Page 99 of Sugar & Shadows

Of course I was pregnant. I’d felt like shit for weeks. Everything hurt, my boobs were huge, and I’d puked daily.

Of course any child of mine would be a complete pain in the ass in utero.

“That’s okay, baby,” I said, patting my stomach. “Make Mama work for it. Don’t dim your shine for anyone’s comfort.”

I crept to the kitchen, half laughing, half crying, to refill my water.

As I stood at the sink, a deep ache settled inside me. I needed my mom.

By the time I reached her door, I was sobbing again, with tears streaming down my face and dampening my T-shirt. This wasn’t the graceful kind of crying I allowed every now and then. No, this was the blubbering kind I hadn’t done in years.

“Mom?” I pushed the door open.

She shot upright and flipped the bedside lamp on, concern creasing her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Mom.” I hiccuped from the doorway, needing her but so unused to being vulnerable like this.

She patted the bed, urging me to join her, so I sat, my shoulders shaking.

Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around me, holding me as I let go completely. As I released all the anger, sadness, and disappointment my body could no longer hold.

I let her cradle me, curling up against her and closing my eyes while she stroked my hair. It was like I was eleven again. Like I was that scared kid who’d just lost her dad rather than a grown woman who had negotiated peace treaties and dismantled billion-dollar mergers.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me, baby. I’m here,” she whispered against my forehead.

“This is bad. Really bad. And I can’t fix it.”

“I’ve got time.” She held me a little tighter. “Remember what we used to say when you were little? The quote from Mister Rogers?”

I smiled through my tears.

“If it’s mentionable, it’s manageable,” we said together.

Pulling back, she brushed a tear from my cheek.

“Sweetheart, you are everything and anything. There is nothing you cannot do. I learned early on never to underestimate you.”

I sighed, inhaling deeply so I could get the words out.

“I’m here. I can help. Lean on me,” she urged. “God knows I’ve leaned on you more than I should.”

“Where should I start?” I sniffled. “At the part where my life imploded? Where I finally hit my limit and did something I couldn’t undo?”

She handed me a box of tissues, and I blew my nose.

“Part of me thinks I did it on purpose. Like I sabotaged my career and my friendships and the entire life I’d built. The anger became too much.” I sighed. “The greed, the indifference to truth and fairness.” I trailed off, my tears falling once more.

My mom knew little about Eastgate. Just that I’d had some career difficulties. She was in the dark about how I was officially radioactive to any client or potential employer in the western hemisphere. That I’d been the architect of my own success and my own fall from grace.

“Or perhaps we should skip ahead, to the part where I’m pregnant,” I rushed out. “Yup. Accidentally knocked up at the ripe old age of thirty-five. I’m the kind of small-town statistic you raised me to avoid.”

Eyes widening, she squeezed my hand. “Let’s start with that part. Pregnant?”

I nodded. “Confirmed it today. I have a photo of a tiny speck in my uterus. It’s apparently the size of a pea.”

She squeezed again, her face softening. She wasn’t alarmed, and while she was probably surprised, she kept calm and remained present. “I have a lot of questions. But that can wait. What’s most important is how you’re feeling.”