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“What can I do to help?”
“You mind getting his formula ready? Daisy left instructions for how to mix it up on the counter there.”
Reading the note, I thought it seemed easy enough. “Sure. Happy to.”
She was back with a freshly changed Henry, who was eager to take his bottle. But as soon as Brooke took a seat on the couch with the baby, both dogs wanted her lap too. “You see the problem?” she laughed.
“I do. Here, let me take Henry.” I sat down next to her on the sofa, taking the baby from her arms.
Funny, but the baby settled in with me almost like he was more comfortable in my arms than in Brooke’s. Meanwhile the dogs heaved contented sighs as if pleased they finally had a woman’s lap all to themselves.
“Will you look at that?” she said.
“They must miss a woman’s touch.” I chuckled at the way Brooke spoke to them in baby talk and rubbed their bellies.
“And clearly if I’m not Daisy, I’m chopped liver to Henry. But to be fair, who wouldn’t want Daisy to be their mom?”
“This is true. Speaking of which, have you heard from yours?”
“Nope. And I don’t expect to. And I’d be lying if I said I missed her, so…”
“Still hurts.” I should know. Even after decades of telling myself I didn’t care my mother had left without a word, it stung.
“If I had a switch where I could turn it off, I would. Permanently. How about your parents? You close?”
I hesitated, but then thought what the hell. “My mom left me and my dad when I was seven. Never heard from her again. My father calls me every once in awhile, but it’s typically to tell me about his latest investment opportunity and to ask me for money. The phone calls come less frequently now that he’s caught on I’m not interested. Plus his newest wife has younger kids, so I assume he’s busy finding ways to screw them up as their stepfather.”
Oops, too far. But Brooke seemed to get it. “How is it I can feel bad for not doing enough for Henry despite trying my best attempts, when my parents didn’t experience an ounce of regret for not trying at all?”
“Just means you’ll make a better mom. You want kids?” I found myself asking.
“I don’t feel an overwhelming urge to be a mother, but I’m not ruling it out. Guess it depends on what the future holds. Did you ever want a family?”
“My ex-wife did. Pregnant with her second child now.” I had mutual friends with my ex-wife and ex-best friend, which meant news of them was hard to avoid. “You weren’t wrong, you know.”
“Wrong about what?”
“I never believed it would work out with her.” I was amazed I’d said it out loud, but it felt freeing to do so.
“Maybe she wasn’t the right person for you, and deep down you knew it?”
“Perhaps.” We had been very different, and Tiffany had resented how much time I invested in my career. “I think my attitude toward being anti-relationship comes from never having seen a successful one while growing up. My mother leaving and then multiple women in and out of my life. Stepmoms who’d make my favorite meal one minute and who left the next without a backward glance.”
Brooke looked like she was about to say something but stopped. And I found myself letting her hold her words for fear of what she might have glimpsed behind the curtain.
