Chapter 8 #2
I hate that I have this gut feeling that I know exactly what she needs to hear.
And I hate that I have an innate sense of responsibility that tells me I need to say it.
Hate talking about my in-laws when the scars are still so fresh from what they did after Ava died.
Hate talking about people who judge me based on my job instead of my character when I thought my job said a lot about my character.
Hate sharing personal shit with people I don’t know well.
But this little community Mabel’s built—this community, this family that I’m allowed to be part of—this is what we do for each other.
We support. We share.
We help.
And Cricket needs to hear that she’s not alone.
“My in-laws wanted me to be a doctor,” I say. “Thought I was wasting my brain and talents by not going back to school to be something more.”
“I—know a little about what that feels like,” Cricket says to the coffee.
“They thought Ava married down since I don’t have a bachelor’s degree. And they thought she was wasting her own education, even though when she got internet-famous, she was making cash hand over fist with endorsements and partnerships and engagement fees.”
“I’d have to make ten times what my sisters make for my parents to see me as even half as successful as they are. And it—it never bothered me before—before now.”
“They want bragging rights, not kids.”
She sucks in a soft breath. “No. Surely they—”
Her abrupt pause makes me feel more than a little shitty.
I shouldn’t do this.
I shouldn’t wreck the image she has of her parents.
Shatter the mirage of her reality.
But if her parents make her feel like shit, then someone needs to tell her she deserves better.
I stare at the ground too. “Didn’t say they did it consciously. Usually they don’t. But kids shouldn’t be compared to each other. They’re all unique. And they deserve to be loved for who they are, not for who their parents want them to be.”
Bragging rights were what my in-laws cared about.
The part I cared about was the part where Ava found a career that gave her purpose and helped pull her through her battle with postpartum depression.
But it was never enough for her parents, because saying my daughter is a social media influencer supporting her barely-graduated-high-school husband wasn’t as impressive as saying my son-in-law is a doctor so that my daughter can be the same perfect stay-at-home mother that she was raised by.
And she bought into it too.
Kept saying when the sponsorships and endorsement deals dried up, she’d get a real job again, get back to her engineering roots, use that education that her parents paid so much money for.
They were still in her head, telling her she wasn’t worthy, and nothing I said or did ever changed that.
Worse?
Right up to the end, they blamed her for getting cancer.
If she’d had kids sooner or if she’d started eating better in her twenties instead of her thirties or if she hadn’t flown and inhaled all of those toxins in planes, she wouldn’t have gotten sick.
Reason after reason after reason that she’d done it to herself.
They blamed everything except for what doctors told us it was.
Her DNA. The very makeup of her genetics that was passed down on her father’s side.
The DNA that Lavender probably has.
Lav overheard them saying that Ava wouldn’t have gotten sick if she’d had Lav earlier during one of my calls with them and the mediators.
Thank fuck for my own parents.
They were there for us.
They’ve never asked that my sister or I be anyone beyond who we are, so long as we lead with kindness and good intentions.
They made it look so fucking easy.
But it’s not.
I missed that part of my own genetic code. The part where patience comes naturally.
Have to practice it. Work hard to find it and use it. Question if I’m being too lenient. If Ava would think I’m raising Lav to be wild, if I’m not giving her enough boundaries.
“The ladies here get it,” I tell Cricket. “They invited you here because they’ve gone viral too and they want to help. Let them help. This place—it’s magic. It’ll feed your soul. But only if you let it.”
I rise.
She makes a noise and starts to hand my mug back to me, but I decline.
“Keep it. You need it more. Let me know if you need anything else. And give this place a chance. Don’t write it off—don’t sit here thinking they won’t help you just because your family’s never considered what you need instead of what they want. ”
She looks down again. “My parents—and my sisters—they do their best.”
“There’s doing your best, and there’s doing what you’ve always done without considering if it really is the best.”
She scratches her crazy bun. “But I did this to myself. It’s my job to fix me.”
Those words sear my soul.
It’s my job.
How many times have I said that to myself about taking care of Lav and not relying on the women in the main house when I need help?
But I squash the thought and focus on Cricket instead. “Humans aren’t meant to be alone, and family’s supposed to be there for you when you’re at your lowest.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I hear the tears, and I have to squeeze my own eyes shut against them.
“Been there,” I mutter back.
That’s why I don’t see her coming until she’s squeezing me in the tightest hug I’ve had from an adult since I hugged my attorney when my in-laws were finally persuaded to drop their case.
I know she’s hugging me for her, but it feels like she’s hugging me for me too.
To tell me that it’ll be okay.
To tell me that I’ll make it through.
To tell me that I’m not alone and this place can work magic if you let it.
I pat her awkwardly on the back, and she releases me and steps back.
“Sorry. And thank you. I—you’re right. Of course you’re right.
You’ve been here a while. You know—you know these ladies better than I do.
I just—I’ve been such a disaster, and I’m not usually like this, I swear I’m not, but I’m so afraid they’ll kick me out if I do one more thing wrong. ”
“They won’t kick you out unless you turn into a real dick or betray them.”
She swipes her eyes.
I realize I don’t have coffee spilled down my back, but as I spot my mug on the seat, swinging precariously, it’s obvious it was close.
“Thank you,” she repeats.
I nod and shift toward the stairs again, my chest humming and my dick twitching once again.
Did my part today.
And while it’s true that the women here will help her, the rest of her journey really is up to her.
I hope she gets through it quickly.
So she can move out.