She wiggles the tip of her nose with her middle finger, cracking us all up and making Maisie demand to know why we’re laughing without her.
When the movers arrive, Mom stays behind to direct them where to put her furniture, while the rest of us go to Publix for birthday cake and decorations. Usually we bake homemade cakes, but since Mom’s new kitchen isn’t set up yet, I buy a chocolate sheet cake with white frosting, blue icing, and Moana decorations. We pick up some frozen pizzas, paper plates and napkins, red Solo cups, and two jugs of cheap sangria for post-birthday drinking. On our way through the checkout, Keane gifts Maisie with the Mylar Moana balloon she cried about at the grocery store in Ohio. By the time we return to the condo, the movers have arranged Mom’s furniture and sorted the boxes into their proper rooms.
We set up the party on the lanai and, as the minutes tick closer to dinnertime, my stomach ties itself into knots, worrying Brian won’t show up. Worrying that he will. Finally the security system beeps, and his face pops up on the video monitor. Mom quickly buzzes him in. By the time he reaches her front door, a fist of anxiety has closed around my chest.
“Daddy’s here!” Maisie sings out, running to greet him. He looks as adorable as ever in his favorite orange track jacket and loose-fitting jeans, but he behaves differently, his attention focused solely on Maisie as he puts down a wrapped present and scoops her into his arms. She holds his face in her hands and rubs her nose against his—a trick she learned from Leo, apparently.
“Happy birthday, little pea,” Brian says. “How ya doing?”
“I have a cat now. Her name is Yōkai.”
“That’s so cool.” Unlike Anna, Brian doesn’t look to me for an explanation. His gaze skitters around the room and he says, “Hi, um—thanks for inviting me.”
Mom ushers him through the condo and out onto the lanai. Anna fetches a couple of pizzas from the kitchen, while Keane pours cups of sangria for the adults. I bring the present from the living room. It’s wrapped in paper that looks like purple mermaid scales. I want to believe that this is Brian trying, but we’ve been down this road before. Never with purple mermaid scales, though.
Brian looks nervous as he takes a seat at the table—he should, given that he’s facing a wall of Beck women—but Keane presses a cup of sangria into his hand and says, “Take the edge off, mate.”
Keane deftly steers him into small talk, and Brian shares that he recently started a new job at a cell phone store and plans to enroll in an air traffic controller course in August. I want to drag him out of the room and demand to know why he couldn’t have done these things when we were together. But my family is here, and Maisie is listening.
“That’s so great, Brian.” Despite how angry I am, I mean it. “Congratulations.”
“Yeah, um—thanks.” He looks beyond me again. Something is incredibly off. Brian isn’t being flirty and charming. I don’t need that from him, but he won’t even make eye contact. I wonder if he’s planning to flake out on Maisie and doesn’t want to admit it in front of everyone. Or … A new fear rises in me that I’ve never considered. What if he takes her tonight and doesn’t bring her back? There’s no way to ask him that question without it sounding like an accusation.
I choke down a piece of birthday cake and put on my biggest smile as Maisie opens her gifts. Anna brought her a blue batik dress and a little steel pan drum from Grenada, as well as a tiny straw purse from St. Lucia. Mom loaded her up with Shopkins collectibles. And inside the mermaid box from Brian is a modeling sand kit with molds to make shapes. It’s a thoughtful gift, and I hate how my first assumption is that someone else picked it out. Like Brian’s mother, Rosalie. Or Eden. If she’s still in the picture.
None of this makes sense.
Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’ve turned Brian’s awkwardness at being in the same room with me into a full-blown conspiracy theory. But when I hand him Maisie’s backpack before they leave, I memorize what she’s wearing.
* * *
I don’t sleep. The panic in my chest is alive and writhing as I pace the condo from kitchen to lanai, and back. I sit down on the couch. I turn on the TV. I get up again. Turn off the TV. Mom has been in bed for hours, and Anna and Keane left for their hotel not long after Brian took Maisie. I consider driving to his apartment to get her. I even put on my shoes. Shouldn’t I trust him? He’s never done anything to hurt her, but I can’t shake the fear. Instead I go outside and walk along the seawall until light breaks the horizon. When I return, Mom is on the lanai having her morning coffee.
“You’re up early,” she says with a frown. “I saw you walking. Are you okay?”
“No. I’ve spent the whole night terrified that Brian won’t bring Maisie back.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“How do you accuse your ex-boyfriend of attempted kidnapping without sounding unhinged?”
“I meant to me, Rachel,” Mom says. “You didn’t have to spend the night alone.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Well, I’m worried now, so you didn’t spare me anything.”
“I’m sorry.”
She pulls me into a hug, rubbing my back like she did when I was a little girl. I break down, sobbing against her shoulder.
“I know you’ve always hated it when I say you can do better than Brian,” she says. “But regardless of how I feel about him, I don’t believe stealing Maisie would ever cross his mind. Long-range planning and execution are not in his skill set.”
“But you heard him: he’s going to college and got a decent job.”
“You told him he needed to get his shit together,” Mom points out. “Seems to me that he listened.”
“That doesn’t explain why he was acting so sketchy last night.”
“Brian was comfortable with your relationship because you never challenged his behavior. When you moved to Ohio, you broke the cycle. I suspect he’s hurt and angry, and has no idea how to manage that,” she says. “Not making eye contact and refusing to speak to you makes perfect sense for someone who has the emotional depth of a teaspoon.”
She takes my chin firmly in her hand. “And if you had come to me with this last night, you would not have spent the night worrying about something that Brian Schroeder is not smart enough to pull off.”
When I laugh, it’s wet and snotty from crying. “You’re right. I let my fears get away from me.”
“You’re a mother,” she says, kissing my forehead. “It happens.”
Mom goes into the kitchen to start breakfast and I nap on the couch until the security system beeps and I see my daughter on the video screen.
Maisie comes bursting into the condo, hopped up on pancake syrup and orange juice, Brian on her heels. His sunny smile fades and he averts his eyes. Maybe Mom was right.
“Hi, Brian,” I say, but his gaze won’t stick. “Do you have a minute? We need to talk.”
“I, uh—I really don’t have time right now,” he says. He hugs and kisses Maisie. Tells her to be a good girl for Mama, like he always does. Then bolts like a scared rabbit, without a backward glance.