Somewhere Out There: A Novel

After telling her sister about her pregnancy, Brooke left Natalie’s house around nine thirty. Once home, she slept better than she had in weeks, and she couldn’t help but correlate this with the fact that she’d been so honest with her sister about what she was going through. The only real hitch in the evening came from Kyle. From his behavior at dinner, Brooke suspected that he had concerns about inviting her into his family’s life, which bothered her a little, although she was happy that Natalie had chosen a man who wanted to keep her safe. Brooke hoped that with a little time, he’d learn to trust her and she would learn to relax more around him.

The following week, Brooke arrived at her sister’s house again, just before noon on Wednesday, thinking that they would eat and then head out for her appointment, which was at one thirty. She felt better knowing that her sister would be there with her, if only to sit quietly as Brooke listened to whatever the doctor might have to say. But when Natalie answered the door, she wore bright red oven mitts and a red-and-white polka-dot apron covered in flour.

“Did I get the time wrong?” Brooke asked as she took in the rest of Natalie’s appearance—there were smudges of chocolate on her face and in her hair, accompanied by a slightly manic look in her eyes. The air coming from the house was scented with yeast and toasted sugar.

“Not at all,” Natalie said, gesturing for Brooke to enter. “I just screwed up the date on an order I took last month. I thought the party was next Thursday, but it’s actually tonight. Desserts for a hundred. I’m swamped.”

Brooke clutched her purse to her side. “Oh no,” she said. “You should have called me. You don’t have to come with me to the appointment.”

“Of course I’m coming,” Natalie said. “An extra set of hands is exactly what I need.” She grabbed Brooke’s purse and set it on the entry table. “Come on in.”

“You want me to help?” Brooke said, hesitant. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Natalie said. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you what to do. And we’ll be out of here in plenty of time to get to the clinic. I made sandwiches, if you want to eat. I’ve been sampling desserts all morning, so I’m already stuffed.”

“I’m okay, too,” Brooke said. She’d eaten a big breakfast, and wasn’t hungry. She followed Natalie into the kitchen, where the counters were cluttered with bowls dripping chocolate batter down their sides, and piles of silver pans in the sink. The stainless-steel baker’s rack against the wall near the back door was stacked with various kinds of miniature pastries—some had spun sugar on the top and others were covered in a shiny and thick chocolate glaze.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise,” Natalie said. “Crazy is totally part of my process.” She grinned and handed Brooke an apron. “Here. So you don’t mess up your clothes.”

Brooke wasn’t wearing anything fancy—black leggings and a loose olive-green sweater—but she complied anyway, then washed her hands with hot water and soap. “I can see why you need to expand your work space,” she said. She peeked out the kitchen window above the sink and noted that the lights were on in the garage. She could see the contractor’s silver head through one of the building’s windows. “How’s it going?”

Natalie sighed as she stirred something on the stove. “I found out this morning that we’re having a plumbing issue. Alex—that’s my contractor—says his guy can’t get to it until next week. Which means they can’t finish the Sheetrock or painting this week, like he said they could.”

Brooke almost offered to call Ryan and see if he could spare one of his plumbers to help, but she didn’t want him to think that she was changing her mind about his offer of support for her baby. And the truth was, with the way things were between them, she wasn’t sure he would do her that kind of favor. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That sucks.”

“Ah, well,” Natalie said. “Par for the course with a project like this, I suppose.” She nodded toward the white KitchenAid mixer on the counter. “If you could start that up on low, and then add twelve eggs, one at a time, letting each of them incorporate into the butter and sugar before adding the next, that would be great.”

“Got it,” Brooke said as she took a step over to the mixer, opened the gray cardboard carton labeled “organic farm-fresh eggs,” and began to carry out Natalie’s instructions.

“Are you nervous about the test?” Natalie asked over the loud whir of the machine.

“A little,” Brooke admitted. “I just want everything to be okay. But the receptionist told me that I’ll be able to find out the sex, too.”

