Chapter 10: Brooke’s Version of the Story
“I can listen,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you, and it doesn’t change the housing deadline.”
Brooke’s shoulders eased a fraction, then tightened again.
“Fine,” she said. “I understand.”
I wasn’t sure she did. But I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Julian remained by the dining-room table, the corrected budget in his hands. Beyond the kitchen doorway, the television murmured while Noah and Lily watched a cartoon.
Brooke folded her hands in front of her.
“When our lease was ending, I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if we didn’t have somewhere stable for the kids,” she began. “I kept picturing us scrambling from one place to another, trying to keep their lives normal while everything changed around them.”
She looked down at her fingers.
“Julian said you would help. He said you’d talked about wanting the kids around more. And you’ve helped before. The car, the insurance, the monthly money. I told myself this was just the next kind of help.”
“I never told you that,” I said.
“I know.” Her voice went small. “I know that now.”
I kept my promise and didn’t interrupt again.
She took a breath.
“I was scared. And I took the things you’d done for us and turned them into a promise you never made. I thought if we got the kids into the house, we could figure out the rest later.”
“That’s what you meant when you said you’d already discussed what to do if I objected?” I asked.
Brooke’s eyes flicked toward Julian. He didn’t answer for her.
“We thought you’d be upset at first,” she said. “But that once you saw the kids, you wouldn’t send us away.”
The cartoon laughter floated in from the living room. I felt the sound in my chest like a bruise.
“You decided my love for them would make it impossible for me to say no,” I said.
Brooke pressed her lips together.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt more than another excuse would have.
I looked at her, trying to see the woman beneath the sharpness she’d worn since arriving. I could see fear there. I could also see how easily she’d allowed that fear to become my responsibility.
“I understand being afraid of instability,” I said. “I understand wanting your children to feel safe. But you didn’t ask me to help make a plan. You made a plan that used my house, my money, and my time, then brought the children into it as if I’d agreed.”
Her eyes filled, though she didn’t cry.
“I thought you’d say yes.”
“That isn’t the same as asking.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” I asked quietly. “Because when I said no to watching them, you called me selfish. When I left, you acted as if I’d abandoned everyone. That’s not what it feels like to be asked. It feels like I’m being punished for refusing.”
Brooke looked away.
“I was angry.”
“You were entitled to be angry,” I said. “You were not entitled to decide what I owed you.”
For a moment, none of us spoke. Julian set the budget on the table.
“Mom’s right,” he said. “I told Brooke you’d help because I wanted her to believe we’d be okay. I didn’t tell her that I hadn’t asked you. I didn’t want to face that conversation myself.”
Brooke stared at him.
“You let me think she knew.”
“I did.”
“You let the kids think it, too.”
“I know.”
His voice was low, but he didn’t look away from either of us.
“I made it sound settled because I wanted it to be settled. I wanted Mom to make the hard parts disappear, and I wanted you to believe I had things under control. I’m sorry.”
Brooke leaned back in her chair. Her face showed hurt, but this time it wasn’t aimed at me.
“I believed you,” she said.
“I know,” he replied. “And I put you in this position by telling you what I hoped would happen instead of what I’d actually done.”
I watched them. It was the first time Julian had said it plainly with Brooke there: not just that he’d assumed I would agree, but that he had encouraged her to believe I already had.
“I’m sorry I called you selfish,” Brooke said to me. “I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
She waited, perhaps for me to tell her it was all right.
I didn’t.
“I’m still hurt,” I said. “And I’m still asking you both to leave my house by the date in the written proposal.”
Her hands tightened together.
“I know.” She swallowed. “I’m not asking you to change that. I’m asking for a week to look for somewhere we can afford.”
“The proposal already gives you seven days to provide a housing plan,” I said. “It proposes that you move out within four weeks. That date hasn’t changed.”
“I understand.”
“If you need help finding resources, Elaine and I gathered a list. You can use it or not. But I won’t lend you money, restart the monthly transfer, or take over childcare while you search.”
Brooke’s eyes shone. She nodded once.
“I’m not asking you to do those things.”
I wanted to believe her. For now, I could only listen to what she said and watch what she did next.
From the living room, Lily called, “Grandma? Can we have an apple?”
“Yes,” I answered. “There are some in the bowl.”
I heard her feet cross the floor. A moment later she peered around the doorway.
“Can I bring one to Noah?”
“Of course.”
She smiled and disappeared again, satisfied with a small permission that belonged to the present moment. I was glad I could give her that without promising anything beyond it.
Brooke watched the doorway.
“I don’t want them to think this is because they did something wrong.”
“Then you and Julian need to tell them that together,” I said. “You promised you would.”
“We will,” Julian said.
“Not someday when it feels easier. Soon.”
He nodded. “Tonight.”
Brooke pressed a tissue to one eye. “I don’t know how to explain that we have to move without making them scared.”
“You don’t have to tell them every adult detail,” I said. “You can tell them they’re loved, that this is a decision the adults are handling, and that they didn’t cause it.”
“I can do that,” she said.
I hoped she could. I hoped both of them could stop handing the children promises that had never been theirs to make.
Julian’s phone rang on the table. He glanced at the screen and frowned.
“It’s the rental office,” he said.
Brooke straightened.
“Answer it.”
He picked up and listened. At first, he only said, “Okay,” and “I understand.” Then he asked the caller to repeat something.
His expression changed.
“What about the other unit?” he asked. He listened again. “No, I can’t make that schedule work the way things are now.”
Brooke’s hand moved to the edge of the table.
Julian thanked the caller and ended the call. He held the phone for a moment, staring at the dark screen.
“What did they say?” Brooke asked.
“There’s a place available,” he said. “We might be able to afford it, but I’d have to change my work plans.”
“How?” I asked.
May you like
He looked at Brooke, not me.
“I’d have to take the night shift.”
