“Well, that might be because you both left so abruptly.”
“I had to leave and get Luc away from Dad. He wouldn’t stop picking on him.”
“Your father is just a little overprotective sometimes.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not coping with it, Mom. And I know I should’ve said something about this long ago, but I… I guess I wanted to keep the peace because I was worried about you and Dad when everything happened with Chrissy. But now I can’t do this anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love Luc.” Just saying that out loud set her heart ablaze. But fresh regret poured in. She should be saying that for the first time to Luc, not to her mother about him.
“And?”
“I want him in my life, in my future. But I feel like Dad doesn’t, and I want to know why.” No, she had to be more direct than that. “I want your help to understand why, and I want your help to bring Dad around so he’ll accept Luc into the family one day.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “Are you saying he’s proposed?”
“No. But I suspect he never will if I don’t learn to stand up and start saying what I really think instead of walking around on eggshells trying not to upset you and Dad.”
“I truly don’t understand where all this is coming from.”
Max placed their coffees on the table in front of them. Bailey thanked Max, offering a tight smile, which dropped as soon as Max left. “Luc is worried that Dad isn’t doing a good job with the studio’s finances. The bank has been asking questions, and something Poppy said recently made me wonder again what happened to your dance studio and why you quit teaching.”
“You know I wanted to stay home with you.”
“I know that’s what you’ve said. But is it actually true?” Bailey sipped her chai. “I’m sorry, Mom, if this comes across too blunt, but I feel like our family has always tiptoed around the truth, when we would’ve been better off speaking up loud and proud.”
Max glanced her way, but no, not that kind of proud. She focused on her mother, who was staring at her coffee with a contemplative brow.
“You want the truth?” Her mother sighed. “Well, I feel as though your father has always felt like he had something to prove. As you know, my parents were well-off, and while they welcomed Wayne into the family, they soon learned that he didn’t have quite the same touch as my father did when it came to investments. Your father is a good man, but a little inclined to seeing things his own way, and always felt a little snubbed when they wouldn’t take his well-meaning advice. I’ll admit I’ve found it challenging at times, but thought it best to keep the peace. And yes, I gave up the dance studio because you three were so young, but I also did it because your father was not as clever with the finances as he thought he was.”
Bailey gasped. “But you didn’t say anything when he offered to help me.”
“I didn’t know how much he was involved. I’m sorry.”
Bailey sank into the corner of the sofa, glad for the surrounds that tamped emotion, that helped force her to say what needed to be said. “I wish I’d known this. I have to get a business accountant and probably an audit as it seems like Dad hasn’t been paying some of the bank fees or repayments on time.”
“Oh, Bailey.” Her mother winced. “I’m so sorry.”
This was what happened when people didn’t tell the truth. Cover-ups became lies. Lies held a kind of darkness that could only be dispelled by speaking the truth. Truth that needed to be spoken to break the shackles from the past. And not just about the dance studio’s finances. “You know I left my ballet course in England because I had an eating disorder.”
Mom’s breath hitched. “Oh my goodness. Really?”
Bailey nodded, weight lifting. “I saw a therapist which really helped, and I haven’t relapsed for four years now. I still check in with her occasionally.”
“Oh, honey.” Her mom hugged her. “I wish I’d known.”
Well, now she did. Truth-telling was addictive. So, in for a penny… “I think Cindy hates me. She acts like such a bitch sometimes.”
“Oh Bailey.” A beat. “She does, doesn’t she?”
Her mild-mannered mother agreeing sent a sparkle of laughter through her. “I try so hard with her, but it’s like nothing I do makes a difference.”
“I know.”
She sighed. “I wish Chrissy would contact us again.”
“So do I.”
“We should message her.”
“We should.”
“No, right now. We should message her.”
“But your father—”
“Is wrong, Mom. He’s not acting like the prodigal son’s father but the older brother.”
“Oh, Bailey, now that’s… that’s actually true.”
Bailey was thankful that her mother was proving to be a safe space, but she should be sharing these truths with those who needed to hear it. Starting with her older sister, whom—apart from that recent birthday message which had received no reply—she hadn’t touched base with in far too long. As far as it depended on her, she’d make the effort and extend a hand of grace. To her sister, and to Cindy.
She tapped out a message to Chrissy: I love you, I miss you, I hope we can talk soon.
That was enough, she hoped. She pressed send. “We’ll have to pray God opens Dad’s heart again.”
“I’ve been praying that for years,” her mother admitted, which drew Bailey’s hug.
