“That’s enough,” my dad says softly. I look up at him, his voice sounds so different, and he doesn’t say anything else so I keep talking.
“I haven’t finished—” I say, and then I jump as he slams his hand down on the table.
“Enough!” he says. This time he shouts, and I am so shocked, I shut up.
“I can’t do this anymore.” He sounds tired, and sad. “I can’t take this, Emily. You’ve been back a few weeks, and in those weeks, I have been on a roller coaster of emotions. When I opened Brooke’s front door and saw you there? I thought I was going to explode with joy.”
I watch my dad, even though he’s not looking at me. He’s talking, but he’s looking down at the table, as if he can’t bring himself to look at me, and even though he just said he thought that he was going to explode with joy because I came home, I’m suddenly scared about what he’s going to say next.
Why can’t he look at me?
“I hoped and prayed that you had grown up. That you had found happiness and peace. You seemed like such a different girl from the one who left, and I was so thrilled. But then you started acting in ways that made me think you hadn’t changed that much, that it was all superficial.” Then he looks up at me, and that’s when it hits me. I’m looking in my father’s eyes, and I see nothing there.
“You let someone you didn’t know pick up Cal because as soon as something came up that interested you more, you abandoned him. Just like you did when he was three months old.
“Andi is right. You aren’t Cal’s mother, and you are not equipped to be. If you were, you wouldn’t have forgotten about him. If you were, you would never have entrusted him to the care of a man you didn’t know. I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about what could have happened.
“Andi’s greatest fear has always been that someday this day would come, but I never actually believed it because I trusted that you knew your limits, that you knew, just as we do, how incapable you are of being a parent.
“I have made many, many mistakes with you, Emily. I indulged you and spoiled you, and tried to give you everything you ever wanted in the hope that it would make you happy, even when nothing ever did. I wish,
God, how I wish,
I had been firmer with you, but those days are over. This is not something I’m going to give you.
“I will not let you take our son. It’s just not going to happen. Frankly, I don’t care what explanation you give, how grown-up you think you are, or what you and your boyfriend’s plans are when it comes to Cal. You do not get a say. And you do not get to come back and ruin our lives.
“We are Cal’s parents, and I have had enough of…” And he sighs deeply and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say, and when he says it, his voice is almost a whisper. “I’ve had enough of you.”
I can’t believe what he just said. I sit, stunned, like a deer caught in the headlights, my eyes wide with fear.
My dad’s voice is cracking now, and he sounds like he’s about to cry, and this has become the worst, the most painful, the shittiest day of my whole entire life.
“I’ve had enough of you, Emily,” he says again, and now I am swallowing the lump, and I feel like I’m in some kind of awful nightmare and have to wake up soon. Please let me wake up.
“I love you, but I cannot live with you. I love you, but I do not want to be around you. Not anymore. I will not let you disrupt our lives in this way; you are not taking Cal.”
“You can’t stop me,” I say weakly, but I’m not even thinking about Cal. Not anymore. I’m thinking about what he just said.
My own father.
He’s had enough of me
.
“I can. And I will. We have already sought counsel, we have a lawyer in place, and are filing a petition in family law court to be appointed Cal’s legal guardians, for full custody. The court must do whatever is in the child’s best interest.”
My dad is now looking straight at me, but this time I can’t meet his eyes. I’m concentrating on a spot on the floor, willing myself not to cry.
My dad has had enough of me.
“The judge considers the character of the parties involved. Home environment and stability, financial stability, ability to care properly for the child. All past transgressions with alcohol and drugs will be taken into account. Our lawyer has already stated that there isn’t a judge in the country who would choose you over us. And just in case I have not made myself clear, let me say this. We will spend every penny we have to fight you on this. We will take you to court, and we will win.”
I can’t move. I am using every ounce of strength I have not to break down in tears, and never, ever, in a million years, did I expect my father to disown me.
My own father.
“I can’t believe you would say that to your own daughter,” I whisper finally.
