Chapter Seven #2
“Yep,” she whispers. “It’s such a waste. He doesn’t even know who we are and now his heart’s giving out.” She looks down at
Benji. “I don’t want to go see him. Is that terrible? Being angry at someone who doesn’t even remember what he did to us?”
“Not one bit,” I say firmly. “It’s a human reaction. And after everything he put you and Gale through, it’s natural to have
conflicting feelings.” I think about my own father, how different our childhoods were. Where Brooke and Gale had learned to
live with their father’s abandonment, I’d grown up with homework help and weekend trips to music festivals or nearby lakes
and rivers. The contrast makes my heart ache for them both.
Brooke sighs, kissing the top of Benji’s head. “I keep thinking about how he’ll never really know his grandfather. And then
I think, maybe that’s for the best.”
We sit in silence for a moment, the weight heavy between us.
“Gale tries to act like it doesn’t bother him, but I know it kills him.
Now that I’m a mom, I can’t imagine walking away from your kids, gambling away their future.
And the poor women he killed—one had two daughters.
I think about those girls growing up without their mother because my dad couldn’t call a cab.
” She strokes Benji’s cheek. “Nothing can make that right.”
“You’re breaking the cycle,” I tell her, my voice gentle but firm. “What you and Jonathan have created—it’s something special.
The way Benji looks up at you with those big eyes, how he settles the moment you hold him . . . he may be tiny, but he knows
he has the best mom. And you learned from the best yourself. Your mom was a force of nature, and you have that same spark
in you. God, I can still picture her teaching me the proper way to apply red lipstick, like it was some ancient secret being
passed down.”
She smiles, lost in the memory. “That red lipstick was her armor. She’d put it on for everything, even mowing the lawn, at
least until Gale finally took over that job.”
My heart skips at his name. And then, because I’m tired of carrying this alone, tired of the weight of half-truths with my
best friend, I add, “Actually . . . I meant to say, I also had dinner at his place last night.”
“Who? My brother?” Brooke’s eyebrows shoot up, and I’m already regretting my moment of bravery.
But I press on, the words tumbling out. “Yeah. He’s still a good cook.”
I risk a glance at Brooke. My best friend. Gale’s sister. The keeper of a thousand secrets between us since high school. But
not this one.
“He wanted to take me to a diner to talk about our collaboration,” I add quickly. “But the place was closed.”
“Don’t tell me. Mama Rosa’s?” Brooke shakes her head, a familiar fondness crossing her face. “That guy is such a creature
of habit. He loves that place.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime.” I fidget with my coffee, trying for casual. “But dinner was fine. He reheated some of his
chili—”
“Oooh.” Brooke perks up, her eyes brightening the way they always do when childhood memories surface. “He makes Mom’s chili better than she did. Spent weeks getting it right after she passed, remember? Standing in that tiny kitchen, making batch after batch until the spices were perfect.”
“I don’t think he’d disagree.” The weight of what I’m not saying hangs between us.
“Mom would be proud of him,” Brooke says softly, then snorts. “Unlike some men we know who think boiling water is an achievement.
Cough, cough, Zach. You haven’t reached out to him, have you?”
The name hits me like cold water, and I almost laugh at how distant it feels. “No. In fact, I haven’t been thinking about
him at all.” And that’s completely true—I’d even deleted him from my phone last night after I got home from Gale’s, riding
the clarity of realizing what I actually deserve. “It’s not like I ever really wanted him back, it’s just that . . . when
someone shows you who they are, when they make it clear you’re just a convenient option until something better comes along—”
I take a sip of coffee to steady myself. “I’ve realized I was more in love with proving I was worth choosing than I ever was
with Zach.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. You are so much better than a guy with the emotional intelligence of a potato.”
I can’t help but laugh. “God, you’re right. I can’t believe I wasted so much time on him. It makes me feel like the biggest
dumb-dumb.”
“Hey,” she says, her tone softening. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. We’ve all got that one ex who makes us question our judgment.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I know. It’s just . . . I feel so stupid that I kept trying to turn him into someone
he wasn’t. Someone who cared.”
“Listen to me. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Sometimes our hearts just don’t get the memo as quickly as our heads do.”
A lump forms in my throat at her words. “Thanks, Brookie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She gives me a watery smile. “We’re in this mess called life together, remember?”
As Benji stirs, making little snuffling noises, I watch her face soften with love. She gently strokes his cheek, and I’m struck
by the tenderness of the gesture. Whatever wounds her father has left, I know she is determined not to pass them on. In that
moment, exhausted and overwhelmed as she is, juggling new motherhood and supporting me through my breakup, I have never admired
my friend more.
Looking at her—my best friend since sophomore year, when we bonded over terrible cafeteria pizza and worse boyfriends—my stomach
does a slow roll. Fifteen years of friendship, of knowing every secret, every heartbreak, every triumph. And here I am, sitting
across from her with kiss-bruised lips and the ghost of her brother’s hands still burning on my skin, trying to pretend last
night was just chili and conversation.
My stomach roils. That can never happen again.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” I tell her, my voice thick with emotion.
Surprise flickers across her face. “Who? Me?”
“Yes, you—being an incredible mom, an awesome friend . . . all while dealing with your own stuff.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
As I gather my things to leave, I turn to Brooke with a grin. “Hey, I’ve been thinking. Soon, why don’t we get you out of
the house for a bit?”
Brooke’s eyes light up for a moment before doubt creeps in. “That sounds great, but Benji—”
I gently cut her off, placing a hand on her arm. “Jonathan can watch him for a few hours, right? You deserve some time to just be Brooke, not only Benji’s mom.”
She bites her lip, considering. “I . . . I don’t know. What if something happens?”
“Then Jonathan will handle it,” I assure her. “He’s the dad, after all. And you’ll only be a phone call away if there’s an
emergency. But girl, you need this. A little break, some adult conversation that doesn’t revolve around diapers or feeding
schedules.”
“You’re right.” Brooke’s shoulders relax a bit. “I know you’re right. It’s just . . . hard to step away.”
I nod understandingly. “Of course it is. But that’s why I’m here—to give you a little push when you need it. We’ll start small,
okay? Just lunch. And if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll catch a movie. If not, we’ll come right back.” I pull her into a gentle
hug, careful not to disturb the sleeping Benji. “That’s what friends are for. And hey, I promise not to judge if you spend
half the lunch checking your phone for updates.”
She laughs softly. “Only half? You’re giving me too much credit.” Then her eyes brighten. “Oh! But next week is perfect—we
can celebrate your birthday! I can’t believe I almost forgot.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say quickly, but she’s already shaking her head.
“It absolutely is. Thirty deserves to be celebrated.”
As I head to the door, I turn back. “Next week, then. It’s a date.”
I’m just outside her house when my phone buzzes with a news alert.
Gale Knight OUT vs Rangers
Shit. Was that connected to the call? He hadn’t said much after hanging up with the coach and me calling an Uber. I pop open my
messages and type out Saw the news. Want to talk?
But no. Things are too complicated right now. And I can’t mess up my work. And if anything—Gale needs E.M.M.A.’s help more than mine.
So I lock my phone and shove it in my pocket, keys jingling as my hand shakes slightly. The right thing to do and the thing
I want to do have never felt so far apart.