Chapter 20
Twenty
I slept hard that night, riding an adrenaline crash, I guessed. Yesterday had utterly exhausted me.
Kane had held me all night long. I had foggy recollections of jolting awake, his hands rubbing my stomach, my back, his voice in my ear. “You’re safe, Chef. Baby girl is moving.”
A large kick confirmed that, the relief of her movement coupled with Kane's warmth easing me back to sleep.
Kane had gotten up at some point because I woke in bed alone. My head was pounding, mouth dry, and I felt as if I’d been hit by a train.
I glanced to the bedside table where a large glass of water was sitting. I wrenched myself up to down it. Then I waited for my stomach to settle. I’d been so thirsty; I’d forgotten about the way my stomach lurched if I drank water on an empty stomach. A holdover from the first trimester still going strong.
I blinked at the time on my phone.
It was after eleven.
I’d slept almost twelve hours.
Never in my life had I slept in till almost noon, not even in my teenage years.
“Good morning to you too,” I murmured to the soccer player in my stomach, obviously making up for the sleepy day yesterday.
I quickly made my way to the bathroom, since that kick jabbed right in my full bladder. Once that was done, I splashed water on my face, squinting at my reflection. I expected to look like a fright after hours upon hours of crying, but aside from the redness around my eyes, I looked fine. Good actually. My face had color and my eyes were bright, a more vibrant green than they’d been in months. My messy hair looked shiny.
It wasn’t superficial, though; it was like a weight had been lifted off me. I didn’t understand when Kiera had told me a good cry was almost better than a facial for the skin and a $700 an hour therapist for the soul.
I got it now.
But it might not have been the cry. It was more than likely the man I could hear downstairs.
I froze as I heard the voice of someone else.
Voices.
I frowned, quickly brushing my teeth and throwing sweats on.
I probably should’ve put on something else, but it was my house, and I still felt half asleep. And panicked. What if it were Victoria? Here to say there had been a mistake, and they were locking Kane up again? My fear was a physical thing, clawing at my chest.
The journey down the stairs took longer and longer these days, and I winced at the pain in my hips as I descended.
Voices.
I definitely heard voices.
It wouldn’t be Kiera. She was in Bora Bora on some influencer trip. She was scheduled to come on my due date.
There was no one else who could’ve been in my house at eleven in the morning without an invitation.
When I walked into the kitchen, I blinked to make sure I was seeing straight. The woman in the kitchen was in her early 60s, her long hair fully gray and braided loosely. She wore jeans and a white T-shirt, a thick belt accentuating her hourglass figure. Her skin was lined from laughter, tanned from years tending to her garden. She looked ten years younger than she actually was.
A soft jangling sounded in the air when she moved her hands, coming from the many bracelets she always wore. A walking wind chime.
“Mom?” I rubbed sleep from my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
It was still a possibility that I was dreaming. That made more sense than my mother’s presence.
“What am I doing here?” she asked, her tone bordering on shrill. Or maybe any tone would seem shrill when I was shaking off sleep, battling the pain in my hips and trying to dislodge a baby’s leg from my ribs.
She put down the coffee that Kane had apparently made for her since he was standing in front of the coffee machine with a mug of his own.
I shot a scowl in his direction, making plans for his demise for not only letting my mother in but for making her a coffee and letting me walk down to her in the kitchen unaware.
Instead of responding to my scowl with a look of his own, he put his mug on the counter, strode over to me, grabbed me by the face and kissed me gently, his other hand rubbing my stomach. “Good morning, baby,” he murmured against my lips. His eyes darted down to my stomach. “Good morning, baby,” he repeated, still rubbing.
All thoughts of Kane’s demise flew away, and my body went all soft and melty.
My chest warmed at Kane’s ruggedly-handsome face, his easy smile and the soft way he spoke.
Yesterday had changed something. He’d changed. He’d come back to me. Mostly. I saw the remaining shadows in his gaze, he held himself just a little tenser than before, but he resembled himself more. He was changed, I reminded myself. Forever changed. We both were.
“Good morning,” I whispered as he tucked hair behind my ear.
