Chapter 9 - Brooke Thought Loving Me Meant Admitting Her Mother Had Left Her
Brooke refused to speak to me for six weeks.
Not because I had done anything to her after the dinner.
Because I left:
Daniel.
In her mind:
another woman gone.
Allison came from Chicago after Daniel told her about the separation.
She asked to meet me alone.
We had always been:
civil.
Not close.
Allison was a physician-researcher.
Direct.
Smart.
Very tired of Daniel’s communication style.
Her first sentence:
“Brooke was wrong.”
I nodded.
“So was Daniel.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“So were you.”
I almost laughed.
Apparently everyone was enjoying this new truth era.
“How?”
Allison looked at me.
“You have spent four years acting like acknowledging your importance to Brooke would steal something from me.”
I stared.
“I was trying to respect you.”
“I know.”
“You overdid it.”
She continued.
“Brooke asked you to her debate final last year.”
“I went.”
“You sat in the back.”
“So?”
“She wanted you with Daniel.”
“I thought that was your place.”
“I was in Chicago.”
“I know.”
“She wanted you.”
I said nothing.
Allison continued.
“Her freshman awards ceremony.”
“You made Daniel present the family gift.”
“He’s her father.”
“You picked it.”
“Yes.”
“You organized the dinner.”
“Yes.”
“You refused to be in half the photos.”
I looked down.
That one hurt.
Why had I?
Because Brooke’s mother wasn’t there.
I thought:
modesty.
Brooke may have seen:
distance.
Allison said:
“You kept telling her:
I’m not your mother.”
“That is true.”
“Yes.”
“But sometimes what she needed was:
I am still an adult who belongs here.”
I closed my eyes.
Allison continued.
“Daniel liked your version.”
“Why?”
“Because it left him central.”
Same conclusion.
Again.
Then she told me something I did not know.
A year earlier, Brooke called Allison crying.
She said:
“Rachel doesn’t care if I hate her.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Allison asked.
Brooke answered:
“She never gets mad.”
There.
I had confused:
unconditional care
with:
emotional invulnerability.
If Brooke insulted me and I remained serene, she did not necessarily feel:
safe.
She sometimes felt:
unimportant.
A teenager tests:
Can I affect you?
I had answered:
No.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I believed good stepmothers absorb.
Then Allison said:
“I told her to stop being cruel to you.”
“What happened?”
“She said:
Dad doesn’t care.”
That hit hardest.
Daniel’s permissiveness became:
permission.
Brooke was responsible for:
her words.
But she was sixteen.
The adults had built:
the environment.
Eventually Brooke agreed to meet.
Therapist’s office.
Her choice.
She sat across from me with arms folded.
“I’m sorry I called you a deadbeat.”
I waited.
“And nobody.”
I nodded.
Then:
“Dad says you left because of me.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“He said you needed space because I don’t respect you.”
I felt rage.
Not at Brooke.
Daniel.
“I did not leave because of you.”
She stared.
“Then why?”
“Because your father grabbed me and told me I didn’t matter.”
Brooke looked away.
“He was mad.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
She became quiet.
Then:
“Are you divorcing him?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Brooke’s eyes filled.
“I ruin everything.”
“No.”
Firm.
She flinched.
“You said terrible things.”
“Yes.”
“You are responsible for those words.”
“Yes.”
“You are not responsible for your father’s marriage.”
Her tears came then.
Not dramatic.
Sixteen-year-old angry crying.
She whispered:
“I thought you’d always be there.”
There it was.
Not:
I hate you.
Fear.
I moved closer.
Not touching.
“You are allowed to be angry that adults leave.”
“Your mom moved.”
“I may leave your dad.”
“That hurts.”
“But being hurt does not give you permission to make another person worthless.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
That answer came easily.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes.”
She almost smiled through tears.
For the first time, maybe that was what she needed.
Not:
perfect Rachel.
May you like
Real Rachel.
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