🌗 True Happiness 🌗 (Scrooge/OC Ask)
OKAY, I think Tumblr ate your ask @quill-pen because I have searched by drafts & inbox over and over, but I had it saved in a different doc: "So, we know Connie deals with postpartum depression at least after Starla. I think Bess goes through it too, but it doesn't happen until after she has Georgia. Something about having her first little girl (ya know, she can actually keep) just triggers something in her. It's a mix of remembering the horror and heartbreak of Helena's birth and the terror that she'll turn out to be just like her mother towards her own daughter."
So I know we discussed this a while ago, and I’ve been baking the idea on the oven for a long time.
Considering what Bess has been through with her own mother, then with losing Helena? No wonder this triggered something in her. Those are both traumatic situations by themselves, let alone when paired together. There’s also the compounding factor that, because Bess though she could never have children, she never had a reason to really unpack this with the expectation that she would eventually come face-to-face with these feelings again (literally).
And now, without further ado …
It was an act of either the best timing (or perhaps the worst) that Constance hadn’t been properly buzzed into the building that day.
By now, the bottle-blonde receptionist posed at the stately reception desk knew the redhead by glance alone. Even through the frosted glass panels, thick enough to cloister the luxurious interior from the financial district’s heavy traffic flow, she was still recognizable. From the top of her coppery her head to the pointed toes of her Manolo Blahnik heels.
It helped that she visited multiple times a week, after all. If she wasn’t strolling in to see Elizabeth Scrooge, her fellow Yankee of a best friend that lived upstairs with her infamous English paramour, she was strolling arm-in-arm with the paramour’s twin brother. The couples had been together for years, yet the novelty of spotting the couples in the wild still caused heads to turn (including hers).
Sometimes she pushed baby carriage when visiting. Other times, she strolled in with whom she had come to learn was her mother who, get this, was Bess and Ebenezar’s divorced neighbor.
It was like a soap opera up there, she thought.
That web of connections alone would have already created novel enough gossip for the bored receptionist. Added onto her small novel of social connections was the small, trifling fact that she herself was wife of one of London’s most esteemed billionaires.
While not technically a resident, if anyone had clearance to step over the silken red tape of formality that the property manager insisted upon for other visitors, it was her.
“Come on in, Mrs. DoGoode-Scrooge,” the receptionist spoke into the intercom, her ballet-pink acrylic nail punctuating the blessing with a resonant click.
Constance never had the opportunity to hit the ‘Call’ button before she was waved in. A doorman, standing opposite a neat pyramid of luxury parcels and embossed envelopes of paperwork, stepped up to open the door for her.
Greeting the guard with a smile, she then make her way to the reception desk.
“Good morning, Mona. Are you sure I’m okay to go up? You won’t get in trouble, will you?”
She waved away the concern. “You’ve accumulated more than enough good faith, I’d say. Plus, I trust your company is expecting you, as per usual.”
“My! I’m more predictable than I thought,” she answered with a light laugh.
“Nothing wrong with routine,” the woman said, the pleasantry genuine. Perhaps it was her age or the quiet prestige she wore with the subtlety of an heirloom pearl necklace, but something about the redhead didn’t just beckon respect: it demanded it. “Actually seeing you feels like a welcome return to routine, if I may be honest.”
“Oh?”
“I haven’t seen Mrs. Scrooge in a while. I know she had a little girl on the way, and I meant to congratulate her! But I haven’t seen her since … well, I don’t know.”
By now, months had passed since Georgia has been born.
“She hasn’t even come down to get the mail,” Mona added, sighing as she held a thick stack of envelopes aloft. “Mr. Scrooge has, though he’s been sparse recently as well. It’s very strange.”
“It is,” Constance agreed. She didn’t say any else. While Mona’s concern was appreciated and her observation skills were commendable, it was not her place to confirm or deny any suspicions.
Especially if those same suspicions were what had inspired her visit to their building that very day.
With a final wave, Constance made her way to the lobby’s posh elevator and pressed the correct button. Moments later, the doors opened to a clean, warmly-lit hall accentuated with tall windows and cream-colored crown molding. Tasteful but understated, she thought pleasantly. All looked so normal. Her heels clicked softly upon the polished floors as she navigated around a corner and made her war toward the familiar door.
As she approached, she heard noises. Voices, she ultimately determined. At first, she thought that one of the neighbors most have had the television running too loud.
Constance was still a couple doors down from her destination when the clarity of the voices struck her. Their familiarity was such a sudden realization she nearly staggered back, its impact like the weight of a hammer slamming up into her jaw.