“Should we run down to see if hell has frozen over?” my mother’s voice filtered through my haze.
I looked to her, trying to step away from Kane, but he merely tucked me into his body. I didn’t fight it because it felt nice, warm.
My mother was looking between us, blinking rapidly against what looked like tears.
“Because my daughter, the career-oriented woman, force of nature, informed me at age seven that she would never fall in love or have children.” She waved her hand violently, causing her bracelets to clash together. “You’ve never broken your word, not even at seven. Until now.” She focused on Kane. “I already know I’m going to love you, Son, but you’re going to have to get your hands off my daughter so I can do the thing she hates… Hug her.”
Kane chuckled easily and kissed me before obeying my mother.
I stayed locked in place, mostly out of shock, but also because something foundational inside me broke, seeing my mother. She visited New York sparingly, and I went to New Hampshire for holidays. Or pretended I was going. Often, a ‘work emergency’ came up. When it didn’t, I was there for the holiday, spent the night and was gone in the morning.
My mother was always affectionate during those short visits; that was her way. I endured it because I didn’t want to be outright hostile. She was my mother, I loved her. I buried that under thick layers of indifference, denial and trauma.
But for whatever reason, the pregnancy hormones, the breakdown yesterday, Kane’s presence, without the armor of the career I’d had for over a decade… I was no longer hiding from my mother. I didn’t stiffen when she rushed over and pulled me into her arms.
I relaxed into her embrace, inhaling the perfume she’d been wearing since before I could remember. Roses and sunshine.
She hugged me tight, and just as I was about to cry again—as if I had any tears left in my body—she let me go to inspect me. Her hands cradled my stomach.
She was crying.
My mother was not shy about tears.
“You’re beautiful,” she declared. “Hello, my first granddaughter,” she addressed my stomach.
My sister had two insane boys. They were my only experience with children, so I’d been relieved to learn I was having a girl for that reason alone.
My mother cupped my face. “You’re glowing, my darling.” Her eyes twinkled.
I let my mother hold me like that, and I held her stare, not averting my eyes away from any kind of connection.
Again, I felt a shift. And I didn’t shy away from her.
She smiled, pinching my cheek.
“I’m making you both breakfast,” she announced, letting me go.
Then she turned and went to the kitchen, leaving me standing there feeling thirteen all over again.
I stared from her to Kane, greeting Blanche as she ran in panting and eager for a head scratch.
“That dog is precious ,” my mother cooed. “Good for the baby’s gut microbiome too, having a pet in the house.”
I didn’t bother to ask how she knew that, instead asking, “How did you know I was here?”
Mom pointed her wooden spoon at Kane. “I called yesterday. He answered, you were asleep. And he volunteered the information that he was the father of my grandchild and that you’d moved from New York to a charming small town in Maine. Obviously, I jumped in the car the second I heard that. And here I am.”
My head snapped up to Kane. “You told my mother about this, us, and didn’t think to tell me ?”
“Yep,” he replied as if what he’d done was no big deal. “You consider yourself an island, Chef. But you’ve left it. The island. Both Manhattan and that place you isolated yourself on.” He ran circles over my stomach with his hand. “You need your family now. Whether you realize it or not.”
“I like him,” my mother interrupted before I could yell at Kane some more. Or cry.
“Of course, you do, mother,” I sighed. “He’s immensely likable.”
She grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is when I’m trying to be angry with him.”
Kane squeezed me, lips still curled in that familiar smile.
“Well, you keep trying, and then sit your butt down there.” Mom still had the wooden spoon, using it to point to the breakfast bar. “Kane informed me you have a ritual of getting pastries from the local bakery every morning, and I’m not one to get in the way of a ritual or of supporting a local business, but I’m going to add a little to the breakfast.”
She turned to plate eggs along with toast, sausages and a bowl of fruit on the side. “Choline, protein, antioxidants,” she chimed as she carried the plate to the kitchen island while Kane walked us both there.
“I can walk,” I snapped at him, still mad about the entire situation.
“I know.” He lifted me onto the barstool then kissed my neck. “This is just way more fun.”
