She salutes me dejectedly. “See you then, boss.”
Boss.I could get used to that . . .
I know she’s only agreed to be my assistant, but I can’t help but hope that this might be the beginning of a new chapter for us.
The start of a second chance I don’t deserve.
Evie
Sunday, September 4, 2022
DadandFrancine’s10-yearwedding anniversary invite came in the mail yesterday. I’ve already decided I’m not going.
It’s not like I have anything against Francine. She’s very sweet, and I know she’s always wanted children of her own—daughters, in particular. She must have terrible luck to have ended up with me as a stepdaughter.
Anyway, Francine isn’t the problem. It’s Dad. I can’t be in the same room with him without needing a drink. To tell the full story would take a lifetime, but the gist of it is this—Richard Montgomery wanted the perfect daughter, and instead, he got me. I’m the carbon copy of my mother, and he can’t stand me because of it.
When Mom left Dad, I had a mental breakdown—to put it mildly. He sent me away to the nearest loony bin because he didn’t want to deal with me after everything Mom put him through, and after that, things became exponentially worse between us.
But then Dad married Francine, and he started going to church. If I thought I hated him before Francine, I hated him even more after her. Suddenly, he was trying to “connect” with me; usually, he’d try to take me shopping, assuming that’s all teenage girls wanted to do. I had no interest in shopping, though. Besides, I knew it was all fake. He just wanted me to accept Francine as my new mommy.
This post-Francine version of Dad drove me nuts. He started dragging me to church, pushing me to join Bible studies, forcing me to take classes on baptism . . . Dad has always wanted me to be someone I’m not, and after marrying Francine, he wanted me to become their perfunctory, pious little church princess.
As soon as I opened the invite, I knew I needed to talk to Brandon. Over the last few months, he’s become my number-one confidant with pretty much everything. Nothing is off the table when we chat.
With the anniversary invite in hand, I headed to his place. I could hear Teddy screaming from inside when I reached the front door. I didn’t bother knocking—just barged inside and went straight to the nursery.
When Brandon saw me, the relief on his face pierced my heart. The poor guy. He looked so lost and overwhelmed. His hair was a mess, he had dark circles beneath his eyes, and he was covered in baby vomit. “Evie,” he gasped, frantically bouncing his screaming infant. “Thank goodness you’re here. I don’t know what to do. He won’t stop crying.”
I rattled off a checklist of what infants need as I approached, and Brandon nodded at each. Changed, check. Fed, kind of. Apparently, Teddy barely tolerates bottles, and it’s not like Brandon can “whip out a boob and breastfeed him when he’s upset.”
His crass choice of words made me laugh, and it broke the tension. Brandon let out a shaky, uncertain laugh, too, gazing at his disquieted son as he bounced him from side to side. He glanced up at me suddenly, his brows knitted in concern. Tentatively, he wondered if a woman’s touch might soothe him.
Eager to help out, I held my arms open.
Brandon shifted Teddy into my arms, and I turned him onto his side, then gently eased him onto my forearm, belly down, ensuring his head was higher than his stomach. As soon as I tipped him over like that, his wails tapered into soft hiccups, then gradually faded into contented little coos as I swayed him back and forth, rubbing soothing circles into his back. When he finally went quiet, I looked up and gave Brandon a triumphant smile.
Relieved, he sank down onto the rocking chair and lowered his head into his hands. He confided that Teddy had been crying since Cora dropped him off yesterday morning. He’s exclusively breastfed, and Cora nurses to soothe him, too. Brandon lifted his head and let out a long sigh. “Obviously, I’m lacking in that department.” He gestured to his chest, indicating his useless nipples.
I smirked, and he laughed lifelessly, then slouched down into the chair, totally spent. He said he thought about calling Cora for help but was afraid that she’d come and take him. She thinks it’s separation anxiety.
My heart sank, seeing him look so exhausted and dejected. I gently posited that it might just be reflux. Perhaps that’s why that position had soothed him.
His eyes dropped to his son, and he smiled. “Well, would you look at that?” he whispered, in awe. “He’s asleep.”
I laughed softly, craning my neck to take a look. Sure enough, Teddy’s face was relaxed in a peaceful state of repose. He was so squishy and scrumptious-looking. Cute enough to eat.
Brandon stood and approached me. Lifting my chin, he squeezed my cheeks, forcing my lips to pucker like a fish. “Thank you, Spitfire. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He has no idea how badly I feel the same.
We retired to the living room, and after carefully transferring Teddy into Brandon’s arms, I asked him if I could talk to him about the situation with Dad. Brandon once said I could bend his ear about anything, and I planned to take him up on that offer.
After we got comfortable on the couch, I told him that I wasn’t going to Dad’s anniversary party. Judging by his dry expression, I knew right away that he didn’t approve of my decision. But, as always, he gave me the space I needed to explain myself. But casually explaining that I won’t be missed quickly devolved into complaining about our rocky relationship.
Sure, I was a little hotheaded as a teenager, and I gave Dad a lot of trouble after Mom left, buthewas the one who threatened to send me away—one of the most hurtful things a parent could do, if you ask me. If it weren’t for the fact that Grandma had taken me in, I would have had to go. Still, I wanted his approval, so I tried to make up for my wayward teenage years by attempting to be the daughter he clearly wanted me to be. I almost married Adam to please him and make him proud. But because I had remained true to myself, I was as good as dead to him. After I ended my engagement, Dad cut me off. He barely acknowledges my existence anymore. So why would he want me at his anniversary party? He had Jamie, the glory child. I only ever complicated things. My invite was probably just a pity invite from Francine.
“Did you know dad once told me that mom is hard to love?” Brandon frowned disapprovingly. “I assume he probably thinks the same thing about me. You know, sometimes, I wish I’d never been born.”
