Another Piece of My Heart Read online

  It breaks Andi’s heart. Often, Andi will drop a snack off at school on the days the girls are with their mom. She knows that Brooke sleeps late, usually hungover, rousing herself occasionally to plant a hazy good-bye kiss on Sophia.

  She just doesn’t know quite how bad it is.

  When the girls are with their dad, Andi makes sure she is up, well before Sophia, and has breakfast all ready. Waffles, pancakes, bacon, strawberries, French toast. She makes different breakfasts every day, always something hot. Sometimes oatmeal, fruit salad, scrambled eggs, with orange juice and a beautifully set table.

  Sophia loves it. Emily usually sleeps through it, although in her junior year she always grabbed something when she thought Andi wasn’t looking, stuffing it into her bag for later.

  Children need a good breakfast. Andi’s mother’s words echo in her head as she cracks the eggs in the bowl, pausing to pour herself some fresh coffee, checking to see she still has fifteen minutes to herself before she wakes Emily.

  These children, in particular, need a good breakfast. Children who are so neglected when they are at their mother’s, who, if they’re lucky, manage to get enough money to go down to the deli and get their own dinner.

  And look at how appreciative Sophia is! See how she comments on the delicious smells as she walks into the room, look how her eyes light up when Andi places French toast and bacon in front of her.

  If their own mother won’t do it for them, Andi will. And she will do it better than anyone else.

  * * *

  Andi and Brooke do not have a relationship. She has heard the entire story from Ethan, and lately, from Sophia, who would never directly criticize her mother; but Andi can hear Sophia on the phone, hears the sharp barbs Brooke constantly shoots at her daughters, and the upset in Sophia’s voice.

  On some level, the girls know that their mother is an alcoholic. A couple of years ago, when they were having friends for dinner, Sophia, who had been about to turn eleven, had wandered into the kitchen just in time to hear Ethan ask one of their friends what they would like to drink.

  “She’ll have wine.” Sophia had grinned. “All grown-ups drink wine all the time!” Her voice was a singsong of innocence. “It’s like”—she paused, thinking—“it’s like the grown-up version of juice!” She was delighted with her explanation and didn’t see the look that passed between Andi and Ethan.

  “No,” Ethan quickly said. “That’s not quite true.”

  “It is!” Sophia had giggled. “Mommy drinks wine all the time!”

  Later that night, Andi left their guests to go and tuck Sophia in. “Not all grown-ups drink wine all the time,” she said. “I know sometimes it seems like that, and some grown-ups drink more than others, but many don’t drink at all. Look at me. I hardly drink wine at all. It gives me headaches.”

  Sophia thought for a while. “So what do you drink?”

  “My favorite is cranberry juice and seltzer,” she said, thinking vodka martinis were probably not what was called for here.

  “I love those!” Sophia said. “And ginger ale and cranberry juice!”

  “Yum! You have to understand that all grown-ups are different, and some drink wine, but many don’t.”

  Andi didn’t know how else to explain to Sophia, sweet innocent Sophia, that there is another path; not all adults are like her mother; not all adults drink wine like water, and please God let Sophia choose the other fork.

  * * *

  Andi has met Brooke less than a handful of times, and then, mostly, by mistake.

  Long before they met, she read the e-mails Brooke would send, accusing Ethan of being a terrible father, blaming him for her financial woes, telling him she would take him back to court to get full custody.

  Or Brooke would phone the house, leaving slurred, drunken messages on their voice mail, telling the girls they had to do something, reminding them to hand in some homework,

  It felt, always, as if she was staking her claim. She refused to accept Andi as an equal: she was the mother of the girls, and she wasn’t about to let Andi forget it.

  “Tell your father’s wife,” Brooke would say disdainfully to the girls, never referring to Andi as their stepmother.

  The first time they met was in Whole Foods. They were on their way back from a hike, and ran in, dividing and conquering as soon as they got through the doors—Andi to the fresh produce, and Ethan to the dairy section.