She would have known those voices anywhere, and if she could hear them from such a distance through walls and doors, that meant they had to be shouting. Not bickering; full gulps-of-air shouting.
“I don’t even know the color of her eyes, Bess!” a man’s voice cried from the other side of the door. “She’s my own daughter!”
Since she hadn’t been buzzed into the building, her friends had no idea that anyone they knew might be lingering in the hall. While she had been there to hopefully ask them directly about why they had been so sparse lately, she couldn’t eavesdrop on their private business.
Then, all of a sudden, she heard footsteps stomping a quick path toward the flat’s front door.
“Wait, where are you going?” the woman called, her voice fraying.
“Out. With my son.”
“…Fine! Fine. That’s fine. Go, then!”
The next moment, a familiar man existed the apartment swiftly, his long silver hair loose and flowing over the shoulders of his broad Huntsman coat. By comparison, small diaper-bag he carried was a shade of yellow cotton with tiny blue stripes. Cordell’s bag, she knew. She recognized it from the many playdates he and Starla had been on since he was born.
As he stepped into the hall, he reached back and yanked the door shut behind him without looking back. His expression was pinched with an emotion that, while unreadable at first, became painfully clear as he turned to head down the hall. The man looked agonized.
When he looked up from his trance and saw a spectator in the hall, he froze.
Wolf faced her, looking more like a deer caught in headlights that the ferocious protector he was named for. His blue eyes shimmered with wetness, his mouth slightly ajar in surprise.
“C-Constance?”
Cordell, oblivious to the argument, cooed happily in his dad’s arms.
Both were silent for a long moment in an awkward stand-off. At first, his face was a mask of guilt. Then, steadily, confusion caused his brow to slant.
“H-How in the world did you …?”
“I’m sorry. Mona let me up, and I was about to knock when I heard …”
She paused, realizing than explaining her presence was not the question that needed the most urgent answering.
“I came to check on you two,” she offered softly. “It’s been a while since we’ve all seen you two out and about, you know.”
By ‘we’, she meant their entire Pack of friends, family, and extended family. It would have been one thing if the couple was keeping to themselves in general. Such was the case for many couples preoccupied with the arrival of a new baby. But, as the weeks passed, it seemed more like they were both retreating inward and isolating, even from each other.
There was also the factor that the couple hadn’t shown these isolationist tendencies when Cordell, their first son, had been born. There had still been the inevitable bumps (namely a large argument upon Bess’s conception – something the couple hadn’t thought possible), but the sheer joy of the situation had ultimately prevailed.
Now? There had been no disagreements or public acknowledgement of any unease, which was odd. While a couple was entitled to their own private business, there was usually at least an acknowledgement with one’s close peers that there had been a scuffle or tiff that needed to be addressed. It was by no means a hard and fast rule of the friend group, per say; they were just a group of very close people that trusted each other implicitly.
At this, Connie held aloft a handful of mail for emphasis. A week’s worth of magazines, letters, and congratulatory letters to the couple regarding their new daughter.
When faced with concern and evidence in tandem, he couldn’t argue.
After all, Bess hadn’t been the only one side-skirting inquiring calls or text messages.
Magda and TeTe had both tried to reach out to him several times, and his twin brother was all but cornering him at the office about why he suddenly seemed to have become part of the walking dead.
All with pomp and circumstance was to no avail. Calls were shirked, texts went unread, and Wolf even told his brother on one heated occasion to ‘go fist himself’ before ushing past him to storm out of the office.
After that, he had finally left it alone.
“Something isn’t right, Connie," Adonis had told her later that night, teeth nervously worrying the nail of his thumb while he spoke. "The way he looked at me just now. I know that look. I haven’t seen it in a long time. He hasn’t told me that since … well, since his last relationship. When he was scared she was falling out of love with him.”
Now, those same man’s eyes fell to the floor in shame, a sigh fleeing his lungs in one prolonged exhale.
“So you’ve all noticed, then.”
“We’ve noticed you two haven’t quite been yourselves,” she supplied gently, “Beyond that, we don’t really know what to make of things. We’re not a group that tends to speculate.”
He sighed, deflated. Defeated. “I know.”
Slowly, Wolf glanced back to the door. In real time, he saw exhaustion change into tight-lipped hurt. He lingered there, as if waiting for Bess to come after him. However, the door remained shut, without a peep of life from the other side.
The trance was only broken by Cordell looking up at his papa with wide, inquisitive eyes.
