Page 83 of Be Your Anything
“Hannah’s a different story, though,” I say, folding my napkin in half and setting it on the table. “I feel like, if I tell her I’ve set this stuff up for her, she’ll feel like I’m trying to buy her in some way, or that she’ll owe me. That’s not what I want, so I want to wait a little bit, let her settle in to the new life she’s creating for herself.”
My mother leans to her left a bit and rests her chin in her hand. “Do you think she’ll like that you kept another secret from her?”
I look up at the ceiling and close my eyes.
With Hannah moving to town, I knew I had to be transparent with my mom about the fact that my dad had another family, and I knew eventually the situation with Ivy would come up enough that she should know about her as well.
When I told my mom about Ivy earlier, I also told her everything about what happened with Hannah. To say she made me feel like an idiot is an understatement. Nobody knows how to put a man in his place like Brenda Pearson.
“You need to do what you think is right,” she says, cutting me off before I can respond. “You’re an adult and can make your own choices, but that doesn’t mean you should take any of this lightly.”
I nod, reaching out to the table and swiping a piece of bread from the half-empty basket.
“It’s very generous of you,” she adds, referring to the point of our meeting with Trent.
I changed my living will, adjusted the names of the beneficiaries on all of my accounts so both Hannah and Ivy are included, and set up a college fund for Hannah.
“Will I be meeting her any time soon?”
I told my mom a few weeks ago that, when offered the chance to meet her, Hannah had declined. My mom wasn’t hurt by it. If anyone can understand the emotional turmoil of finding out about another family, it’s both Hannah and my mom. That said, I know she still wants to meet her, and a part of me wants to push that meeting to happen even though I know Hannah isn’t ready.
“She told me she wants to care about you because you’re important to me,” I say, grinning. “And that she isn’t ready yet, but she’ll let me know when she is.”
My mom smiles.
“I have to say, everything you’ve told me about her makes me think she got all of Henry’s good genes.”
“Hey!” I say, chucking a small piece of bread at her, though my tone is teasing.
She laughs and tries to bat it away, but the lump of doughy softness lands on her lime green dress.
“I didn’t mean she got them and you didn’t. I just meant…she’s patient. Thoughtful.” My mother gets a wistful look that I don’t see often. “Henry was imperfect, but he definitely had some good qualities, too.”
There’s a pause while I let her get herself under control.
My mother doesn’t like to get too emotional about things, especially Henry Morrison, but every once in a while, those feelings will pop out.
Eventually she swallows her last bit of orange juice and decides to change the subject.
“How was the birthday party?”
I stuff a piece of bread in my mouth to give myself a second before answering. The last time I saw my mom, I was planning a birthday party at the house for Hannah.
“Honestly, I think the party wasn’t her jam. She loved my gift, though. She cried about it a little, and when I went to talk to her the next morning, I found her sitting on her floor reading the manual and going through all of the parts.”
My mom lets out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I’m gonna say you two definitely were not raised in the same type of home.”
I keep my mouth shut, though it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell my mother that obviously we had different childhoods, but the loneliness we both felt is pretty well matched. Hannah lost her family, and mine never cared enough to be around.
But that’s just bitterness I don’t want to deal with today. So, I grin and take a sip from the water glass that has sat untouched next to my plate during brunch.
We talk a little bit more and finish off the rest of the bread in the basket before we head out of the country club’s restaurant and to the valet outside.
“I’m sure Hannah’s great,” she says. “I don’t have any problems with her being around, staying at the house while she figures out what’s next. My issues were with Henry, and I don’t plan on taking them out on his daughter.” She clears her throat. “And let her know I’d like to meet her. If she wants.” She pauses. “You should talk to Ivy—reallytalk to her. You’ve regretted the fact that you didn’t get to know Hannah earlier. Don’t make the same mistake again.”
My mother doesn’t often give motherly advice. Her line of feel-good motivation usually sounds like it’s fallen straight out of a crappy inspirational calendar.
But this felt different. It felt like a slug right in the chest.