  Arms full of vegetables, she came across Ethan, talking to a woman whose face was hidden by a mop of thick, curly blond hair.

  “Hey.” Andi walked over. “I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

  Ethan looked stunned.

  “Oh, I…”

  “Hi.” Andi put him out of her misery, extending a hand to the woman, smiling and realizing, as she looked into her eyes, exactly who she was, for she looked like Sophia. Only sexy. And older, of course. “I’m Andi,” she said more tentatively.

  “I’m Brooke,” Brooke said, with a pained smile that did not reach her eyes.

  “I figured.” Andi forced a smile. “You look exactly like Sophia.”

  “So they tell me,” Brooke said. “I was just talking to Ethan about the schedule.”

  “Okay,” Andi said, standing there, waiting for them to finish. Brooke just looked at her.

  Oh, no way, Andi thought, realizing that Brooke was waiting for her to disappear. No way am I going to make myself invisible. I am his wife now, and stepmother to your daughters, and you will not dismiss me like this.

  She shifted weight onto her other foot to get more comfortable, and with a smile on her face, merely nodded and looked pleasantly at Brooke.

  “So is there more?” Ethan said eventually, unable to deal with the discomfort of the extended silence.

  “Yes. I guess I can phone you later,” Brooke said.

  “Oh, please, feel free to finish your conversation,” Andi said.

  “No, forget it,” Brooke said. “I have things to do. Nice to meet you,” she tossed over her shoulder, not looking at Andi as she turned her cart and disappeared around the corner.

  “Wow.” Andi stood still, stunned. “Was I just … dismissed? Was that really as horribly uncomfortable as it felt?” She turned to Ethan, shaking her head in disbelief. “Did that really happen?”

  “That was awkward,” Ethan murmured, running his fingers through his hair.

  “Awkward?” Andi said. “Could she have been any ruder?”

  “Well, yeah. She could have been a hell of a lot ruder. At least she was sober.”

  * * *

  “She isn’t what I expected,” Andi mused on the way home.

  Ethan shrugged.

  “She’s so different to me. Sexy.” She frowns. “When you said she was Waspy, I thought she’d be stiff, not earthy and wild. But … wow! She was so rude. I’m shaking.”

  Ethan, wisely, chose not to say anything, just squeezing her hand from time to time as he let her vent most of the way home.

  “I’m having such a hard time picturing you and Brooke married. Married!” Andi swivels in the passenger seat to look at him. “Seriously. I just cannot imagine the two of you together in a million years. She seems so weird. I never expected her to be … that. Although I guess, listening to those messages she leaves, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I know.” Ethan sighed finally. “That’s Brooke. She’s bitter, and a pain in the ass, but you know what? She’s also the mother of my children, and I need to just get along with her for the children’s sake.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just feel horrible for the girls, and I never expected her to be so rude when she met me. I’m the stepmother to her daughters. I know she may hate that, but at least pretend to get along, for the sake of the children if nothing else. Would you maybe say something to her?”

  “Right,” said Ethan. “Because that’ll be well received. Look, I agree the two of you don’t have to be friends, but it’s easier if you just accept that her behavior has noth
ing to do with you. Isn’t that what Topher always says to you? She is who she is, and you need to move on. She drives me nuts, as you well know, but I’ve learned to always stay calm. I yes her to death, then do whatever I want to do.”

  “Urgh. Do I have to?” Andi said grudgingly.

  “I know,” Ethan said wearily. “But it works, okay? You were pretty amazing with her today, by the way. You were gracious and friendly. That’s why I love you, because you were able to rise above it.”

  “Is that the only reason you love me?”

  “No.” He shoots her a sly, sideways look. “I love you for your body as well.”

  “I was gracious, wasn’t I?” Andi says gleefully. “I was channeling Jackie O. But honestly, I was stunned at how different she was to my mental picture.” And she didn’t mention another word until she suddenly remembered she had to borrow a stick of butter from Drew, and spent a good hour sitting at Drew’s kitchen counter regaling him with the whole story.

