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Chapter Six
Grace
I’m staying in Boston.
I’ve been on the fence about it since Cari asked me to move here a few weeks ago. Not because I didn’t want to. No. The second she suggested it, I felt something I haven’t felt in years. Excitement.
About my life.
About the possibility of it.
I realized I’ve been settling. Resigned to a life of living with my parents and raising Molly. Working at the post office. Picking up the odd shift at the local bar when a bill is past due, or Molly needs new shoes.
The fact that I can have more never occurred to me. Not until Cari changed everything with four little words.
Come with me, Grace.
As soon as she said it, I knew I wanted it. A life of possibility. Something better for Molly and me. But I also knew how my parents would react when I told them.
That’s why I’ve been on the fence. Because there’s no way they were going to be supportive about it. No way they were going to say, This is your life, Grace. You’re a grown woman and have every right to live your life the way you see fit. We trust you to do what’s best for you and for Molly.
Because the past has painted me as someone who is irresponsible. Incapable of making good choices. Unworthy of trust.
The way they’re looking at me right now all but proves it.
“You’re not serious.” My mom bounces a look at my father before shifting her gaze past me, toward Cari’s studio where she has Molly occupied with some paints and paper. “What are you saying? For god’s sake, Kathrine Grace, you can’t just move to Boston.”
It’s Sunday morning and we’re sitting at the kitchen table at Cari and Patrick’s. He left earlier to coach one of his league games for his non-profit, Boston Batters. Cari stayed back to offer moral support while I broke the news.
“Why?” I shake my head. “Why can’t I? Cari did. When she left for college you guys were supportive. You even took out a second mortgage on the house to pay for her tuition.”
“That was different,” my mom says, instantly defensive. She looks toward my dad for help and when he doesn’t offer any, she refocuses her attention on me. “You have responsibilities back home. A job. Friends. Molly’s starting pre-school in the fall.”
“I have a part-time job at the post office that will be filled about five minutes after I quit,” I tell her, reminding her that like opportunities, jobs are in short supply back home. I don’t mention the cocktailing job at the Slide Inn because I don’t want this discussion to devolve into a screaming match about my irresponsible choices in front of Molly and that would be the fastest way to do it. “And I don’t have friends. I haven’t had any friends since I had Molly.” It’s true. As soon as they found out I was pregnant and had decided to keep the baby, my so-called friends scattered like I had a contagious disease. “And Molly can just as easily start school here—we both can.” I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “I think—”
My mom’s mouth sets in a hard, stubborn line. “I think you’re being selfish. You’re thinking of yourself and not your daughter.”
“I disagree.” I can feel my face fall into a mirror image of hers. “I’m doing this for her. For both of us. So I can be someone we can both be proud of.”
“I think we both know this isn’t about doing what’s right by Molly.” She scoffs softly and shakes her head like I’m being flighty and childish. When I don’t answer her, she sighs. “Fine. Your father and I will keep Molly with us and you can come home when you’ve run this ridiculous notion out of your system.”
“No.” I shake my head because leaving Molly has never and will never be an option. “Molly is my daughter. She stays with me.”
“Do you really think you’re equipped to raise a child on your own?” There’s fear in her tone. Real fear. Finally, we’re getting somewhere. The real reason she’s fighting this so hard. It’s because she doesn’t think I’m capable of taking care of Molly without her help. Doesn’t see me as her mother. Not really. I knew she felt that way but hearing her pretty much say it out loud still hurts. Still stings.
“I’m as prepared as you were when you had Cari—maybe even more so since I was two years older when I had Molly.” It’s a shitty thing to say but I’m past playing nice.
“That was different. I had your father to help shoulder the responsibility,” she reminds me in a pointed tone that digs up an old bone of contention. She’s never forgiven me for not naming Molly’s father. Holding him responsible. She always viewed my refusal to point fingers as some misguided attempt at martyring myself when all it really did was cause gossip and fuel rumors. What she doesn’t know, what I’ve never said out loud is that the truth of Molly’s paternity would do more to fuel rumors and gossip than my pointing fingers ever could.
“You keep saying that—that my situation is different from yours and Cari’s and you know something—you’re right.” I plant my hands on the table between us and stand. “It is different. I never got the opportunity to go to college. I don’t have someone to help me raise my daughter. I have to do it on my own and you know what? That’s okay, because it means the only person I have to answer to for the choices I make is her.” I glare down at my mom and shake my head. “I’m not asking you for permission, Mom. I’m telling you—Molly and I are staying in Boston. I’m going to school and we’re going to live with Cari and Patrick until I find my feet.”
Fear flickers across my mom’s face again. “Doug—” She looks at my father. “Say something. Talk some sense into her. God knows she’s never listened to me.”
My father looks at me from across the table, his silent, blue-eyed gaze narrowed on my face for so long I fight the urge to start squirming like when I was a kid and got caught throwing mud at cars in the church parking lot after Sunday morning service. Finally, he sighs. “She’s right, Ellen. She deserves a chance to make something of herself just as much as Cari did—maybe even more—and if moving here is a part of that then we have to stand aside and let her go.” My father’s declaration is met with stunned silence as my mother and I stare at each other because neither of us can believe what we just heard. “Besides,” he continues when neither of us say a word. “She won’t be alone. She’ll be here, with family.”