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“And don’t be afraid to lean on your support network. Family, friends—anyone who can help and who makes you happy, keep them around. You don’t need me to tell you that being a single parent isn’t easy. But maybe I do need to tell you not to be afraid to ask for help. The people who love you will be more than happy to lend a hand.”
I think of my mom and send up a silent prayer of thanks that I have her. When I decided to have a baby on my own at thirty-five, she didn’t bat an eye. She’s been by my side from the start. My dad has, too, even though I’m not nearly as close with him.
I think of my good girlfriends here in Charlotte. Namely Mandy and Shannon, who have not only provided tons of helpful mom advice but also a shoulder to cry on when things get really tough. When Maisie was born, they brought me food, wine, and vitamin E oil for my C-section scar, and for that, I will be forever grateful.
And then, randomly, I think of Beau. My best friend from college, and the guy I’ve leaned on for years. Career moves, breakups, fuckups—Beau and I have been through it all together. He’s always had my back, and I’d like to think I’ve always had his.
I haven’t talked to him much recently. He came to see Maisie right after she was born four months ago, but ever since, we’ve both been busy. But I suddenly feel a sharp pang. I miss him.
I’ve always been pretty hard on myself. But Beau never judges me for what I do or how I’m feeling.
I could use that kind of medicine right now.
That, and apparently some therapy and antidepressants.
If motherhood has taught me one thing, it’s that it sure as hell isn’t for the faint of heart. Now, more than ever, I need all the help I can get.
A few days later, I text Beau while I’m waiting for my prescription to be filled at the pharmacy.
Annabel: I’m standing beside the condom aisle at Walgreens. Kind of wishing I’d used one right now. Thinking of you. How are things? How’s Gretchen?
Beau: Condoms got you thinking of me? Good or bad thing? Get your mind out of the gutter.
Beau: Just kidding, pls keep it there. Also, why would you use a condom on a turkey baster?
Annabel: Fair point. And you know my mind is always in the gutter.
Beau: Pervs unite. Things here are fine. Dare I ask how you’re doing? Or is staring longingly at condoms in a Walgreens a fair indication of where you’re at?
Annabel: You know me too well.
Beau: I know you best. Talk to me.
Annabel: I’m not here for the condoms, sadly. I’m here to pick up antidepressants. Doc diagnosed me with postpartum depression. Pretty bummed about it.
Immediately my phone starts to ring. I smile at the picture of Beau and me that lights up the screen, which weirdly makes my throat tighten all over again. It was taken after Green Bay won the Super Bowl and he flew his family and me to Disney World. The two of us are wearing Mickey Mouse ears and Pirates of the Caribbean shirts (inside joke). Beau is grinning his handsome grin. But I look like a lunatic: body blurred, mouth wide open, eyes lit up. Beau was making one of his dirty puns, and I can recall with perfect clarity just how ferocious that laugh was.
A bittersweet reminder of better times.
“Hey,” I say, answering his call even though there’s a very good chance I’m going to start crying when I hear his voice.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Bel.”
He’s the only person who calls me that.
The familiar, low rumble of his voice, coupled with the warmth of his Southern accent, makes my heart clench and my eyes burn.
I dart for the chairs that line the wall beside the pharmacy and sit in the one farthest from the counter. Thankfully, the place is empty, but I still cup my hand over the top half of my face to hide my eyes.
“It sucks,” I manage, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, I knew I was struggling. But to be told—just the word—” I inhale sharply, tears leaking down my throat. “I don’t know if I can do this, Beau.”
“Aw,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Aw, Bel, yes you can. We’ll get through this, I promise. You’ve spent your life crushing really hard shit. You’ll crush this, too.”
I shake my head, even as my heart lifts a little. It’s nice to know someone believes in me. “I’m supposed to go back to work next week. How am I going to pull this off while feeling so shitty?”
“Tell me how you feel. Right now.”