  Subsequent meetings have been better, in terms of Brooke’s behavior. There is a hint of a smile behind her tortoiseshell glasses, a pretense at politeness, but Andi can’t forgive her being drunk in front of her children.

  “It’s just such a shame,” she says to Ethan on a regular basis. “They get no attention, no love, no care when they’re there. She’s just drunk and angry. No wonder Emily’s drinking. What other model does she have?”

  “She has me,” Ethan points out. “And you. Thank God. I need you to stop focusing on the negative. Think of all the good.”

  “I know, I know,” Andi murmurs.

  * * *

  Most of the time, she manages fine. Most of the time Brooke has very little to do with their lives. But there are times when she phones drunk and Andi refuses to pick up. One night, Ethan turned the ringer off, too tired to deal with Brooke, and in the morning they scrolled back through caller ID to see how many times she’d called.

  Thirty-seven times.

  Between eight P.M. and half past midnight.

  “What for?” Andi was bemused.

  “Yes.” Ethan shrugged. “That’s why we turn off the ringer. Also,” and he grinned, a naughty, five-year-old’s grin, “nothing infuriates her more than not getting hold of me exactly when she wants to.”

  * * *

  Now, when Andi is listening to her messages on the home voice mail, hearing Brooke’s angry, slurring voice, she presses erase without even listening. The messages are always for Ethan, or the girls, and she figures nothing is that important.

  Yet Brooke is the mother of her stepdaughters. While Andi is not friends with her, is mystified and upset at her behavior, she would never, never, let the girls know.

  However conflicted they may be, however much Brooke also drives them crazy, particularly during these teenage years, she is still their mother, and they love and hate her in equal measure.

  Sophia is only just starting to see her mother in a negative light. At thirteen, her hormones are changing; she is beginning to realize that her mother is not like all the other mothers. It used to be that when her mother would phone to criticize, or accuse, or berate, when her mother would point the finger of blame, it always bypassed Sophia and landed firmly on Emily.

  Now, though, Sophia is finding she is more frequently in the line of fire, for no other reason than she is the one who is there.

  Unlike Emily, she doesn’t fight back. She doesn’t scream, and shout, and slam doors. She tries to make it better. She offers to make her mother tea, or do the shopping, or urges her mother to sit down and let Sophia take over.

  Which only serves to infuriate Brooke further.

  I am okay, Sophia tries to tell herself. This has nothing to do with me. Except she worries that it has everything to do with her. That if she becomes the perfect daughter, if she does everything Emily can’t, if she is better, and sweeter, and more helpful, then her mother might start loving her again.

  Her mother might get well.

  “I want Mommy to get better,” Sophia will say to Ethan when they are by themselves.

  “I hate Mom,” Emily will say to Ethan when they are by themselves.

  Whatever they are saying, and whoever is saying it, Andi is careful never to say anything negative, or critical, or judgmental about Brooke. Not in front of the girls.

  She has seen this happen. Remembers a mother in Sophia’s class, divorced and struggling as a single mother with three children, talking about her child’s distress that morning after he returned from his father and stepmother’s house.

  The stepmother had spent the morning asking the child why the mother was so cheap, why she never contributed anything, telling the child the mother had lied about money to get more in the divorce settlement.

  And the child, sweet-natured Katie, naturally, was devastated, spending the entire day at school in tears.

  Andi may disapprove of Brooke’s drinking, but she would never even drop a hint that she felt that way. She tries not to talk about Brooke at all, and if she does, it is never negative, and never charged with emotion.

  She saves those conversations for when she and Ethan are alone.

  * * *

  And the children. These poor, damaged children. Andi puts the bread in the toaster oven and slides the door closed, thinking about Emily last night, sleeping with her hand still in Andi’s, wondering if Emily has a hope in hell. What would it take for Emily to be happy? To feel safe, and secure, and loved?

