“I know he didn’t.” Angie scrunches up her face. “It’s just—I’m glad you have your writing, Autumn. It’s good to have a life and a purpose outside being a mother.” She sighs and rests her head on the back of the couch.
“What do you mean? Do you not have that?” It hadn’t occurred to me that being a writer, spending time on myself, could help me as a mother. I curl my feet under me, adjusting for the strange new ache that I’ve been feeling in my hips.
“I guess I thought that Dave or our love and the life we were building together would be enough. I knew it would be hard, but I thought that while we were working and saving money for the future together, we’d be more together? Maybe doing better than we are now?”
“Do you mean financially or in your relationship? It sounds like you aren’t doing too badly.”
“Financially, we’re always trying to save, and whenever we make a little progress, something happens. Last month, it was the car, and two months ago, we had the bill from taking Guinnie to urgent care for her ear infection. There’s always something.”
“But you’re saving money and working things out as they come up,” I remind her. It feels so strange to be talking about such adult problems with her.
“Yeah,” Angie agrees. “Yeah, we are. There’s still always something.”
There’s a beat of silence, and I find myself saying, “Do you have any regrets?”
“I don’t. I’m exactly where I want to be. It’s just so much harder than I thought, at least for now.”
“Eventually you’ll be able to move out of Dave’s parents’ basement,” I say.
“And eventually Guinevere will be potty trained or starting kindergarten. But that doesn’t feel real. It’s not that I don’t believe that Dave and I can’t beat the odds,” Angie says, meeting my eyes again. “But some days, it is a lot more conscious choice than belief.”
“I think that’s the difference between the people who get out of the basements and those who don’t,” I say. “You’re choosing to believe.”
Angie shrugs, but she’s listening to what I’m saying, so maybe it’s helping.
“Maybe you’re right. I hope you are.” She laughs. “Listen to me. Complaining because choosing to do the hard thing turned out to be hard.”
I’m in the position that she and The Mothers have found themselves in when they’re talking to me. There’s nothing more to say to make it better, because it is hard, and it’s going to be hard for a while.
“Just because something seems impossible doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying,” I say, because it’s something I’ve said to myself before.
“I need to find something to make me feel like I’m still me outside being a mom,” Angie says. “It’s not like I can watch horror movies with Guinevere asleep in the same room.”
“Well, we can watch one together,” I suggest. “And afterward, we can go to the library, and I’ll help you find some horror novels to read when you’re home alone with the baby.”
“Yeah, okay.”
This time, I can tell that I’ve definitely helped, and I’m glad. Because she released me from a worry that I hadn’t fully articulated; that it was selfish of me to keep my dream of publication when I’m about to become a mother.
Angie winks at me. “Oh, you just want a ride to the library.”
“I actually haven’t been reading much for myself lately,” I confess. “Only a few parenting books.” Angie mimes being physically bowled over by my words.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Autumn Rose Davis?” She jumps off the couch and grabs my hand. “That’s it, we’re going to the library right now. Movie later. You need this more than I do.”
“I won’t say no to that.” I let her help me off the couch. Everyone knows voracious reading is the best way to improve your writing, well except for actually writing. So until I can hold myself together enough to edit the novel inspired by Finny, I need to be reading.
“We’re going to be okay,” Angie says to me.
Today, I choose to believe it.
eight
Going to the library with Angie to get books made me feel like myself again, and a few days later, I was able to edit the whole first chapter of my novel. Inspired by my own bravery, I approached Mom cautiously about shopping for maternity clothes. She was so enthused that she was unable to keep it from Aunt Angelina. So now it’s a trip for all three of us. Or, I guess, four.