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“I just feel that so much about love and relationships gets lost in translation. People are too frightened to say how they feel or what they actually mean.”
Cody’s eyes widened slightly. “I mean, we almost never got together.”
“Case in point.”
Cody adjusted Georgia tenderly in his arms. “I think it’s all a matter of learning from our parents, right? You know what your mother did that hurt you, which means you can be conscious about the way you handle Georgia’s adolescence?”
Carmella remained quiet, her eyes on the brown book on the bookshelf. She prayed that Cody was right, that she could find a way through the labyrinth of being a mother to Georgia and a stepmother to Gretchen, to show them love and kindness in everything she did.
But ultimately, what happened in the future was up to Georgia and Gretchen. They could turn out like Aria, running as fast and far away from home as possible. Her heart shattered at the thought.
After Georgia fell asleep, Cody returned to the kitchen to start the pasta. After she pumped, Carmella sipped a glass of Bordeaux and picked up her mother’s journal, daring herself to read another few passages before dinner. In her mind, she called it “research” to ensure Georgia wouldn’t see Carmella the way Carmella saw Tina. Generational trauma had to stop here.
November 17, 1977
I told Neal I can’t do it. That I can’t hack it, and maybe I was never meant to be a mother in the first place. He snorted at that and pointed to Elsa’s bedroom down the hall, where she continued to sleep. He said I had better buck up and get on board with the motherhood thing since I already had a toddler and a second baby in my arms. I gazed down at Carmella, this gorgeous dark-haired creature I brought into this terrible world, and wept until Neal stormed upstairs and slammed the door.
It is truly such a shame to feel this way so soon after giving birth. I wallow around my house while Neal spends his days at the Lodge (that Lodge that takes up all his time!). Neal is able to tell himself continually how important he is. But my only importance to him and maybe even to me is to raise these girls.
November 19, 1977
I came off as cruel in my last entry.
I don’t want to look back at these in a few years and remember myself as this spiteful, terrible woman. In truth, I want to look back and remember myself as this beautiful new mother, nursing my second daughter while my oldest plays at my feet. I want to make baby food for Elsa while Carmella sleeps in her crib, and I want to have dinner made on time for Neal when he returns home from a hard day of work.
But the reality just isn’t that, at least not right now. A friend has told me that it’s probable I’ve entered a state of depression in the wake of the birth. I don’t know why we, as a culture, need to “label” everything. Maybe I’m just unhappy, and maybe that’s okay.
Suddenly, Carmella heard her name from the kitchen and then slammed the journal closed.
“Carmella? Do you mind coming here quickly to see if the pasta is al dente enough? I never can tell,” Cody said.
Carmella blinked tears from her eyes and placed the diary back on the shelf. When she walked toward Cody, her head spun with her mother’s words. Even from the very beginning, when she’d been only a baby, Carmella’s presence had destroyed her mother’s psyche. Then again, the seventies had been a much different time. Mental health hadn’t been understood in the same way, and women were often neglected, told to make the dinner, do the laundry, and keep their figure trim.
“Are you okay?” Cody’s eyes swam in front of her, heavy with worry.
“Oh. I’m okay,” Carmella said, not wanting to dig into her mother’s past, not then. She kissed Cody with her eyes closed, giving thanks for such a remarkable, understanding, and helpful man, the only man she could ever have partnered with. “I’m just so glad you came home early.”
“I’m going to try to do it more often,” Cody said. “I hate that you’re here by yourself so often. Taking care of a baby is not an easy feat. And we never set out to do this alone.”
ChapterSix
The phone call came toward the end of April. Georgia was on her back in a sunbeam, her little legs and arms up in the air as she played with a toy that hung over her. Carmella was stretched out on the couch, exhausted yet blissfully happy, watching her daughter grow into her boisterous personality.
“Hi, Elsa!” Carmella said, smiling into the phone. “How are you on this gorgeous spring day?”
“Oh my goodness. You just won’t believe this.” Elsa sounded ecstatic. “I’m driving toward your house right this minute. I hope you’re there?”
Carmella laughed and rose on the couch to watch Elsa turn onto her driveway and scurry out of the car. The minute she reached the top of the porch steps, Carmella opened the front door and put her hand on a hip. “What’s gotten into you?”
Elsa looked wide-eyed and erratic. She hurried into the house and sat beside Georgia, her eyes alight as she gently pinched Georgia’s foot.
“Elsa! What’s going on?” Carmella demanded.
Finally, Elsa raised her gaze to Carmella and whispered, “They’re both pregnant.”
Carmella shook her head, not sure she understood. “Who?”
“Alyssa and Maggie,” Elsa said.