“I can’t believe you would try and take our son away,” my dad says, and the sadness and disappointment in his eyes are like a knife twisting in my heart.
“You’re the worst parent in the world,” I manage to whisper as I stand up, my legs wobbly, knowing I have to get out of there before I break. I have to leave. Quickly. My voice is shaky, but I want to wound him as much as he has just wounded me. I want him to hurt, too.
“No, Emily,” he says sadly. “
You’re
the worst parent in the world. And we will prove it in a court of law. We have spent three happy years peacefully raising our son, without you. Your coming home has only brought drama and pain, and now you want to bring more. I won’t let you do this, and if you insist on trying, I will fight you every step of the way, and believe me, we will win.”
I can’t take it anymore; I have to get out; I don’t know what I’ve done.
The chair goes crashing to the floor as I run out, but I keep going, blindly heading for the car, and I don’t even know how I make it home because I’m crying so hard I can barely see anything, and I’m driving away from the pain except I’m not, and I’m praying that I have a crash, that someone drives into me, that something happens to stop this pain, and what have I done?
What have I done?
Fifty-five
Andi sits at the kitchen table, unable to move. She has been sitting here trying to make sense of her thoughts, but there is no way to make sense of them, as there is no way to make sense of what just happened.
Today she saw the very worst thing happen, and the very best. She saw Emily say the words she had been dreading, the words that would destroy her life, and saw Ethan, finally, saying no.
She cannot believe how Ethan has stood up to Emily. She cannot believe how firm he was.
And she cannot believe the worst-case scenario has come to pass.
Andi looks up at Ethan, his face still with bewilderment and pain. As they listen to the car screech away from the house, Ethan, suddenly, bursts into tears.
Andi gets up to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around his back, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Sssh,” she croons. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
But she doesn’t know that’s true. She would cry, too, if she wasn’t shaking so hard, if she knew that Ethan was going to be the strong one.
He has been the strong one for their entire marriage.
Now it’s her turn.
She will not cry. She will be strong enough for both of them.
Fifty-six
The Prius pulls up outside the pretty cottage, and Brooke, after kissing John good-bye, turns and smiles at her house before walking up the garden path.
How I love this house,
she thinks, leaning down to snap off the dead geranium stalks as she walks past the pots. It has been a wonderful few days in Mexico with John. Idyllic to drift around the hotel’s infinity pool like a couple of honeymooners, lying on the beach with a stack of good books; the hardest decision of the day being whether to have a virgin strawberry daiquiri or a piña colada.
Brooke hadn’t had a real vacation in years. She had mentioned this to John, in passing, and three days later he had presented her with a brochure and plane tickets. She forgot to mention she really didn’t like going on vacation, hence the reason she had not done so for so long, but it would have been churlish to confess when he was watching her reaction with such devoted expectancy.
The truth was, she didn’t like the
idea
of vacations. Once there, she loved it, but she was perfectly happy at home and always homesick after four days.
Home,
she thinks with pleasure, opening the front door, then pausing as she hears what sounds like crying.
“Emily?” She drops her bag and dashes upstairs, finding Emily in her old bedroom, lying on the bed, heaving with sobs as she realizes her mother is home.
“Emily!” Brooke sinks on the bed and gathers Emily in her arms. “What is it? What’s happened? What’s the matter?”
Boyfriend trouble, she thinks, recognizing the soul-wrenching sobs from her own teenage years. This is what happens when you have been dumped.
Emily is so like her. So emotional. Brooke could go from zero to a thousand between dates one and two. She never merely liked someone, she was madly in love, just like Emily. When Brooke was dumped, it wasn’t something she could just put behind her; it was heartbreaking. World-ending. Produced exactly the same sort of crying that she is hearing now from Emily.
That Michael Flanagan,
she thinks, pursing her lips as she strokes her daughter’s heaving back. She liked him, but he was too good-looking. The problem with heartbreakers, she thinks, is that they break hearts. She isn’t surprised Emily has been dumped. If anything, she is slightly astonished it lasted as long as it did.
