Page 83 of The Scent of Happiness

“He’s arrogant too,” Brooke said. She wasn’t fooled by the way he let her teach him soapmaking, or let her beat him when they tried that dance-off game. Dammit, brain! I’m trying to make a point here. Leave it to her to think up contrary examples to everything that came out of her mouth.

“He only cares about winning.” Brooke’s brain couldn’t argue with that. She picked up a bar of Rebel Boss and held it under her nose, reaching for the subtle scent of grapefruit and cedarwood.

Mom moved to the next shelf and neatened a display of candles. “I think what he wanted to win most of all was you.”

“I’m not a prize, Mother.”

Mom continued to move candles on the shelf.

“If he wanted to be with me, he was doing it all wrong.”

Mom laughed. “Yes, I’d agree with that.”

Brooke laughed with her, then sobered. “Actually, that part was good.”

Mom slapped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know about that. Let me be blissful in my ignorance.”

“A lot of things were good,” Brooke wiped the edge of her eye.

Mom touched gentle hands to Brooke’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “Hey, pumpkin. I don’t know exactly what happened. And I shouldn’t know because you’re an adult and this is your life. But I’m your mother, and I can see that you’re not happy right now.”

“I’m fine.” Brooke couldn’t look at her. “I’ll be all right.”

Mom patted her shoulders. “Do you remember when you were little, and you’d come home from school crying about something that happened on the playground or the bus, because one of the other kids had been mean to you?”

“Don’t all children do that?”

“You did it more than most.”

“That was before I got the good drugs.”

“Even after your diagnosis, you were sometimes too much for the other kids. You didn’t know how to handle it, so you’d cry to me. There was nothing I could do to fix it. I couldn’t make the other kids like you, or be nice to you. But that’s not what you needed. You needed me to listen, to understand. Do you remember what I used to say to you?”

“Yeah.” Brooke gave her a weak smile. “You’d say, ‘how about a hug for your hurt feelings?’”

Mom opened her arms. “Well, how about it?”

Brooke flung herself into her mother’s embrace, not caring that Mom always squeezed too hard. Every emotion she’d been holding back seemed to escape with her tears and today she wanted to feel fully enveloped. She needed her mother’s love to help hold her together. She breathed in Mom’s homey scent between sobs.

“I don’t know what to do,” Brooke said when her tears dried. “I ruined everything and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Yes, you do,” Mom said. “You’re an amazing woman with coping skills up the wazoo. You can do this.”

“I tried. When in doubt, I make soap.” Brooke flung an arm toward the Mixed Suds display. “But it’s not working. My old soaps are almost gone and my new soaps are horrible. I’m trying so hard to be a business success. I’m following this book I got from the library.”

“Why?” Mom asked.

“Why, what?” Brooke asked. “The book? I don’t know. I’m trying to be smart. To use my head.”

“Why?” Mom asked again. “When has that ever worked?”

Brooke reared back. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Mom flapped her hands, waving her words away. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I mean that you’re special. You’re one of a kind. So why are you following someone else’s blueprint for success?”

Brooke rubbed the back of her neck. “All moms think their kids are special.”

“I know. But you truly are. You have a unique way of thinking. A singular approach to the world.” Mom reached out a finger and tapped Brooke’s nose. “Use it.”