“Do you want to?” Natalie asked as she poured what looked to be molten caramel from a pan into a baking sheet. Brooke watched as she used a rubber spatula to expertly spread the hot substance around until it was smooth.

“Did you?” Brooke added the eighth egg, careful not to allow any shell to land in the batter. She couldn’t believe how natural it felt to be with Natalie, working together in the kitchen, chatting as they did. It felt like they already knew each other, as though they hadn’t been apart all those years. Maybe this isn’t the start of a new relationship, she thought. Maybe it’s the remembering of the one we already had.

“Absolutely,” Natalie said with a grin. “I’m way too much of a control freak to have let it be a surprise. I needed to plan, especially with Hailey, since she was my first. To shop for clothes and paint the nursery. And once we knew, I read everything I could on how to be a good parent.”

“Did that help with your nerves?” Brooke asked. Her self-doubt was a tiny, yipping dog inside her mind; she’d yet to find a way to fully silence it.

“A little,” Natalie said. “But then she came out and I was terrified all over again that I’d screw her up.”

“But you didn’t,” Brooke said. “She seems like a great kid. Henry, too.”

“I hope so,” Natalie said. “Time will tell, I suppose. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that kids seem to be who they’ll grow up to be pretty early in life. At least on a basic level. I think Kyle and I have helped teach them how to make good choices between what’s right and what’s wrong, but their personalities have been with them from the get-go.”

Brooke thought about this as she finished adding the last egg, and when it was incorporated, she turned off the mixer.

“Sandwiches are in the fridge,” Natalie said, “if you decide that you want one.” But Brooke felt a wave of nausea rush over her, and whether it was due to her nerves or the baby, she didn’t think she should eat. A rap on the back door interrupted her thoughts, and Natalie went to answer it.

An older man, whom Brooke assumed was the Alex that Natalie had mentioned, stepped into the mudroom and carefully wiped his feet on the doormat. He wore dark brown work boots, loose denim overalls, and a green plaid, flannel jacket.

“Hey,” he said, lifting a hand in greeting at Brooke, who nodded in return.

“What’s up?” Natalie asked.

“I just wanted to check and see what would be a good time for us to turn off the water so we can get some pipe work done in prep for the plumber.” He glanced at the mess scattered across the room, the dirty dishes piled in the sink. “I’m guessing it isn’t now.”

Natalie laughed. “Why would you say that?”

“Just a hunch,” Alex said, drily. “It looks like sugar Armageddon in here.”

“Like Sara Lee exploded,” Brooke added, and Natalie laughed. She grabbed a brown bag from the countertop, next to the toaster. “Here,” she said, handing it to the man. “A little something for you and the crew. Do you have coffee out there? If not, I can make some.”

She’s a generous person, Brooke thought. She has a good heart. Brooke wondered if she had been adopted, like Natalie, raised in a family that loved her, would she be less guarded? Would she offer baked goods to mere acquaintances and invite her estranged sister into her life without so much as a hint of hesitation? There was no way for her to know.

“We’re all set,” the contractor said, taking the bag from her. “Thanks.” He paused. “You should be careful, feeding us like this. We might start slowing down the work just so we can stick around longer.” He winked, and then he was gone.

“Okay,” Natalie said. “You can add the flour to the batter—it’s right there, premeasured in the white plastic tub—then pour it into those pans.” She nodded in the direction of four sheet pans on the center of the island, which looked as though they’d already been greased with butter and sprinkled with sugar.

“What is it I’m pouring?” Brooke asked.

“Almond sponge cake. They’ll bake quickly, and I can finish them when I get back. Then the order will be ready to go for tonight.”

“Are you sure you have time to go?” Brooke asked again, not wanting to inconvenience her sister. Accepting Natalie’s offer to attend the appointment had felt uncomfortable, like Brooke was squeezing into a pair of someone else’s too-small shoes, but it had been too enticing to resist.

“I’m sure,” Natalie said, in a firm tone.

Thirty minutes later, the cakes were baked and cooling on the racks, and Natalie and Brooke were in Brooke’s car, headed downtown. “It’s surreal to be together like this,” Brooke asked. “Don’t you think? After so many years?”

