42. Lark

Chapter forty-two

Lark

“Are you going to answer that?” Willow asks from across her desk. We’re having lunch together, but any appetite I had has disappeared.

“It’s my mom.”

“Oh.”

My phone stops ringing, and I look up at my friend. “Why is she calling me? We haven’t spoken in weeks.”

Willow gets up and comes around to crouch down beside me, placing her hand on my knee. “You don’t have to talk to her if you don’t want to. But…” Her voice trails off with a hint of sorrow. Having lost her adoptive father when she was younger, Willow knows the pain of losing a parent.

Except mine aren’t dead.

They’re just not talking to me.

Which isn’t all that different from how it’s been my entire life, I suppose. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep down, I’ve always longed to have some sort of a relationship with them. One that doesn’t feel like I’m an afterthought. Or like I somehow owe them for simply being alive .

My hand drops to my stomach, feeling the slight rounding that popped out this week. I’m just under seventeen weeks along, so the nausea has fully subsided and I finally have some energy. Just in time, seeing as the season is in full swing, and both Dan and I are going nonstop. I’m anxious to feel the baby move, even though my midwife has cautioned me it’s normal not to have felt it yet.

I just hope Dan and I are together when it happens so he can experience it as well.

I can’t help but wonder how my mother felt when she was pregnant with me. Did she get excited to feel me kick? Or was it just another annoyance? Something to be endured, not cherished.

“I guess I should see what she wants,” I finally say.

“Only if you actually want to,” Willow says firmly. “You don’t owe her anything, Lark. Not a goddamn thing.”

“She’s my mom,” I whisper, my voice cracking at the end, and Willow pulls me into her arms.

“I know she is, but even so, if she doesn’t treat you right, then she doesn’t deserve your energy or time.”

I pull back and pick up my phone. “You’re right. I’ll see what she wants and then decide.”

Willow stands. “Do you want some privacy?”

My head moves side to side. “No, stay. Please?”

She moves to the chair next to me and sits down. I take a deep breath and call my mom back.

“Hello, Lark.”

“Hi, Mom. Sorry, I couldn’t answer when you called. What’s up? ”

There’s a long pause. I start to fidget in my seat, and Willow raises her eyebrows.

“I was hoping you would meet me for lunch later this week. I checked the Tridents’ schedule, and it seems the team is in town. Would that mean you’re available?”

My mouth falls open in complete shock. It’s not the meeting for lunch part that has me flabbergasted. It’s the fact that she took the time to check the team’s schedule instead of demanding I make time and then being annoyed when I try to say I’m away or working. I can’t recall a time she has ever been this considerate of my schedule and responsibilities.

It feels a little like I’ve somehow landed in the twilight zone, to be honest.

“I…I.” I stumble over my words, clear my throat, and try again. “Yes, I can meet for lunch. Tomorrow or Thursday?”

“Wonderful. I’ll make a reservation for us, say, noon tomorrow at Pescados?”

Of course, she names a fancy seafood restaurant, even though I have never liked fish. But I’ll get a salad or something, I guess.

“Sounds good, see you then.”

“Goodbye, Lark.”

We hang up and I again stare at my phone in disbelief.

“I guess I’m on my own for lunch tomorrow?” Willow asks lightly, breaking the tension. I look up at her and nod.

“Guess so.”

The next day, I smooth my hand down the front of the dark green sweater I chose to wear. It sort of hides my small baby bump, which is key since I don’t know how today is going to go. I want desperately to be able to share the news with my mother. But not if she’s going to twist it around somehow.

That’s also why I wanted to show up early. So I can be seated when she arrives, letting the table conceal the rounding of my stomach.

But my plan is foiled when I walk inside to see her already handing her coat to one of the hosts. She turns and spots me, and a small yet surprisingly genuine-looking smile creases her face.

“Hello, Lark.” She leans in to press an air-kiss in the vicinity of my cheek.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her gaze doesn’t drop to my stomach, which I count as a small mercy, as we’re led to our table. We sit down and the waiter asks for our drink order.

“I’ll have a glass of the Chablis, please,” Mom says.

“Just water for me.” I give him a small smile. “I have to go back to work.”

He nods and is gone. For a long moment, neither one of us speaks. Personally, I have no idea what to say. This lunch was her idea, but if it’s going to be nothing more than awkward silence, I might feign an emergency and leave.

“I spoke to Cordelia yesterday morning.”

Oh. Crap.