Chubby fingers flexed toward the man’s face, trying to grab at him. He made soft vocalization with each failed grasp, agitation building with each swipe for attention.
Upon noticing his son’s gestures, he immediately began to bounce him in his arms. “Sorry, little man. Have we been still for too long?”
Seeing the blend of his and his wife’s features staring back at him with such innocence brought a fresh sheen to his eyes, and he subsequently buried his face in the thickly corded material of his son’s jumper. She heard him whimper something against the squirmy lad’s tummy, but couldn’t make out the word.
They needed to pivot.
“…Cordell, are you and Papa going to have some fun at the park today?” Her hand came to a stop at the boy’s cheek, which she cradled tenderly. It was as soft as marshmallow under her manicured nails. “You like the park, don’t you?”
The mention of the word not only once but twice made his socked feet pedal in excitement. “Paa!”
“Haha, does that sound fun, Cordell?” Wolf asked, bouncing the bundle of joy in his arms. “Is that what you’d like, my boy? Would you like to go to the park today?”
“Yah, yah! Swee, swee!”
“We’ll most definitely play on the swings. For as long as you’d like.”
As he cheered in delight, Ebenezar’s voice dropped low. “And … maybe you could check on her? To make sure she’s okay?”
His voice was so soft, so timid.
Constance nodded softly. While she wasn’t in position to make hard promises, especially when it came to another couple’s private business, she did know we wanted to talk o Bess even more than before.
Now, Bess was on the one who needed her support, and she would try her hardest to give her what she needed.
As Wolf carried Cordell into the building’s stately elevator and vanished behind polished sliding doors, Constance made her move.
With a preparatory inhale, she tapped her knuckles on the neatly lacquered front door. There was a doorbell she could have rung instead, complete with a golden frame and adorable little RING plaque, but knocking was an old habit from their days living as roommates in their cottage in Pip’s Park. Back in those early days, all four girls (and their beaus) had always knocked on the door to announce themselves, and the habit had stuck.
It also provided the accidental but nice side benefit of immediately indicating if someone at the door was a friend or visitor. If someone rang the bell, it was likely a courier or neighbor. If there was a knock, it meant that family, friends, or the emotional cavalry, had arrived.
One tap was all it took before she heard rustling on the other side of the door.
Not a second later, Bess surged out into the hall, her teary eyes alight with hope. “Wolf?”
Whatever malice had permeated the woman’s being when she had yelled ‘Fine!’ earlier as her husband walked out of his flat had since evaporated. Now, all that remained of her outburst were silvery tear tracks and a telltale redness to the whites of her eyes. She’d been crying. Heavily.
As Bess halted in the doorway and realized the person on the other side of the door wasn’t her husband, she seemed to deflate a bit. Shoulders dropping, she recoiled back into the doorway and began to wipe her eyes as reflex.
“O-Oh, Connie. I-I’m sorry.” Using her sleeve, he dabbed away a pearl-sized tear from her bottom lashes. “D-Did we have something planned for today? Ugh, I’ve been a disorganized mess lately, haven’t I? I’m sorry. Let me—”
“No, it’s alright.” Constance reached into her bag and procured a pack of paper handkerchiefs for her. “We didn’t have anything today, Bess. I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
After accepting the pack and gratefully pulling one free to try her eyes with, she fixed her blue eyes upon her friend. The redness that wreathed each iris made the midnight hue even more striking than usual.
“Really?” she asked, then pivoted, “T-Then … um, good! I’m glad I didn’t ghost you.”
After one last scrub across her eyes, she popped her head back up and even tried to strike a casual pose with her hand on her hip. “So, w-what’s up? Everything okay?”
Her tone was brimming with forced indifference that came across as near mania.
Constance’s brows arced gently at the question. “Well, I think that might be a better question for you, my dear. Is everything okay?”
“Y-Yeah!” Bess rushed to say before leaning against her doorframe. “Of course! I’m just here, you know? Hanging out!”
“Well, that is true,” Connie conceded, then asked gently, “And the tears?”
“Oh, nothing! Something stupid. You know how those pesky, after-birth hormones are. They make you a wreck, yeah?”
“I do know.”
The second Constance’s reply came, Bess screwed her eyes shut and looked ready to punish herself. “Ah, cats, Con. T-That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, ” she replied, even laughing a bit. “I didn’t think it was.”
“Oh, good.”
“But you aren’t wrong, after all. At least you aren’t sopping wet from the rain with raccoon eyes from your mascara getting wet.”