He certainly pulled the wool over her eyes, though, she thinks. At first she was convinced he was just using Emily, but when she saw them together, she actually thought they might have something there. He seemed to adore her, but that must have been false charm.
Poor Emily.
“Poor baby,” she croons. “He isn’t worth it. I promise you you’ll find someone much better. I always knew he was too handsome for his own good. I know it feels like it’s the end of the world, but it’s going to get better. You’re so beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of you. It’s going to be fine.”
Emily has stopped sobbing, and is now hiccuping madly, looking at her mother in disbelief through red-rimmed puffy eyes.
“It’s not Michael.” She heaves.
“It’s not?” Brooke sits back. Oh, God. What is it? Sophia? Cal?
“What is it?” Brooke’s voice is a whisper, her heart clamped in a vise of fear.
“It’s Dad. He said he wants nothing to do with me.” Her eyes well up again. “He hates me!” And she dissolves, once again, into tears.
* * *
Brooke stirs the water in the bathtub, easing herself up to get Emily, leading her gently in, almost like a child, wrapped tightly in Brooke’s own favorite robe.
“There,” she says soothingly. “I’ve filled a lovely hot bubble bath for you, with some lavender bath oil. You sink in for a while, and I’ll go and make some tea. When you’re ready, come downstairs, and we’ll talk.”
Emily nods like a little girl as Brooke gently closes the bathroom door, her feet as heavy as lead.
She managed to get the whole story out of Emily: How her father hates her, has threatened her, is going to take Emily to court—Emily wailing for hours that her own father has abandoned her.
Brooke left the room only once. She told Emily she had to go sort out an issue at the store, but that she’d come straight back as soon as she resolved it. Instead, she drove around the block and called Ethan to get the other side of the story. Brooke loves her daughter, and knows her tendency for histrionics, for making herself the victim.
She knows because, prerecovery, Brooke did it herself. For years.
Ethan tells her what happened, and Brooke nods sadly, for it is exactly what she had thought. There were no threats, just Ethan telling Emily what he would do if she tried to take Cal away.
Brooke loves her daughter. She wants to support her daughter. But Cal is her grandchild, and she,
all of them,
must do what is best for him. This is why she is sitting numbly at the kitchen table, waiting for her daughter to finish her bath and come downstairs to join her.
This is why she gets up, after a while, and phones her sponsor. She needs some help on how to handle this, how to handle Emily. She needs some help with the right words, the words that will enable Emily to hear.
Brooke is certain that Emily doesn’t want Cal. Emily might have spent a little time with Cal since being home. She might have talked about how cute he is, but she hasn’t demonstrated an overwhelming
need
to be with him.
In fact, Brooke would go as far as to say she hasn’t seen any maternal instinct at all.
She has watched Emily with him, and Emily, true to form, gets bored very quickly. It is fun to play at being mother for a while; but the minute Emily wants to do something else, she will hand Cal over to whoever is closest at hand.
Even, Brooke shudders, to Manuel. Not that there’s anything wrong with Manuel, who has a family of his own and seems sweet enough, but the fact that Emily allowed someone to pick up Cal whom Cal didn’t even know, whom any of them barely know, fills Brooke with horror.
Thank God he could be trusted.
Unlike Emily, who is as mercurial today as the day she was born. Emily as Cal’s full-time caregiver? It’s unthinkable. A child raising a child. A child who has neither the patience, commitment, nor stability to raise Cal.
A child who doesn’t even
want
a child of her own.
Please, God.
She shuts her eyes for a few seconds and prays.
Show me what you want me to say.
Fifty-seven
“How are you feeling?” My mom slides a mug of chamomile tea over the table, and I take it gratefully, exhausted from all the emotion, and sadder than I have ever been. I warm my hands around the tea as I lean my head down to take a sip.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” says my mom gently.