTime meeting with my mom and Dottie soon, but Grace wanted to get a few things decided before we got started.
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m not picky.” An idea pops into my head as soon as I finish, though. “Actually, what about ladybugs?”
“Ladybugs?” Zoey questions.
“Yeah,” I reply sheepishly. “Fletcher has always called me Lydi-bug for some reason, and when he found out I was pregnant, he started calling the baby ladybug. He told me the baby was a girl with a ‘Little Lady’ ladybug onesie.”
“Oh, that’s adorable. We have to do a ladybug theme,” Zoey squeals, clapping her hands together.
“Should we start the call?” I glance down at the time on my phone, noticing a text from Fletcher.
Fletcher
Have fun today, beautiful. I’ll be missing you all day.
Can’t wait to taste you again as soon as possible.
I can’t stop the heat creeping up my cheeks, or the goofy smile that appears on my face.
“Oh, I know that look,” Grace teases.
I snap my attention back to her. “Sorry.”
“Fletcher said something flirty, didn’t he?” Zoey slides into the chair beside me, handing me a mug of tea.
“No.” I shake my head, hoping I don’t look guilty, and I wrap my hands around the warm mug, bringing it to my lips.
“Sure.” Grace laughs. “Whatever you say.”
“He didn’t!”
A third message appears from him.
Fletcher
Might have to reenact the dream I had last night. God, it was so hot, and now I’m thinking about
I slam it back onto the table face down, my cheeks burning as I do.
“He totally did,” Zoey screeches, squeezing my shoulders. “We are so happy for you.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, pressing my hands to my cheeks to quell the heat. “It still feels a little surreal, but I’m getting used to it.”
“And he’s all in? With the baby and everything?”
I nod, my smile growing. “Yeah, he definitely is.”
My phone rings, drawing us away from the conversation. I smile when I see Ron’s name. “It’s Ron. I bet Dottie is having trouble with her phone.”
“Hey, Ron,” I answer, “Is she having some trouble?”
Ron sighs heavily. “Yep. She wants to do it on the fancy computer Fletcher got us, but we can’t get it to work.”
“I’ll talk her through it.” I laugh as he passes the phone to Dottie. I walk her through pulling up FaceTime on her computer, and then I hang up the phone and call her back from my phone.
“We did it!” Dottie cheers as she answers the call, her face lighting up my screen.
I chuckle, and we all say our hellos before I try to add my mom to the call. It’s just a minute or so past the time we said we’d call, so she should be ready. The line rings, and she doesn’t pick up. I give it another minute, and yet again, no answer.
I press my lips together, trying to hide my disappointment. I should have known she would do this.
“She probably forgot,” I say, embarrassment creeping through my veins.
I thought I confirmed with her again this morning, but did I? I can’t check my texts since we are using my phone for the call. Grace takes my hand, squeezing. I’ve talked with both Grace and Zoey in depth about how things have been with my mom lately, so they know what’s going on.
“We can fill her in later,” Grace says. “No worries.”
Zoey starts listing off ideas for venues and dates, possible budget, and more, but I’m not paying attention. Not anymore. Mom wanted to be involved in this, or did I misunderstand? I pick at my fingernails while they chat, offering yeses or nos when needed, and twenty minutes later, they finish up.
I shouldn’t let this get to me, but she hurt my feelings. I want her in my life, but how long can I keep doing this to myself? The anger that’s been simmering inside me bubbles up, and I shut down, my frustrations getting the best of me.
We hang up with Dottie, who blows me a kiss and promises to call me later, and I can only offer a nod.
“Sorry,” I mutter as the call ends, pushing my hair back behind my ears. “She said she would be ready. I don’t know why she didn’t pick up.”
I reach for my phone, swiping to my messages to the thread with her.
Me
Our call is at ten this morning, we will FaceTime from my phone! Does that still work?
Mom
Yes, that’s fine
I scoff and set my phone on the table, pushing it away. “She knew, so either something happened that she suddenly couldn’t make it, or… Or I don’t even know.”
“Moms can suck sometimes.” Zoey rubs my back as I try not to cry. “I know you want her there, but even if she doesn’t help us plan, we’re going to give you an amazing baby shower.”
I lean into her side. “Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Grace wraps her arms around both Zoey and me.
After letting them comfort me for a few moments, I pull away from them. “I know we had plans to get lunch, but would you mind if I take a rain check? I kinda want to try to call my mom, and I think I need a nap.”
“Absolutely.” Zoey smooths my curls down.
“Thanks.” I slowly stand from the chair, resting my hand on my lower stomach when Baby Girl kicks me softly.
My heart clenches. I’m still getting used to feeling her flutter inside me.
It’s like she’s reminding me that she’s here, a small comfort amidst my inner turmoil.
“I appreciate you guys. I can’t wait to plan more. ”
“Oh no, your part is done,” Grace says quickly. “We just needed you here today to get some basic ideas of what you want. The rest is up to us. I’ll be in charge of your mom.”