Bess laughed at that; a real laugh, teeth and all. “Don’t worry. You still looked like you had just stepped off the set of a photoshoot.”
Constance snorted, tossing his hair over her shoulder cheekily. “Says the gorgeous and infamous Bess Moonrock of all people.”
She kept her voice light and tone conversational. Fishermen didn’t use intimidating lures, after all. One had to feel safe before they felt safe enough to bite.
Connie craned her neck to peek over Bess’s shoulder and past the crack in the door. “Is Georgia in there with you?”
“Of course! Where else would she be?”
Fair enough. “Well, I didn’t know if…”
“Nope! It’s just m-me and Georgia, hanging out, you know! Having a lazy afternoon. Spending s-some girl’s time toget…her…”
Halfway through her answer, a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. As a sob rushed up her throat, both her palms rushed to smother it. She stood there, shaking and breathless on the threshold as a horrible, vague emotion choked her to her core.
Constance ended up being pulled into an embrace. Bess’ whole body rattled from the force of lung-rending sobs, each one clawing itself from her raw throat like a small demon. Constance took care to hold her close and guard her from any potential passerby in the hall.
After a few shushes, the two women finally ducked inside for some privacy.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Constance whispered, weaving her fingers through the woman’s thick curls to stroke the base of her neck. The curve of her spine is severe at the base, almost like her head is weighed down. She tries to massage the pain away, but the muscles that should have budged under were as immovable as if they were carved from wood.
“I-It’s not okay,” Bess croaked. The next few words came out as a squeak of slurred vowels, too manic to parse words.
“…Come again?”
“I’m ruining your d-dress.”
“Oh. You are not,” Constance assured softly. She took Bess’ face between her hands, thumbs wiping away the silver trails that raced toward her chin. “Don’t worry about that.”
“B-But it’s silk, right? A-and my make-up, I didn’t think …”
“I live with a neat freak, honey,” she reminded her with a smirk. “And I’m the mama of my own, voraciously creative little girl going through her finger-painting phase. Trust me, I could clean a Dario Argento crime scene with the stuff in our laundry room, and have plenty to spare. A few tears and a little lip gloss is nothing.”
Bess tried to smile, and Constance’s heart splintered at the sight. Even now, when she was in the pit of despair and sobbing her eyes out, she still placed the comfort of others above her own. She was trying to play along that she felt normal, even though she clearly did not.
“That being said, you can’t be comfortable like this,” Constance encouraged, smoothing some curls back to kiss her forehead. “Go wash your face.”
“But—”
“I insist. Freshen up, change clothes, get a drink of water." It was impossible to cry while drinking, so that would at least help the tears. "When you’re ready, come back here, and we can talk. Okay?”
Bess lingered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. “But…”
From further in the flat came the soft, babbling nonsense.
Georgia.
“I’ll be right here,” Constance said. Proving her point, she removed her heels and sat them by the door. Beside them, she rested her Telfar bag, her heart-shaped keyring jingling as she did so.
“But …”
“No buts. You can take five minutes for yourself, Mama."
This time, Bess’ smile was truer.
With newly bolstered assurance beneath her wings, she finally turned and vanished down the hall to her and Wolf’s bedroom.
After a quick peek to make sure she had truly retreated to the solace of somewhere private, Constance sighed in relief. Then, she took a moment to survey the condition of the flat.
To her relief, everything appeared mostly in order. The countertops weren’t cluttered, the closets and cabinets were all shut (complete with child-proof locks), and what little she could see of their balcony garden beyond the doors appeared to be flourishing. Constance went ahead and grabbed the small pile of mail from her purse and put it face-down on the island.
In the middle of the spacious living room, wash in rosy light from the vintage lamps, was Georgia’s lavender playpen. The pen had made many appearances in shared photos, video calls, and even in-person for some days in the office when Wolf brought the kids for socializing.
Another burble game from beyond its pastel walls, and a smile bloomed as naturally as a violet in spring. She peered over the side to see the little bundle herself smiling up at her. With a gummy grin, she chewed on her chubby fingers and wagged her arms back and forth like twin puppy dog tails.
“There she is.” Her voice remained low despite the fact the infant was fully awake. It was a habit as this point. “Hello, angel. It’s been a while.”
Georgia glanced up curiously, laying supine in a sea of soft blankets and pillows that stretched to the pen’s walls in all directions.
The appearance of a new visitor leaning over the towering walls of her palace rendered her silent in awe, but only for a moment. A second later, the dark-haired girl babbled curiously.
