It’s tense. Immediately.
I keep my hands clasped on my lap and I keep my head turned to the window.
“You’ve done well for yourself then, Rosalie. Your big house and your rich boyfriend. Might as well return the gifts.” She gestures behind her, and I spot a pink parcel wrapped on the seat.
Her words chafe but I can’t help the thrill that lightens my chest. That box is definitely bigger than a gift card.
I turn back to face the front, feeling excitement rather than anxiety bubble in my chest for the first time all morning.
I reach for my handbag to grab my phone to text the group chat. It’s barely in my hand before Mum says, “It’srude to ignore me when I’ve driven all this way to pick you up, Rosie.”
Chastised, I place my phone back inside and zip up the bag.
“Sorry,” I say, placing it back by my feet. “How was the drive?”
Mum spends the rest of the journey complaining about the two hour drive to get to my house.
I bite my tongue instead of reminding her that I could have arranged a car. Hell, I would have walked there to get out of the awkwardness at this point.
We pull the car to a stop by a large glass hotel. I glance up at the sleek building.
It’s not what I would have picked for my baby shower, that’s for sure. I would have booked out a small restaurant, or just done it in my living room. But the garden gate was far enough. I’m still not ready to open my home to my mother until she proves that she won’t take advantage.
“Come on,” she says quickly, darting out the car. It takes me longer than usual to escape the car, having to ungracefully heave myself out, and causing a twinge of pain in my back.
Suddenly, a firm hand is clasped around mine as my mother helps me out of the car. I can feel the rings on the back of her slim fingers, the jewels nudging at my knuckles as her bracelets clang together. I can’t remember the last time I held my mother’s hand. It must have been as a child, but one day we just stopped, and I never held her hand again.
My eyes mist as I consider the concept of picking up my baby for the last time, even though she’s not even here yet.
I blink back my blurry vision as Mum drops my hand and reaches into the back seat for the gift bag.
“This way,” she says, tightening her coat around her.
I shake off whatever moment I just had and follow her through the glass revolving door.
The lobby is wide and marble, Mum’s heeled boots clicking on the floor as she crosses to the lift. She glances left and right like she’s on the run before darting into the lift as soon as the doors open, holding them open for me to follow. I hope I don’t have to chase her around the building. I may be in trainers but I am in no position to do anything more than a slow, gentle walk.
Mum pulls out her phone and taps on the screen as I watch the numbers increase until we reach what must be the top floor. I lean against the wall as Smudge twirls in my belly.
I wonder if Anya is already here. She said she’d be arriving a bit later, but maybe it’s a ploy and she’s waiting to surprise me.
I follow mum out of the lift, and she heads to a temporary rail resting next to the door with more than a dozen coats already on it.
They must be here already. I shrug out of my coat and place it on the rack next to a leopard print, faux fur, winter coat. I know by the feel of the synthetic fibers that Pip has nothing to do withthisgarment.
I hook my bag back on my shoulder but mum’s hand is there before it settles, tugging it off my shoulder and hanging it on the rack, “You don’t need that, come on. Hurry up, it’s started.”
How has it started if I haven’t even arrived yet?
I rub my hand over my belly one more time, feeling Smudge shuffle as if to tell me she’s here with me, before following my mother into the room.
And greet my sister.
43
JACKSON
I’m usedto seeing Tony in harnesses, dangling from wires or covered in protective guards. I’m not used to seeing him flat on his bed, his body tightly braced with medical equipment to help the healing process.