I struggled to keep my frown in place. Especially since my stomach growled at the large plate in front of me, croissants added by my mother after she set them down.
“Coffee!” she half shouted, turning to the machine and banging at it loudly.
I winced, thinking about the expensive machine.
“One cup.” She pointed at me again, this time with the portafilter.
“I can make it,” I offered, trying to get up to save my machine more than anything.
“Nope!” my mother sang. “You are going to let me take care of you even if I have to get your handsome man to tie you down in order to do so.” She waggled her brows. “Unless he’s already done that.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “And it only took five minutes for you to make a sexual innuendo.”
My mother had not always been so sexually open. It was only in my adult years that comments like this came out. When I was younger, entering into womanhood, the topic was always taboo, awkward. My mother tried to talk about it with me, but she seemed as embarrassed as I was. And factoring in the distance between us after my father’s death, the subject of sexuality and my relationship to it was stunted at best.
I’m not sure when the pendulum swung. Maybe when she started to get into more of her ‘spiritual’ side. Maybe it was meeting my stepfather, who was miles different from my biological father. Maybe it was Maisie coming of age, a full six years behind me and her treating sexuality as she did everything else, as if it were no big deal. She spoke about it with whomever she felt like.
Whatever the catalyst, my mother was overcorrecting with me. Too much.
I focused on my eggs.
“I won’t have to tie her down,” Kane answered for me. “Chef will let us take care of her. But I will take the suggestion about restraints; they’re always fun.”
I scowled up at Kane who was already flashing a mischievous grin in my direction, the asshole. No doubt he’d caught how uncomfortable I was and wanted to push the envelope further.
Kane, quite obviously, had no hang-ups in the sexual department.
I kept my attention on my eggs as Mom moved around the kitchen, getting cleaned up and Kane settled beside me on the barstool, a plate of eggs in front of him too.
“I know it won’t measure up to whatever fancy thing you can whip up,” Mom said, for the first time sounding a little unsure of herself. “But it’ll fill your belly.”
All my complicated feelings toward my mother melted away, and I looked up at her. “This is great, Mom, seriously. I don’t cook like this. Simple. Hearty. Just what she and I need.”
The softness in which I spoke to my mother was unfamiliar. I’d made it my business to create a barrier between us, to speak to her in the cool way I did to those in my kitchen.
My barriers were down now, and I didn’t have the energy to put them back up.
My mother’s returning beaming smile made me feel warm inside in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since my father had died.
Maisie is here too,” she informed me. “She’s just getting settled at the inn.”
“ Maisie is here?” I practically yelled.
“Naturally, she’s here.” Mom continued wiping the counter. “She’s your sister, and you’re about to have your first baby.”
She spoke as though that explained everything.
“People have babies all the time,” I returned. “I’m not special, nor do I require either of you to drop everything in order to … what?”
“ Help ,” my mother said softly. “In order to help. It would be a great gift, if you, Avery Hart, would let us do that.”
I had been all worked up, ready to argue the point with my mother further. I had good examples in my head as to why they shouldn’t stay. Maisie’s two children, my mother’s nice but not very self-sufficient husband, her volunteer work, the price of tea in China—anything to get them back home and in the compartment I’d neatly stored them in.
But my mother’s simple, heartfelt request stopped me short.
I felt Kane’s gaze beside me. I didn’t look at him.
“Fine.” I returned my attention to my eggs. “But we’re not doing showers, parties, moon ceremonies, any of that. It’s a birth. A child. Very exciting, but I don’t want any fanfare.”
“God forbid fanfare,” my mother replied, a lightness in her tone.
I scowled up at her.
She held her hands up in surrender. “Eat your eggs. I’m done.”
She turned to resume cleaning the counter, and after a beat, I resumed eating my eggs.
Kane’s hand made its way to my thigh, then he squeezed. Tightly. I didn’t look in his direction, but I reached my other hand down and covered it with my own as I finished my breakfast.
My mother was a whirlwind, as she tended to be. She was not one to remain idle. Even on my rare visits home for the holidays, she was always cooking, baking, cleaning, organizing things for donation, decorating.