When Constance ducked behind the wall to hide then jumped up a second later with a ‘Boo!’, she squealed in delight.
The woman’s heart melted at the display, and she suddenly missed her own daughter terribly even though she was only few blocks away at home. She briefly checked her watch for the time, making a mental note of when she would need to return for dinner. It was an occasion that she was careful to not miss.
As she reached down to caress the girl’s cheek, and she suddenly felt eyes on her. A new shadow swept over Georgia’s form, covering her like a blanket.
Glancing up, Constance was surprised to see Bess kneeling right beside her, no more than three inches away. Their knees could have touched with a mere breath’s movement.
She hadn’t even heard her approach.
“What’s wrong?” Bess asked, eyes wide as they darted from Connie’s arm to her baby’s face.
“N-Nothing?” Constance answered, retracting her arm with forklift-slowness.
“Why were you checking on her?” Bess asked, her tone was more concerned than accusing. “W-Was she crying? I didn’t hear her, even over the monitor.”
“No, no crying. We were just saying hi.”
Bess blinked, as if Constance had answered with her a conspiracy rather than a simple truth. After a moment, she sighed and sat back on her heels. Despite the fact she hadn’t been gone long, she had in fact washed her face and changed clothes. The young woman had changed out of the corduroy skirt and sweater combo she’d been wearing before and changed into dolphin shorts and a well-worn Bauhaus band tee. One of Wolf’s, Connie knew, from when he’d enjoyed his last years of rowdiness before sinking into the quicksand of the banking business.
Bess wore it often, saying it was the comfiest piece of clothing she owned.
… And that it always made her feel safe.
“Why don’t we talk on the sofa?” Constance asked. Her tone was polite, but she also wasn’t giving her friend a choice.
Yet, Bess was not listening. Instead, she was reaching into the crate to scoop up Georgia. The little girl, ignorant of anything beyond her mother’s loving embrace, burbled happily. Crutching up her legs, she yawned and turned towards her mama’s breast, magnetized to the familiar beat of her heart. Bess reciprocated, hugging the bundle tight and close.
“…Hm?” Bess finally asked. “Did you say something?”
Connie tsked. Not mean, but nonplussed. The sound shook Bess out of her complacency, and her eyes slide to meet her friend’s.
“I said I think we should talk on the sofa,” she repeated tenderly. “I’m sure Georgia wouldn’t mind coming with. Isn’t that right, sweetie? Do you want to stay with Mama?"
The baby made a cooing sound, then began to chew on her fingers. It was as much of a ‘yes’ and any other reply that would have been offered.
"See? The lady agrees."
Plus, if Georgia stayed with them, Constance had a feeling the conversation would be more focused.
The trip to the sofa, a luxurious but cozy model from Formitalia in a shade of wine-deep burgundy, was short.
As they settled, Bess kept her girl tightly swaddled to her chest. Even as the little girl wiggled about like an energetic caterpillar, she kept her cocooned.
Constance noticed this, and Bess noticed her notice.
“…You see it too, then?” she asked.
“See what, darling?”
“Oh, come on, Con,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I can see it written on your face. You think I’m suffocating her, right? Keeping her all to myself?”
Those were some specifically-worded allegations, she noted. “I don’t believe I said anything like that.”
Bess dropped her gaze, then kept it there. Then, a defeated stream of words left her: “No. You didn’t.”
“But perhaps someone else did?” Constance asked.
Bess was silent, but her postured stooped. By now Georgia was almost completely concealed by her mom’s curly hair. The little girl reached for the coils and played with them joyfully, easily able to make them dance despite her straw-strong grip.
“Was it Ebenezar?” she asked softly.
When Bess looked up, her eyes were as big and glassy as marbles. For the second time that visit, Constance heart splintered with a look alone.
“Oh, Bess.” Constance offered the woman a hand. Bess was quick to seize it with urgency, as if she was in danger of falling off a tightrope.
Hiding a wince of pain, she returned the fierce grip with a gentle squeeze of her own. “Okay. Start from the beginning, okay?”
At this, Bess barked out a laugh. She wiped a stray tear as it threatened to drip onto her lap. “Which one?”
“Whichever one you want.”
A pause. Bess angled her body away, staring ahead. George still wiggled in her lap, and when Bess looked down at her, only then was her melancholy broken with a touch of familiar emotion.
“I-I know I’m acting differently with her than with Cordell,” Bess said softly. “I can see it, especially after Georgia and I are alone. In those moments, everything feels normal ... I’m happy. Even-keeled, even.”
“That’s good.”
