But she wouldn’t know Sadie. Not if she hadn’t gone to Los Angeles with James.
Anne was thinking about that, about the sheer impossibility of a life without Sadie in it, when she said, “If I could do it over again, I’d marry your father. In a heartbeat. I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“You would?” No denying the relief in Brooke’s voice. “I don’t want to say I’m glad because that sounds really shitty, but—”
“You can be glad you exist.” Anne’s hand rested briefly against her stomach, a place Brooke had known a long time ago and left. “I am. And I’m very grateful that you’re my daughter. My smart, brave, kind daughter.”
It was true. Moreover, Brooke needed to hear it. And Anne needed to hear herself say it, too, a statement that warded against the pointless indulgence of awhat ifthat still wouldn’t make life fair. Nothing would.
“Mom.” Brooke sniffed. “That means a lot. Thanks. And I’m—I’m really glad you’re my mother.”
That could be true, too. Or something close.
“My gay mom,” Brooke continued and then took a deep breath. She put her hands on her knees. “I’m starting to getused to it. It’s happening. Yeah, we’re pretty good. I’m like forty percent there already. My mother, who is a lesbian. My kids’ gay grandma. My mother, who—wait. Mom. Mother’s Day. Next Sunday. Do you think we shouldn’t have brunch, given the situation? I can always cancel it.”
“Last I heard, brunch wasn’t just for straight people,” Anne observed, a wry note in her voice. “Your father says that it’s very popular with ‘friends of Dorothy.’”
“We really need to work on updating his slang. No, I’m not talking about the whole gay thing. I mean the situation with Sadie. The part where she isn’t—” Brooke cut off. “Oh, Mom. Oh no. You came out to Sadie, didn’t you? That’s why she ran over to Hal and Talisha’s and wouldn’t talk to any of us. Because she freaked out and didn’t know how to handle it. I’m so sorry.”
Anne pulled her cardigan tighter around her chest. That was close enough to the truth for her to feel uncomfortably exposed.
“Did you tell Sadie that you have feelings for her, too?” Brooke asked quietly. “Like we talked about?”
“I,” Anne said and then stopped. How did you tell someone you’d carried for nine months that you were just now realizing your body and heart were capable of miracles? “I, uh. I don’t want to go into that. Not right now. And brunch will be fine. Just nothing extravagant, no fuss. It’s your day, too. You shouldn’t be working yourself to death on our behalf.”
Brooke gave Anne a look but didn’t press the Sadie question. “It’ll all be very minimal, promise. The central color theme is green—you know, new growth, mothers, etc. I’m thinking celadon-green tapered candles for the table, plus a signature cocktail with gin, green Chartreuse, maraschino liqueur, and fresh-squeezed lime juice—we can call it the Fern Branch—and then, for the buffet, vegan miso-caramel dip with Granny Smith apples, a cucumber salad tossed in a light vinaigrette, roasted asparagus sprinkled with Bulgarian feta, spinach crostini,mafaldine pasta with pea shoots and homemade pesto, and seared steak strips with chimichurri sauce. But that’s it. I swear.”
“Brooke,” Anne said affectionately, “all of that sounds suspiciously like a lot of fuss.”
“I’ve only got two Pinterest boards and three to-do lists. And Dan’s making the pesto, once I show him how to use the food processor. Anyway, don’t worry, everything will be perfectly subdued and understated. Just the way you like.”
From the time she was six or so, Brooke had always begged to stay up late and watch the adults, fascinated by the way Anne had transformed the first floor of their house, until finally, at ten, Anne had let her. Her daughter’s fascination wasn’t unwarranted. Every party or fundraiser Anne had ever organized—and she’d organized plenty—had been planned and executed with the same attention to detail as the Battle of Normandy. They were perfectly done: tasteful, thoughtful, inventive, and fresh without departing entirely from tradition.
Nothing like Sadie’s raucous shindigs, the entertainment equivalent of a fountain soda made from all the dispensers. But if Sadie’s parties lacked regimentation, they were overflowing with warmth, the kind that made you feel you belonged, no matter who you were or what you did. An embrace. Not a battle.
Impulsively, Anne asked, “Would you let me help plan the party?”
Brooke looked taken aback. “Um. You don’t need to do that. Really.”
“I know. I want to. I think—I’d like to try something different from my usual. Or your usual. If you’re all right with that.” She stared at Brooke, who was biting her lower lip. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“If I let you help—” Brooke began, then stopped. “Mom, I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Just tell me.”
“If I let you help with the party, you’ll spend the entire time criticizing every decision I make.”
Anne was taken aback. “No, I won’t.”
“Yes.” Brooke looked very tired all of a sudden. “You will. You always do.”
It was the same resigned tone she’d had behind Hal and Talisha’s house, when she’d told Anne to stop interfering with her parenting choices. As though Brooke was positive that nothing would ever change between them, even if she spoke up. That Anne would never change.
“Look,” Brooke continued, “you taught me how to throw the perfect party. Nothing out of place. Would you just trust that I know what I’m doing?”
The perfect party, with nothing out of place.
And where nobody—including Anne—ever had anyfun.