It was good for me since there were few moments for her to sit across from me and talk, for her to get to know me. Not that she didn’t try; I just didn’t give her many openings.
Something about this visit told me it would be different. There were too many opportunities for openings now. I wasn’t on a time crunch, there were no Christmas cookies to bake, nothing to decorate, no restaurant emergencies to conjure.
But there was a whole lot of baby stuff that needed organizing. And you were supposed to wash the clothes before you put them on the child, I’d discovered. So she spent the morning doing that, after she cleaned up my meal.
Something that I hadn’t realized I’d missed, my mother’s cooking. It was the one connection I had with her that wasn’t marred by the trauma of my childhood. She made everything from scratch—bread, biscuits, any baked goods. Our house always smelled of rosemary or cinnamon or apple pie.
I didn’t understand the importance of that scent memory until now. Until it filled my house.
I glanced to Kane, to where he was on the phone.
Our home, I supposed.
He handed me papers I needed to sign about the mortgage while Mom was in the laundry room. “To authorize me paying it off,” he explained.
I glared up from the pages. Yes, he’d mentioned this, and I knew it wasn’t a passing comment; he’d really intended on paying off my house. I had planned on setting him straight on that, but we’d been busy.
“You don’t need to pay off the house.” I shoved the papers back. “I’ve got it.”
“I do need to pay it off,” he argued, pushing the papers back to me.
I frowned at him. “Just because I’m carrying your baby doesn’t mean you get to take over my life.”
“Taking care of you isn’t taking over your life, Chef.” He didn’t come anywhere near matching my hostile tone. “And I know it’s not feminist, I know you’re independent and successful enough to cover the mortgage. But you’ve got the baby shit,” he gestured around the living room, to the piles of things my mother and I were organizing. “You’ve picked the perfect place to bring her up. You got the vehicle. Please let me feel like I’m contributing. That I’m a part of this.”
I gauged his words, deciding that they were utterly sincere. I knew Kane wasn’t going to make me a ‘kept woman,’ yet it was hard to let go of my independence. “Contributing isn’t paying off an entire house,” I pointed out.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “It is if you’re rich. Crass to say, I know. But I’ve been spending money on stupid shit for years, since I got handed piles of it. Let me put it toward our home, our future.”
More gentle pleading. And my heart, previously made of iron—or ice, if you asked around in New York—was nothing but marshmallow.
“Fine,” I reached for a pen. “But I’m paying insurance and property taxes.”
Kane merely grinned and nodded in a way that didn’t make me feel like I had won.
Before we could argue further, Mom danced into the room.
“Right, you,” she pointed at Kane. “I have this.” She waved what looked like a crumpled receipt with scrawled writing on it.
“A list. I need to get everything prepared.” She looked to me. “You’ve done absolutely amazing at getting almost everything we need for the baby, my darling. Not that babies need much, really. A place to sleep, a diaper, a onesie or two and their mom and dad. And Grandma and Aunt too.” She winked. “I would send this to Maisie, but she’s probably already overloaded with things and won’t have room for simple, practical items like nontoxic laundry detergent.” She looked pointedly at Kane. “It should only have five ingredients. No fragrance unless it comes from essential oils. And I’ve got some food items on here so I can get started on the postpartum meals and some food to freeze for when I’m gone.”
Kane didn’t balk, just kissed my head then took the list from my mom.
“Got it.” He folded the list inside his wallet. “Anything else?”
“I’ll be requesting a ride on that motorcycle when you get back,” she said with a mischievous grin. “I hear you’re the best in the world.”
“Mom…” I began, shaking my head.
“I’d be honored,” Kane said with a mischievous grin of his own.
I didn’t bother to argue; it was clear they’d made up their minds. I just sank back on the couch and flipped through my latest pregnancy book.
“You need anything, Chef?” Kane asked.
“Peace and quiet?” I joked, though I’d had ‘peace and quiet’ for months, and I’d never want to go back to it.
Mom sat on the sofa with the laundry basket. “Oh, honey, that’s gone for about eighteen years or so.” She started folding onesies. They were amazingly tiny.