“But then someone else comes in, and it’s … like a switch flips me. It’s almost instantaneous, and I don’t see it coming until I’m in the dark. I feel ... paranoid. Panicked. Like I'm in survival mode, but I'm just at home with my husband or out with my friends! I-It makes no sense, right?"
“Is that what happened at the playpen?”
“Yes! Con, I know you’d never hurt my daughter. I know that. I promise. But it’s like a compulsion. I feel like I react before I can even think to stop myself!”
“I can only imagine how terrifying that would be,” Connie said sincerely. Loss of autonomy, physically or mentally, is harrowing. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“I don’t mean to be possessive or a bitch or anything like that, I promise. I just—”
“Who called you a bitch?”
As Constance stopped her, there was a terrifying look in her eyes.
“Nobody,” Bess quickly amended. “Except me. I have. To myself.”
“…Well, that’s not ‘good’, per say,” Connie said, murderous intent leaving her in the firm of an long sigh. “Oh, if Ebenezar would have said that to you, I swear I would have—”
“He would never,” Bess said, her tone gravely serious. “I’m serious. He would never do that. Even though I’d deserve to be called that.”
“Bess.”
“Admit it, Con, it’s true!” she fired back. “Don’t lie. You saw Wolf storm out, right? You would have hand to have run into him while he was leaving, right?”
“I did,” she agreed. “I was on my way up to check on you, and heard yelling. We talked a bit, and I said hi to Cordell. Then they left to go to the park.”
“…Did he say anything else?”
“He asked if I could talk you,” Connie said, then chanced a tiny grin. “As if that was a question. It would be more of an occasion if we didn’t speak to each other.”
Yet that was exactly what had happened after Georgia.
She continued, “It was more about what he didn’t say.”
“W-What do you mean?”
“He looked back at the door for a long time, Bess. I think he wanted to turn around and go back to you, but he knew the right thing was for both of you to have some space.”
A single, silver tear dropped down her cheek. “Oh.”
Constance didn’t tell her friend that Wolf had also been misty-eyed; harboring more sadness in his gaze than he’d ever observed. That fact would only break her heart further. Besides, she needed to hear such a personal revelation from his mouth, not hers.
After a moment, Connie gave her hand another squeeze. “Bess, honey, something you said earlier is bothering me.”
“Just one thing?”
“One thing especially,” she corrected. “Your comment about calling yourself a ‘bitch.’ That’s quite a severe statement to come out of nowhere.”
Bess nodded meekly. “I suppose.”
“Such inklings are usually colored by comments we hear other people say. The words hurt, of course, and they leave a mark, especially when they come from the lips of someone close to us. Perhaps family.”
Bess’ eyes fell shut. Then, with a shudder, she pulled her hands to her face in sorrow. “My mother.”
Of course, Connie thought bitterly. Bea was all but banished from her soul-sister’s life, and yet mere thoughts of her left behind clouds as toxic as secondhand smoke in their wake. As stubborn as a roach, but with a nastier mouth.
“After Helena was born, the things she and other women said to me … oh, Con, I know I shouldn’t care,” she whispered. “I know it’s childish, but she’s my mom! Of course I cared! I still do.”
“I know, sweetie. You didn’t deserve anything about how you were treated back then.”
Bess curled up on the couch, suddenly feeling small and scared again. Just like she’d felt as a teenager. Only this time, the baby she cradled in her arms wasn’t in her womb. She was alive and hers.
Hers in a way Helena was never allowed to me.
“I hate that I’m like this,” she said, heaving the words forth as if she was purging them from her body. “I tried so, so hard to be better than her. To rise above what she put me through and how she made me feel. Now look at me! I’m so terrified of losing Georgia that I’m pushing away my own son. My own precious baby boy. A-And I pushed away Wolf! My husband! I could wring my neck with how stupid I feel!”
“You’re not stupid,” Connie said soothingly.
“No? Then what the fuck is wrong with me?”
Connie plucked a tissue from a nearby box and gently lofted it to Bess’ eyes. Georgia, still mesmerized by her mama’s curls, kept swatting at them and giggling in joy.
“You’re not stupid, and you have not pushed Wolf away,” she told her, dabbing gently at Bess’ scrubbed cheek. “He loves you. He may be confused and sad, much like you are right now … but if you think that’s enough to make a man like Wolf quit on the woman he loves, you’ve got a wake-up call coming.”
“I-It can’t be worth it. He can't be truly happy." "Why would you say that?" "It's nothing he said," she said. "It's all this stupid baggage about my past. He’s got to realize eventually that it’s not worth it. What if today was that day?”