  The Emily she glimpsed through a crack in the barn siding was the Emily they all want her to be, all the time. Not angry, and sulky, and unhappy, but charming, and fun, and clever.

  It still remains a miracle to Andi that Emily is not flunking her way through school. Her senior year was spent partying mercilessly, and it is only thanks to Emily’s excellent memory that she actually managed to scrape through.

  And scrape through she did, with SATs that were so bad, they have put off college for a year, during which time she will be traveling briefly, working, studying, and retaking the test to enable her to go to a decent college, to please, God, please, please, God, get a shot at having a decent start in life.

  Already, though, Emily has done nothing about getting a job. She hasn’t figured out travel plans, hasn’t thought through the year, despite Ethan’s sitting down with her and attempting to go through ideas with her.

  “She has to do it herself,” Andi says, watching Ethan try desperately to engage a bored Emily. “If she wants to screw it up, it’s her life, you have to let her.”

  “She’s my child,” he says. “And right now she needs some help to get her on the right path. She needs our help and support. Both of us.” He gave Andi a hard look.

  * * *

  Please let the Emily she saw last night be the start of a new path. Please let that glimpse of a lovely Emily be the Emily she decides to be.

  Ten

  “I’ll get her up,” Ethan closes the fridge door wearily, checking his watch and sighing. “Emily has to be on time for this and we’re already leaving it later than I’d like.”

  “Want me to make eggs?”

  “Sure,” Ethan says, making his way out the room to rouse his sleeping daughter.

  * * *

  When younger, Emily had always expressed an interest in writing, and Ethan, scrabbling wildly to try and find something that would engage his daughter, has set up an interview with a small publisher who is looking for an intern.

  Ethan knows nothing about publishing, but the last time they flew East to visit Grandpa O, he flew home earlier, alone, and found himself sitting next to a woman he is hoping may change his life.

  Or at least, Emily’s.

  Robin Kall turned and introduced herself as soon as they sat down, and although Ethan wasn’t in the mood to make small talk with a stranger on a plane, her smile was so genuine, her warmth so enveloping, he found himself quickly enthralled.

  She was passionate about books, with a radio show and a Huffington Post column he had
read. She made him laugh with stories of the authors she interviewed on Reading with Robin, then moved him to tears when she talked about her mother’s death from breast cancer, and the money she and her sisters, Laura and Jennifer, had raised as a result.

  Her enthusiasm for everything in her life was infectious, and when Ethan mentioned that one of his daughters, Emily, had always loved reading, Robin instantly offered to introduce him to people to help her find a job.

  She had a publisher friend in San Francisco, and although it had been some time, they had finally coordinated schedules to set up an interview for Emily.

  The plan had been to collect Emily from her mother’s this morning, but having Emily show up yesterday was something of a hidden blessing, for it is unlikely that Emily would have even been awake, let alone up and ready to go, had she stayed at Brooke’s house.

  At least this way, Ethan has more control.

  * * *

  “Morning.”

  Emily shuffles into the kitchen as Andi greets her tentatively, still glowing from last night’s sweetness, from Emily’s apology, her hand-holding, her vulnerability in showing Andi that she needed her, and more than that, she wanted her. Andi remains hopeful that last night marked a turning point in their relationship.

  Emily doesn’t respond, merely scrapes a chair back with a scowl as Andi, with sinking heart, slides a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her.

  And Emily gags.

  Pushing her chair back quickly, she runs from the room. Andi hears her retching in the powder room, and when she returns, she is grey.

  “Just tea?” Emily nods, self-conscious suddenly, as Andi removes the plate. “Try some dry toast, sweetie,” Andi says gently. “My mother always said it was the best cure for sickness. Black tea, dry toast, and lots of water to flush your system out. Can I make some toast for you?”

  “Cool, thanks.” Emily nods, not meeting Andi’s eye.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Emily is feeling a little better, both mentally and physically.