Page 54 of Pity Party
I told Sammy you were coming back to Chicago. I didn’t tell her you were bringing your husband’s child with you. But she’ll find out, Beth, and it will break her. I never expected that you wouldn’t know our daughter. I thought you’d come to your senses and at the bare minimum would take a modicum of interest in her. I’m confounded as to why you haven’t.
We created a life, Beth. And I’ve raised our child alone, loved her alone, and worried about her alone. In a perfect world, she’d never have to know about you. She’d never have to feel abandoned by you. But this is not a perfect world, and the time has come for you to explain yourself.
Sincerely,
Jamie
I read the letter five times over, occasionally changing a word or two, but leaving the gist the same. I’m not going to make excuses for Beth’s actions anymore. I don’t understand them, and I will no longer try to justify them. If explaining herself to our daughter is the only maternal act she supplies our child, she owes it to both of us to do so.
My finger hovers over the send button for long moments before I finally release it. Then I close my laptop and carry it inside. I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth before climbing into bed. I’m weary to the bone but even so, I don’t expect sleep to come easily. I’m wrong. I sleep like a child with no cares in this world. I don’t think, I don’t dream, I simply float away and it’s heaven.
When I wake up in the morning, I feel borderline bionic and hop out of bed to make Sammy breakfast. She’s already sitting at the table. “Hey, early bird,” I say cheerfully.
While looking at her phone, she answers, “Melissa isn’t going into work today.”
“Are you still going?” I ask.
Her head shakes back and forth. “No. I’m not sure what to do.”
“Why don’t we join the country club?” While country clubs aren’t that pervasive in modern culture, I grew up going to one and have nothing but good memories.
Sammy shrugs her shoulders. “I guess.”
“You might meet some other kids there.”
Her head pops up. “You think so?”
“Why not? It could be easier there than hanging out on the beach.”
She considers that possibility before asking, “What time should we go?”
“How about right after breakfast. Bring your pool stuff and we can spend the day there.”
Sammy jumps to her feet. “Okay!” Then she runs out of the room excitedly. When she comes back, she’s wearing her new purple dress and carrying a beach bag.
“That was fast,” I tell her.
“Let’s have breakfast in town,” she suggests.
“Instead of my famous buckwheat pancakes?”
She nods her head. “I want to be out as much as possible.” This is a nice change since Sammy rarely ventured away from our brownstone in Chicago if she didn’t have to. She was too worried she’d run into the kids intent on creating chaos in her life.
“Give me five minutes to get dressed.”
I hurry to put on a pair of khakis—in case the country club has some kind of dress code—and a polo shirt, then I pack my swimming bag.
Once we’re in town, Sammy suggests, “Let’s go to Rosemary’s Bakery instead of the diner. Melissa says they have great scones.”
“Will that be enough?”
“It will be if I get a smoothie, too.” Her eyes sparkle happily.
As I park the car in front of the bakery, I think about the email I sent to Beth and immediately wonder if it was the right thing to do. My feelings have been so unbalanced since finding out she was coming back to Chicago—since finding out she had a stepson—that I may have totally lost my mind by ordering her back into Sammy’s life. Not that she’s going to listen.
As we walk into Rosemary’s, my senses are engulfed by the scent of cinnamon and lemon, and the aroma of freshly brewed espresso. My mouth waters like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
Once we order and pay, we find a table in the corner by the window. I blurt out, “What would you do if your mom got in touch with us?”