I rub my hands along the tops of my thighs to try and stop them from bouncing. So that’s what this is all about. She already knows .

“It’s not Baron’s.”

Why that is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, I don’t know. But it is, and now I have to move on.

“I’m in love with someone from the team. We’ve been friends for a long time, and when I ended things with Baron, I realized our friendship was something more. We didn’t plan on getting pregnant, but it happened and we’re very happy about it.”

I finish speaking and can feel my pulse thundering in my veins. I’m certain my cheeks are flushed, and I might very well be leaving bruises on my thighs from gripping them so hard.

But then, instead of the condemning lecture I’m expecting, my mother just looks at me, her expression a mix of emotions I don’t know how to make sense of

“Oh, Lark,” she murmurs softly. “Congratulations. Are you feeling well?”

It takes me a second to adjust, to lower my defenses enough to nod.

“That’s good. I was so sick the first few weeks with you. Couldn’t keep anything down except for crackers and peppermint tea.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, I was sick at first. That’s what made me go to the doctor, and they gave me a pregnancy test. It was quite the shock.”

Her hand reaches out over the table, but when I don’t move to take it, she slowly draws it back. I watch carefully as she straightens her spine, lacing her fingers together on the table in front of her.

“Lark, I owe you an apology.”

I blink slowly .

“I know we’ve never been close. And when you announced your engagement to Baron was over, that your relationship was over, well, your father and I did not handle that well. I acknowledge that. But once I was over the shock of it, I realized just how disconnected I was from my own daughter. To not realize how trapped you felt? How we made you feel pressured into staying with him?” She shakes her head in dismay, and I’m instantly transported back in time to the day I told my parents it was over with Baron.

Somehow, I had found the courage to tell them the truth. That the only reason I stayed with Baron was because I thought it was what they wanted me to do. Not because I loved him. At the time, my father waved his hand at me and dismissed my feelings with a scoff. My mother, however, was silent. I guess she was dealing with the emotions she’s describing now.

“Your father and I argued about it for a long time. He thought you were being dramatic and your decision to end things with Baron was impulsive. Something you’d regret. I tried to tell him I believed you and we should support your choice.” Regret colours her tone. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner to tell you that.”

This time, I’m the one to place my hand on the table, covering one of hers. “Mom, it’s okay.”

“No, Lark, it’s not.” She raises her head and looks me straight in the eyes. “It’s not alright that my own daughter felt she needed to marry a man to make her parents happy. And it’s not alright that you didn’t feel you could tell me that you started seeing someone who made you happy. And it’s certainly far from alright that I had to find out you were pregnant from Cordelia bloody Hazelwood!”

“I’m sorry,” I start to say, but she shakes her head.

“Please, do not apologize. I understand why you made the choices you did. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, not when I know your father and I are the only ones to blame for our relationship being this way.” She glances down, then back up again. “And for what it’s worth, the Hazelwoods are pompous, self-righteous snobs. I’ve never liked them, and I’m glad you’re not marrying into that family. When Cordelia called to tell me she saw my ‘harlot daughter’ parading around town, I told her exactly what I thought of her and her opinions.”

A broken part of my heart heals in that moment, hearing my mother defend me.

“I thought you were friends?” I blurt out.

Mom lets out a small sigh. “Much like you and Baron ended up together because of our families’ connection, I found myself spending time with Cordelia simply because of your father’s partnership. I didn’t feel I had much of a choice except to spend time with her, no matter how boring I found her topics of conversation, or how grating her voice would be at times.”

I choke back a laugh. Have I ever heard my mother speak so candidly? I don’t think I’ll ever truly move on from how toxic our relationship was my entire life until now, but this conversation is going a long way toward me being able to forgive her and hopefully, start anew.

Apparently, my mother feels the same way.

“I know I haven’t been a very good mother to you. Truthfully, I was unprepared for having a child. I didn’t know how to handle the emotions and responsibility that came along with it all, and I fear I chose avoidance and denial instead of embracing it.” She shakes her head, and I can see her eyes glistening. “You’ll never know just how much I regret that.”

I watch her brush away a tear, and when she reaches for me, I let Mom take my hand again and squeeze it gently. She gives me a cautious smile. “Do you think we could…I could…have a chance to do better? Could we try to have a relationship? I’d like to get to know your new gentleman and possibly be a part of your baby’s life.” Another tear tracks down her cheek.

I’m already nodding, feeling matching tears build in my eyes. I don’t know what the future looks like for my mother and me, but I’m willing to find out.

“I’d like that.”