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I don’t see anyone until the next day. I’m too busy taking care of two sick kids, and when Candice and Fiona stop by with big platters of food, soup, and a box with my mediocre pottery, I give them a grateful smile. “I haven’t eaten in forever. Thank you. The kids are sleeping, but the soup will be great.”
“Fallon made it from scratch,” Candice says, opening the fridge and propping it with her hip while she puts the food away.
Fiona lifts my slightly misshapen bowl, glazed in bright pink. “It was supposed to be green but somehow turned pink when it was fired in the kiln. Don’t ask me how.”
I snort. “That’s fine. I’m not exactly going to frame it or anything.”
“You should see what Mac made. It was gorgeous. He brought a few samples of different glazed pots and mugs to show us what was possible, and I think I’m going to order all new crockery for the café,” Fiona says, running her fingers over the uneven edge of my new jewelry tray.
“Apparently he’s famous in the pottery world,” I say, putting my new bowl in the cupboard.
“It shows. I think his stuff would fit the Four Cups’ aesthetic.”
“Definitely,” Candice says. “And with the extra money we made with the catering contract at the beginning of the summer, I’m fully supportive of upgrading.” Without me having to ask, my sister starts cleaning. She glances at me over her shoulder and nods to the messy mop of hair on my head and grubby athletic clothes I’m wearing. “Go shower. We’ll clean up and check on the kids.”
What would I do without them? Sometimes, I worry that moving the kids away from Kevin was a bad decision, but I’d discussed it with him prior to the move, and he seemed almost relieved that he wouldn’t have to take care of them fifty percent of the time. When we were married, he could barely manage a few hours without calling me to rescue him. He was happy enough to get a weekend a month with them.
Still, I worried that it was a bad decision.
Now, though, when I have more of a support system than I’ve had in years—decades? Ever?—I know coming to Heart’s Cove was the right thing to do. I take a long, hot shower, and come out feeling like a new woman.
Then I dress and head downstairs to find my mother, Candice, and Fiona lounging in the living room with tea and cookies laid out.
Fiona points to the plate of treats. “Jen made these. New recipe. Double chocolate with salted caramel. Amazing.”
I haven’t eaten a vegetable in forty-eight hours, but whatever. I pour myself a mug of chamomile tea and grab a cookie, curling up on the couch next to my sister.
“How are you holding up?” Candice asks.
I glance at her and shake my head. “I was just thinking how grateful I am for you guys.”
Candice pats my leg. “We’re family, Trina. It’s what we do.”
I lean my head back on the sofa. “Yeah, but I’m still grateful for you all. I haven’t had help in a long time.” Staring at my tea, I shake my head. “I remember when Katie was born. Toby got some sort of stomach bug at the same time. He was nineteen months old and sick as a dog. Katie was three weeks old. It was totally overwhelming.”
Candice’s face scrunches up. “I remember that. I should have gone up to help you, but Paul was in the hospital, and…”
“It’s fine.” I wave a hand. After taking a sip of my tea, I let out a snort. “I remember this one specific day: I was breastfeeding Katie on the sofa. Toby was lying next to me, so sick I was considering taking him to the emergency room. Kevin walks into the house with his mother, and—”
I have to stop myself from talking, because the anger and shame well up inside me without warning. Tears build behind my eyelids, and I swallow them down with a gulp of tea. I meet Fiona’s eyes across the room.
“What happened?” she asks.
“His mother walked in,” I repeat, “and saw me on the sofa with Katie at my boob, and made this big song and dance about turning away in shock. Then Kevin—my fucking husband—told me I needed to cover up. In my own house! I was feeding our daughter and taking care of our sick son, and he had the nerve to tell me I needed to cover my own boob up. I wasn’t sunbathing topless for the whole neighborhood to see. I was on the couch in the freaking living room! My own living room! But his mother wouldn’t shut up about it. She even told Kevin’s sister, and the whole family made me feel like I’d done something wrong. I was postpartum and sleep-deprived and totally overwhelmed, and they made me feel ashamed for feeding my own daughter.”
“That dick,” Candice says with more vitriol than I’ve ever heard from her. “And his mother! How fucking dare she? She’s a mother herself!”
Seven-year-old anger boils inside me. I snort and shake my head. “I should have known then that he wasn’t the man for me. I probably did know, but what was I supposed to do with two young kids?” My finger toys with the edge of my mug. “The worst thing is, I felt so, so ashamed. It was like a burning lump of coal in my chest. He kept badgering me, and his mother made so many snide comments about me covering up, and I was actually convinced that I was in the wrong.”
“I’m going to kill him,” my mother says before taking a vicious bite of her cookie. She masticates violently while shaking her head. “He’s coming next weekend to be with the kids, right?” When I nod, she points her half-eaten cookie at me. “Well, he’s going to get a piece of my mind.”
“Mom,” I protest, even though I can’t keep the smile off my face. “It was a long time ago.”
“He deserves to get chewed out.” Fiona shakes her head, gritting her teeth on my behalf. “What an ass.” Getting up, she moves to sit next to me, putting her arm around my shoulders. Then Fiona—a woman I just met a few months ago—squeezes my shoulders until I soften against her. Emotion clogs my throat. Fiona holds me close as she says, “Divorce sucks, and it’s painful and messy and awful, but you’ll get through it. You’ll be happier in a few months’ time than you thought possible. I promise. Simone can attest to that too.”
I don’t know why I burst into tears. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been so alone for so many years, and I didn’t even realize it. I lived in Seattle with Kevin and drifted away from most of my friends as the years wore on. I knew his friends. The only person I could lean on was my mother, but Kevin didn’t get along with her, so I ended up avoiding her too. I was so damn alone, and the man who was supposed to be my partner wasn’t there for me. Ever.
I guess I’m crying because I never realized it. I didn’t see what was right in front of my face until just now. With two sick kids, no job, the divorce finally done, and more external stress than I’ve had in years, I still feel better than I did when I was married to Kevin and withstanding his belittling comments day in, day out.