“… You really think your husband of all people wouldn’t empathize and sympathize with having emotional baggage about his past?”
Bess chortled reluctantly. “Alright, point taken.”
“Have you two discussed anything about this? That feeling of a switch flipping in you?”
“N-No,” she admitted, shame touching the word. “I don’t think I knew how to describe it. Or that it was a real feeling at all. I thought maybe it was just hormones or something that would fade away. I should have known better.”
“You were thinking very logically and drawing from your past experience,” Connie said. “Nobody likes sending up a flare before they’re certain they need it, after all."
Another nod, and Constance noted this time that the other woman’s tears had dried.
“I just didn’t want to lose her,” Bess admitted. “I love Cordell too, of course! I-I would give anything for both of them. I-I’d give my heart. I’d rip it out myself.”
“I know you would.”
“But having another daughter? I feel crazy. Like everything and everyone must be conspiring to take her away.”
“Like Helena.”
“Right! So I thought I was doing what I had to do. I thought … I was being a good Mama.”
As a fresh sob rose in her throat, Connie scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Bess tightly. She gave her a tight squeeze, encouraging her to lay her head fully on her shoulder for support. To just lean in, relax, and let someone else support her.
As she felt her muscles relax and her weight shift onto her, Connie used her hand to brush some askew curls from her friend’s face.
The act earned another peal of laughter from Georgia. Both women looked down at the bundle, still cozy in Bess’ arms, and they smiled in tandem.
“I don’t know,” Connie teased, “You seem like a pretty good Mama to me. One who, even when feeling her lowest, makes sure her baby girl is clean, dry, and in her own special playpen for safety. One who raced to check on her despite how close we are. One who also tried to convince me that everything was fine and assumed when I showed up that somehow you had done something wrong and missed a playdate.”
“W-Well, I haven’t really been myself lately,” she confessed, “As you said.”
“We all go through our seasons,” she said. “All roses wilt and have thorns, but nobody remembers them for that. They are known for how glorious they are in full bloom. The faults are trivial compared to the joy they bring during their life.”
Bess looked to her in confusion. “What does that have to do with me?”
“It means that we all make mistakes, but the people who love us understand that these moments don't define us,” Constance said. “Flowers are adored despite the fact that they wilt. People adore each other despite knowing nobody is perfect. Not us, our friends, our spouses, our children … our family."
"Ha. If you want to try to tell my mother she's not perfect, I'd love ringside seats to see that conversation."
"Tempting, but I'm biased toward her kind, generous, loving daughter much more than her," she said. "Plus, I hear her daughter also has three beautiful children, including two daughters of her own. So it seems Bea is the odd one out, isn't she?"
After drawing a breath deep enough that it straightened the notches in her spine, Bess sat up and wiped her eyes one last time. After a beat of silence, she pivoted to Connie and extended Georgia to her.
“C-Can you hold Georgia, please?” Bess asked. “Just for a few minutes? I want to grab her a change of clothes and freshen up a bit myself.”
Constance nodded, accepting the giggly girl in a safe and supportive grip. “Of course. What’s the occasion?”
“I think it’s time we got some fresh air,” Bess said. Then, softly, she turned to her friend and asked, “Do you mind tagging along? You don’t have to stay the full time, but … maybe just for the start?”
As if she would miss her best friend’s grand entrance on any occasion.
“Mind? Darling, I wouldn’t miss it.”
With each swing, Cordell’s feet flew from beneath him with a triumphant laugh.
Waving his pudgy arms in delight, he cried, “Hiweer, hiweer!”
Wolf laughed, equal parts skeptical and amazed at his son’s fortitude. Playing on swing sets had always made him motion sick, even as a child, so he couldn’t help but observe Cordell’s enthusiasm with a great deal of pride. He must have inherited his mother’s sterling constitution.
“Well, look at you,” he applauded. “Good show, my boy! Fancy yourself a stuntman already, do we?”
He wasn’t sure his heart could take that, but swings? He could manage that.
“Higher, you say? Very well, but hang on tight, okay?”
“Yaaay!”
A few gentle nudges into the new rhythm, Cordell stopped cheering suddenly.
He stared ahead, his demeanor almost uncannily still. Wolf was worried for a moment that a delayed wave of motion sickness was hitting his son. Before he could race to him, the boy began to bounce excitedly in his safety seat and squeal. Two words described his tone: pure exuberance.
“Papa, ith Mama! Mama!”
