Wilder Hearts: Once Upon a Pregnancy

If the two of them had a normal relationship—she let the fantasy briefly play out in her mind—Simone would have called her mother to tell her about the baby. And if things had been different between them, she might have even looked forward to being a mother herself.

And perhaps she wouldn’t be the least bit apprehensive about creating a family with Mike.

That night when she got home from work, Simone picked up the telephone and dialed her mother’s number one last time. It wasn’t all that unusual to be playing telephone tag with the woman.

But this time, Susan Garner answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. It’s me.”

“Hi, Simone. You finally caught me at home. I’m afraid that I’ve been in and out a lot. I meant to return your call.”

That was questionable.

“How are you doing?” Simone asked, disregarding the excuse given. “Cynthia called last week and told me you’d discovered a lump in your breast. I…I’ve been worried. And I wondered if there was anything I could do. If there were any questions you had.”

“It was a bit scary for a while, but they did a biopsy and it came back benign.”

“Well, good. That’s great. And I imagine it’s a big relief for you.”

“Yes, it was.” Susan blew out a sigh. “I’m really sorry Cynthia called you and bothered you with that. If it would have been…more serious…I would have called myself.”

Would she have?

Somehow, Simone didn’t think so. It was almost as if the two had never lived together, as if once Simone turned eighteen and could legally fly the coop, Susan’s maternal responsibilities—what few she’d actually assumed—had ended.

“Well, I’m glad it all turned out okay,” Simone said.

“Yes, everything is fine.”

But it really wasn’t. Not this conversation, not their relationship.

“I guess I’d better let you go, Mom. Be sure to tell Cynthia hello for me.”

“I will. Good night, Simone.”

The line disconnected.

Simone supposed the news should have been comforting, but she wanted to scream in frustration.

Why couldn’t her relationship with her mother have been…normal? Or even just moderately dysfunctional?

In spite of the years Simone had spent building up a durable, Teflon hide and telling herself it really didn’t matter, the disappointment and pain she’d experienced as a child and had locked away as an adolescent began to flood her heart with regret, and tears welled in her eyes.

Damn those pregnancy hormones.

And damn the past.

Woofer barked, then headed for the door, just moments before the bell sounded.

Oh, great. Now what? Simone hated to bother answering, especially all weepy-eyed and splotchy-faced. But neither did she want to hole up inside the house and pretend she wasn’t home.

So she answered, albeit reluctantly, and found Mike on her porch. She could have sworn he’d told her he had an O’Rourke-family birthday party to attend. He must have decided to stop by on his way.

“Oh, honey,” he said, reaching for the knob of the screen door without waiting to be invited inside.

She supposed he’d gotten used to making himself comfortable at her house. And she must have gotten used to having him around, too, because she grabbed Woofer’s collar and used her foot to keep Wags from dashing outside. Then she stepped out of the way to let Mike in.

He gave each dog a detached greeting while focusing his attention on her. “What’s the matter?”

Oh, God. She hated to spill her guts. But maybe, if she did, it would eventually make him realize why she wasn’t the motherly type. Why the whole idea of home and family scared the heck out of her.

When Simone admitted that she’d finally talked to her mother about the lump she’d found, Mike wrapped his arms around her, probably assuming her tears were caused by bad news. “I’m so sorry.”

Instead of immediately correcting him, she accepted his embrace and allowed herself a moment to savor his musky scent, his warmth, his compassion.

“Actually,” she finally said, slowing drawing away from his arms, “the lump was benign.”

“So you’re crying from relief?”

“Yes and no. It’s kind of complicated. It also hurts that my mother refused to return my calls, saying she didn’t want to bother me with her problem.”

“Maybe she was trying to protect you.”

“If it were anyone else’s mom, I might accept that. But not when it’s mine.”

He took her by the hand and led her to the sofa. “Why don’t you sit down and talk to me about it.”

It didn’t feel right having the ugliness out in the open, but maybe it would be therapeutic in a sense. So she took a seat and waited for him to join her.

“I told you some of it already,” she said. “About how my mom was cold and unloving.”

He nodded. “I figured you’d held something back. You always do. But you don’t need to do that with me.”

She hoped he was right. “I knew that other kids had parents who played games with them. Moms and dads who asked how their day at school went, who tucked them in at night and listened to their prayers. But I never experienced anything like that. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to connect on any level with my mother.”

He didn’t comment; he just continued to listen as she vented—something she wasn’t used to doing.

“When I was a kid, I would have to change the channel whenever The Wonderful World of Disney was on television. It was too sad. I’d see commercials about Disneyland or Walt Disney World, with happy, loving families having the time of their lives. But I never even went to an amusement park. No visits to the petting zoo, no pony rides. None of the usual family experiences.”

“I’m sorry that your childhood was so lousy.”

“Me, too,” she said. “But don’t get me wrong. I never went without the material things. There was plenty of food. And I had regular health checkups. But sometimes my mom would glare at me. Or strike me for no reason.”

“You were physically abused, too?” he asked.

“It’s not like I was beaten. But I learned to stay out of my mom’s reach.”

While Mike continued to hold her hand, he brushed his thumb across her skin, soothing her, comforting her with the simplest touch. And she couldn’t help but accept all he offered.