“She kissed peace and quiet goodbye the second she got on the back of my bike, Judith,” Kane told my mother. “Love you, Chef,” he kissed me on the head. “Love you, Mabel,” he added, patting my stomach.
My head snapped up. “Did you just call her Mabel?”
Kane nodded. “Saw your shortlist on the laptop. I like Mabel.” Then he left, not bothering to wait for my response.
“He just named our baby,” I told my mother, shocked by that and the casual ‘I love you.’ Had he said that since he arrived?
“Mabel’s a lovely name,” my mother replied.
I sighed. It was. I’d wanted something unique, classic and not outrageous.
Mabel it was.
The bike thundered off and it hit me that it was just my mother and I in the house. I was reading and she was folding laundry, but I could feel it in the air. Things that needed to be said. And my mother was not one to procrastinate.
“I’m so glad I’m here, Avery,” she said faintly, gingerly.
I put down my book to give her my full attention, even though my stomach knotted at the prospect of an emotional conversation.
“It broke my heart, pumpkin,” she whispered. “First, seeing you in those magazines, seeing the pain in your eyes, feeling it. Then reading your words in that article, your story. What happened to you…” She sucked in a ragged breath, her composure slipping a little before she grasped a hold of it, squeezing my hand. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I’m also sorry that I didn’t give you space to feel that you could come to me. That you didn’t feel safe with me.”
Though I thought I’d conditioned myself to erect barriers between me and my mother, her words struck me right in the chest.
“Mom, it’s not that I don’t feel safe with you. I just didn’t want it to exist. I wanted to bury it down deep and forget about it.”
Mom nodded somberly. “That I understand, my darling girl. And yet I wish that I could’ve been there for you. Not just for that, but for your entire wonderful life. I grieve that I wasn’t. But I’m so very proud of who you’ve become. And now I’ll be here to watch you become a mother. That’s a gift that I’ll treasure.”
“I’m sorry,” I told her, shame washing over me at how completely I’d shut everyone out without proper reasoning. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”
Losing my father had ruined me. I thought if I didn’t let myself love my mother and sister the way I wanted to, it would hurt less if I ever lost them. A shitty, cowardly reason.
“Don’t you ever apologize for your boundaries, honey,” she replied. “You didn’t know how else to cope. I wish I had been better at scaling the walls you built, but I was waiting, trusting that you’d come back to me. And you have. That’s all that matters.”
I bit my tongue. I didn’t deserve such easy forgiveness, but I’d take it.
“Right.” My mother wiped her eyes. “Let’s get these upstairs and put away. You can direct me.”
Just like that, the emotional moment was gone, and damn, was I glad.
Kane came back with everything on my mother’s list. Tiny clothes were put away.
We were back in the living room, my mother humming contently as she dusted things. Kane was sitting with me, rubbing my feet.
The windows were open—my mother had opened them all. Every single one. She didn’t like air conditioning; she called it ‘artificial air’ and had turned it off in favor of the gentle sea breeze that took the edge of the hot summer afternoon.
I had to admit, the way the curtains blew in the breeze and the smell of the ocean mixed with the flowers in the garden did put ‘artificial air’ to shame.
Since all the windows were open, I heard the crunch of gravel as a car pulled up, then I heard Taylor Swift. I knew it was Taylor Swift not because I was the kind of fan who could identify the song from a few beats. No, because my sister played it so loudly that I could hear every single word from the car stereo inside the house.
That was Maisie. Driving with all the windows down, her music so loud you couldn’t hear her belting it out along with the chorus. She’d sing one in three words correctly. I’d told her countless times that she should learn the songs, but she’d only smiled and said she liked her versions better.
“Finally,” my mother said from where she was dusting books.
“I bet she’s been shopping. That Main Street has some great stores I’ve had my eye on, but I told her to wait for me and you so we could all go together.” Mom glanced to Kane. “Maisie isn’t great at waiting.”
She said it fondly, with a smile and warmth that made my stomach prickle. There it was. That familiarity that mom and Maisie had.
Not that mom ever played favorites—Maisie was just more accessible to her.
When the music cut off, I stood, holding my breath.