The man thought for a moment that his son must have seen a lookalike on the street and misidentified her from afar. Yet, as he followed his boy’s gaze, his doubt was rendered null and void.
There, coming down the street, was none other than his wife.
The moment her name fell from his lips as a careful whisper, he also noticed that she was pushing a stroller. A very familiar stroller in a custom amethyst shade and wheels that made a telltale clicking noise from afar. He still remembered the day they’d placed the order for it together, holdings hands tightly the entire time.
Ebenezar watched semi-frozen as Bess tentatively slinked past the playground’s iron gate and through the entrance. Spying him instantly, she slowly advanced down the path, only stopping when they were a mere step's breadth apart.
“H-Hi,” she said, her voice soft and still slightly scratchy from prior tears. He noted a telltale redness lingering in her eyes, and his heart ached knowing that she’d been crying. “I hope we didn't, um, interrupt. Is it too late for two more to join?”
Behind her, he heard the gate creak again. Constance entered, carrying a small cooler bag over her shoulder. She stole toward the couple and gently placed it on the back hook of the stroller before backing away again to given the couple much needed space.
She gave Wolf, who was still stunned, a nod. Then, as quickly as she appeared, she slinked back and watched them as silently as a rabbit in tall grass.
“Never,” Ebenezar practically sighed, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding. Then, his gaze flicked to the stroller. “T-Two, you say?”
Bess nodded and unzipped the mesh sunshield to reveal their sweet daughter, who had fallen asleep on the short walk to the park. However, upon awakening to the heat of the setting sun and seeing her papa’s familiar face just beyond the threshold, her eyes snapped open.
Like Cordell, she wiggled in excitement and reached for him, worming her fingers in the afternoon air in an attempt to grasp him.
A sob of adoration left him. He swooped down to meet her, then paused short of touching her. His hands froze mid-air, and his jaw tensed suddenly. When he looked to Bess, she felt her heart lurch at the sight of his questioning stare.
He was nervous. Nervous to reach for his own daughter.
She could have spoken her agreement, but she knew actions spoke louder than words. It was something she and her husband agreed upon heartily, in fact.
The woman reached down into the stroller herself and unfasten Georgia’s seatbelt. After lifting her up and into her arms, she walked around the side and to Wolf. “She’s been cooped up with me for too long, poor thing. Would you like to take her for a while?”
The man couldn’t open his arms quick enough. Once Georgia was tucked safely in his grasp, his shoulders shook briefly from barely withheld joy before he reached for Bess. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he tugged her toward him and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead, mashing his nose in the process. This caused Bess to laugh before he impishly leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.
Upon pulling away, they both idled in each other’s arms before Cordell’s excited cries broke the trance. The boy was still fastened into his safety seat, but by Jove, that did not stop the little tyke from pumping his little legs back and forth in an attempt to sway toward his parents with increasing urgency.
“Hehe, mama! Mama!”
Bess laughed and reached out to grasp one of the chain supports.
“How about you take her, and I’ll stay with our aspiring daredevil here?”
He smiled at her observation. “We’d both very much like that, I venture to say.”
Before he released her, he tugged her back gently and urged her close. Bess didn’t need to hear the question to know what he wanted to say.
“I’m so sorry,” she started. “I’ve been horrible to you. My own family. Our friends.”
“Shhh, none of that,” he soothed. “I’m sorry too, Brightness. Truly. There are many, many things I should have done differently … not to mention ways I should have acted differently. But, I would still …”
“We should talk about it,” Bess agreed. “I-Is that okay?”
“I love you too much to not talk about it,” he whispered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “Later, then?”
She hummed, not liking the word. “Tonight. After bedtime. Maybe over wine.”
“How romantic, Mrs. Scrooge.”
As the promise was sealed with another kiss, Constance decided it was time to make her exit.
All's well that ends well, she thought.
She pushed on the gate to exit only for the couple to notice her departure.
“Constance!” Bess called. Thank you. “Oh, shoot! It’s later than I thought. It’s nearly sunset. Are you alright getting home?”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine,” the redhead called back, giving a queenly wave all the while. “It’s only a few blocks. I’ll be able to make it back before dinner.”
It was a tradition she never missed.
“Don’t worry about me! You kids have fun, alright?”
As the couple exchanged tender smiles, their giggling babes huddled close around them, Constance noted how picturesque the family looked.
In fact, they were the very picture of true happiness.
I am truly sorry for how long this took lol, but I hope I did the idea justice! It's always a joy to write the soul-sisters being the perfect bonded pair.