“She can be a lot.” I grimace.
Grace waves her hand. “And I can handle it. It will all work out. We will confirm the final date and venue with you, but all you have to do now is show up.”
“Really?” I breathe, feeling a little better.
“Yep,” Zoey confirms. “Now go. Stop and get some popcorn on your way home, then take a warm bath and a nap.”
“I love you guys.” I hug them before they send me on my way.
Thirty minutes later, I’m strolling through the sliding doors at the grocery store a block from home.
I walk through the aisles on a mission to find some popcorn.
Obviously, I can’t get popcorn from the arena, which is a tragedy, but this will work.
It’s the only food that sounds good right now.
I grab a few different bags, toss them into my basket, then grab a twelve-pack of pop on my way to the register.
While I pay, my phone starts buzzing in my purse. I pull it out, a pool of dread swirling in my stomach when I see my mom’s name.
I silence the call before sending her a message.
Me
Can I call you back in five minutes? I’m checking out at the store.
She answers right away.
Mom
Yes.
I shove my phone back into my bag and finish checking out. Once I’m back in my car, I connect my phone to the stereo and call her. She answers on the second ring. I’m not sure what I expected, maybe hurried apologies or a reason for missing the call earlier, but what I got is not that.
“Lydia, wonderful,” she says, her voice chipper, as if she didn’t miss the meeting.
“Where were you?” I ask, not bothering to hide my frustration.
“Well, I figured I could make better use of my time. I just got off the phone with Mr. Harmon, who is the event coordinator at Le Chateau Arnaud. He would love to host the baby shower.”
“I’m sorry—what?” Again, I’m lost in the direction of this call.
“I was talking it over with your father, and we agreed that since Fletcher is so high profile, it would be best to have the shower as more of a networking event for both of you. Even if he’s not the father, your connection to him is huge. Think of the opportunities!”
“We don’t need any opportunities. I just want to celebrate my baby with my friends and family. I don’t want some big thing.”
“No, you need this. What are you going to do after your maternity leave? Go back to that job that’s going to get you nowhere?” She scoffs. “No. We’re going to get you out there. It’s the perfect opportunity. Think of how far his status can carry you!”
Nausea roils in my gut. My palms are clammy as I brace them on the steering wheel and take a few deep breaths.
I haven’t even told her Fletcher, and I are dating, or whatever it is we’re doing.
It feels like way more than dating. “No. We aren’t having it at Le Chateau Whatever.
” I wave my hand in a dismissive motion.
“We called you today to discuss venue options, but you didn’t answer.
We can’t afford that venue, even if I wanted to have it there. ”
“Fletcher can afford it,” she says nonchalantly. “I’ll get in touch with Grace. She’s the one who’s planning, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Perfect! I’ll give her a call.”
I swallow down all the curse words that want to fly out of my mouth. “I want you to help plan this, really, I do.”
“Great, so you agree—”
I’m the one to interrupt her this time. “No, I don’t.
I want this to be a low-key event where I can wear a sundress and slippers.
I don’t want it to be at a fancy hotel and use my boyfriend as bait or for networking.
We have decided to keep our relationship and family private.
I don’t want this to turn into a press event.
We don’t want anything to do with the press.
” I realize, after the words fall from my mouth, that I've referred to Fletcher as my boyfriend, but I don’t have time to take it back or explain it to my mom.
“You make it sound so derogatory—”
“Please. I want you to be involved, but I’m putting my foot down. This is a hard no.”
Mom sighs heavily. “Fine. I suppose I can see about canceling the venue.”
“Do it. I don’t want this to be a whole thing, Mom. I want my mom at my baby shower. But not like this. Please.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you.”
We end the call after another minute of her talking about nonsensical things, never asking about how the baby or I are doing, only about how her ‘friend’ got lip filler and it’s migrating. Irritation bubbles over by the time we end the call, and angry tears stream down my face.
I drive home, tears never ceasing. When I make it into our apartment, I curl up under my favorite blanket and rip open a bag of popcorn, turning on my comfort movie, the 2003 version of Peter Pan.
As the opening plays, I burrow in, shoving handfuls of popcorn into my mouth. It’s definitely not good popcorn, at least not compared to the popcorn at the arena, so I push that bag to the side and open the next one.
I’m not sure if it’s pregnancy hormones, if I’m being dramatic, or if I’m reacting appropriately, but I’m so frustrated.
It hurts that she blatantly missed today’s meeting to do something I would never want.
It hurts even more knowing she treated Fletcher like a pawn in a game of chess, using his name and status to get ahead.
I take a handful of popcorn from the new bag and throw it into my mouth, chewing and testing the flavor. It’s not the same. Frustrated tears fall as I shove the bag aside, moving to the next one, then the last bag, after nothing tastes as good as the popcorn from the arena.
An irritated groan bursts from my lips as the front door opens.