The front door slammed shut, then the clang of a heeled boot on my floor along with the jangle of bracelets announced her arrival.
Maisie looked like a Maisie. She was the day to my night. Her blonde hair was always in wild curls or a messy braid or a ponytail half falling out.
She always had on big earrings, sundresses with cowboy boots, skirts, anything feminine and flowy, really. My sister wouldn’t be described as a ‘hippy’ exactly, but she was definitely alternative, and she had only gotten more so as we’d grown, most especially after we lost our father.
Part of my ‘rebellion’ was being more serious, regimented and reserved while my mother and sister blossomed into their carefree existences.
A jealous, ugly part of me hadn’t wanted Kane to meet Maisie. Not only was she younger and objectively more beautiful, it wasn’t her appearance that threatened me. I knew Kane wasn’t as superficial as all that; he’d been with plenty of women who were clearly prettier than me—Victoria’s Secret models, for God’s sakes. No, it wasn’t Maisie’s appearance, it was her spirit. Even though she was a mother of two, even though she’d spent a good majority of her motherhood as a single mother, she had a unique lightness to her. She was a wanderer, a magnificent free spirit.
If someone had to match up two people, it would likely be Kane and Maisie instead of Kane and me.
Yes, these thoughts were utterly illogical, but I couldn’t help but have them. I’d crafted an identity of being one of the most impressive and successful people in my field. I’d been recognized globally, making me confident in many ways. Yet my baby sister always made me feel insecure.
“Oh my god, you’re glowing!” she cried when she appeared in the door, a huge smile on her face. She was on me in three long- legged strides. Though she knew I wasn’t a hugger, she did what she always did when she saw me, pulling me into her arms.
And like always, she smelled of vanilla and violets.
She gave me a squeeze, a kiss on the cheek, then looked down. “You’re carrying very low; it won’t be long now.” Her hands went to my belly, stroking gently. “Hello, little niece. I’m so excited to meet you.”
“I’m getting an induction,” I blurted instead of any kind of greeting, not asking about my own niece and nephew. It was rude, and I didn’t know why I did it, but I had to get it out in the open before her or my mother had any grand ideas about home births or tinctures or whatever it was they thought was better.
Maisie’s brow dimpled but she stayed silent. Nonetheless, I knew what she was thinking.
“I don’t need to let nature or my body do its thing,” I told her.
“I didn’t say anything.” Her hands were still on my belly. She wasn’t shy about physical affection.
My eyes ricocheted back-and-forth between hers. “Yes, but you’re thinking all sorts of things. And I’m telling you right now, I trust my doctor and modern medicine, and I like knowing I have a plan. I don’t want you making me feel guilty because I shouldn’t be messing with my body’s process or whatever.”
Maisie’s expression softened. “Oh, honey, there is so much guilt baked into motherhood that I wouldn’t dream of adding to that pie.” She rubbed my bump once more before turning to Kane.
“You’re Kane,” she said, hands on her hips.
“And you’re Maisie,” he replied, an easy grin tilting his mouth.
She gave him a quick once-over, not even trying to hide it. Then she looked back at me. “He’s hot.”
“He’s within earshot,” I informed her.
“He’s also likely seen a mirror,” she countered. “So he knows he’s hot. And it means good things for your child, because you’re hot too. Not that her worth is tied to her looks.”
I rolled my eyes good naturedly at my sister.
Her face turned serious as she looked back to Kane. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For calling my mom, for bringing us here and braving her wrath.” She jerked her head to me “We would’ve been heartbroken if we missed this.”
The air in the room became heavy. There was no blame or guilt weaved into my sister’s tone. She didn’t have a malicious bone in her body and wasn’t trying to make me feel bad.
Yet I felt bad nonetheless.
Feeling the warmth in the room, smelling the scents of Maisie’s perfume, Mom’s cooking, the ocean air, I struggled to find all the reasons why I’d pushed them out of my life.
Except the reasons never had anything to do with either of them. It was me. I’d changed. Because of Kane. Because of this baby.
I had a family now.
Whether I liked it or not.
And I did, like it. Which was the scariest thing of all.