“Sure,” Natalie said. “But it’s kind of comfortable in a way, too.” She looked at Brooke and smiled. “Is that weird?”

“Not at all.” Brooke was happy that her sister seemed to feel the same sense of connection as Brooke had earlier, in Natalie’s kitchen.

“Well,” Natalie said. “When the new space is finished, I may actually need to hire a second pair of hands. At least, I hope I’ll be busy enough to need that. I could train you on how to do all my prep work.”

“I don’t know,” Brooke said. “I actually have an interview next week for a new waitressing job.” She had spent the last week scouring the ads on Craigslist, applying to as many as she could. Of the many applications she’d filled out, she had received only one call, from a large seafood restaurant on Lake Union, which had advertised for a full-time, fine-dining server. Brooke had left her positions at Applebee’s off her résumé; she also slightly exaggerated how much experience she had with higher-end dining experiences. She hoped her knowledge of good wines would help her land the job at the upcoming interview.

Natalie cocked her head to one side. “You’re not happy at the bar?”

“It’s fine,” Brooke said. “I’d just like to work somewhere that’s a little more upscale. And that has a better health insurance plan than the one I’m on.”

“Ah,” Natalie said. “You know, I think there are programs the state offers for new mothers—”

“I’m not taking anything from the state,” Brooke said, with a sharp snap behind the words.

“Oh,” Natalie said, blinking fast. “Okay.”

The two stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment until Brooke finally spoke. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s just . . . I just can’t let my child feel like I did growing up.”

“How did you feel?” Natalie asked in a quiet voice.

“Less than,” Brooke said, and she felt the muscles in her throat grow thick. She still wasn’t accustomed to talking about her past, let alone her feelings about it. She wondered if there’d ever be a time that she could and not end up on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry,” Natalie said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Brooke said. “It’s not your fault.” And then she looked at Natalie, both women knowing exactly who Brooke did blame for her fractured childhood. The mother Brooke despised, and Natalie still wanted to find.

•  •  •

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Dr. Travers said, after the amnio was over. Brooke sat on the edge of the exam table with a thin white blanket gathered over her legs, a little freaked out that the tip of a long needle had just punctured her stomach and been so close to her baby. But the test had been painless, and was done in less than a minute.

Natalie sat on the chair in the corner, near where Brooke’s head had just been on the pillow. Her younger sister had offered to stay in the waiting room, but Brooke had asked her to come with her. The doctor was a tall, younger woman with pixie-cut brown hair and dark blue eyes. She wore black slacks and a red blouse beneath her white coat. “Your weight’s perfect, and so is your blood pressure.”

Brooke released an internal sigh of relief. “Are you going to do an ultrasound today?”

“We normally wouldn’t,” Dr. Travers said. “Your insurance plan only covers so many.”

“Oh,” Brooke said. “The receptionist mentioned something about being able to find out the sex.”

“You can when we get the results of the amnio, which will be in about a week,” the doctor said. “Until then, just keep up whatever you’ve been doing. Get as much sleep as you can, take your prenatal vitamins, and eat well. No raw eggs, undercooked meat, shellfish, or soft cheese, like Brie or Roquefort. Walking is the best exercise.”

“I’m a waitress, so that’s not a problem,” Brooke said. Her job had kept her physically active enough over the years that she’d never even considered joining a gym.

“Perfect,” Dr. Travers said. “But be careful lifting anything too heavy. I can write a note for your employer, if you want.”

“That’s okay,” Brooke said, hoping that after her interview with the seafood restaurant, she would have a new place to work.

“Okay, then,” Dr. Travers said. “I’ll see you in a month.” She paused, and then, as though sensing that Brooke needed it, gave Brooke’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be a great mom.”

“She’s going to be the best,” Natalie agreed, and with her sister’s comment, despite all the insecurities that plagued her, something ancient and broken inside of Brooke—something that believed she would be lonely for the rest of her life—stitched back together and she saw herself in a totally different light.