Always Alchemy: The Ever After Book (Alchemy #6)

2. Tea and Truthbombs

2

TEA AND TRUTHBOMBS

BELLE

W hen Rosalie was born four months ago, Aida sent me a card in which she had written the following:

The days are long, but the years are short. Enjoy your newborn baby. X

At the time, I suspected that this was a card only a mother would or could pick out.

Now I know it to be true.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt a sentiment so deeply, not sure anything has ever felt more perfectly, irrefutably bittersweet than this conflict. It carves itself onto my heart and alters my DNA: this constant, low-level panic that, while I’m celebrating and obsessing over every tiny milestone Rosalie gives us—and, admittedly, wishing away some of the harder days—every second with her is time we’ll never get back, as lost forever as that old cliché of sand slipping through our fingers.

There are days when I think bedtime—hers and ours—will never come.

There are nights when I’ve been desperate, feral, to see the dawn break. (Next time, there’s no way I’m having a winter baby.)

And still, as Maddy and I line Rosalie up on the sofa next to two-day-old Jonny, I see how vastly my sweet girl has grown. I have a horrible reference point: Jonny is how a new baby looks, and at sixteen weeks old, that’s no longer Rosalie. She’s double his size.

My best friend’s perfect, brand-new baby boy is effectively holding up a mirror to precious days and weeks that have slipped away forever.

I swear, I feel Aida’s advice in my very bones today. It’s a clawing sense of panic, a weird grief that every new day and every fresh skill my incredible little daughter learns comes at the expense of something lost.

I suspect that if I confessed as much to anyone who has kids, they’d laugh sympathetically and shrug and say, Welcome to parenthood.

Despite all this, it’s a happy day, too. The happiest. Because I’m hanging at my friend’s house, my best friend since I was eleven, and we’ve done this a million times in the past, but now we both have doting husbands and, in Maddy’s case, lovely stepdaughters, and tiny, precious babies, and that’s really incredible, when you think about it.

We both snap some pictures with our phones, because these two are ridiculously sweet. Rosalie is alert, gazing around the room with her huge eyes that have, over the past fortnight, begun to shift from blue to that green-hazel-gold mix that Dex and I both inherited from Mum. Jonny is still asleep, swaddled like a tiny dark-haired burrito, his rosebud mouth doing that little pursing thing that makes me glad I’m wearing breast pads, even though he’s not my baby.

‘I can’t wait till he can smile,’ Mads says, picking him up carefully and depositing him in his rocking crib in the middle of the den. As she does, Norm, her family’s lovely black Lab, trots over and lies down right beside the crib, his glossy black head on his paws.

He’s been following the baby around since I’ve been here and, according to Maddy, he’s been like this since they brought Jonny home from the hospital. Zach, who’s outside playing footie in the garden with Rafe and the girls, has called for him a couple of times, but Norm’s just raised his head briefly before settling back down again in his position next to the baby.

Zach’s often joked that he’s a useless guard dog, but he may have to eat his words now.

It’s possibly the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

Maddy squats on the carpet so she can rub Norm’s ears.

‘Don’t wish the days away,’ I tell her now, taking a seat on the sofa and settling Rosalie on my lap so she’s facing the others. ‘Look at how big this one looks compared to Jonny. I feel like crying.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ She blows out a breath. ‘Please tell me it stops being quite so scary, though.’

‘It gets less and less scary,’ I say carefully, ‘but it’s gradual. Just give yourself some grace, okay? Between the hormones and the lack of sleep and not actually knowing how to do the simplest things—oh, and trying to keep them alive, it’s a lot . Just do what you need to do to get by, and take help from everyone you can, okay?’

I may have found labour easier than I expected—all the hypnobirthing prep I did really came into its own during the birth—but I can’t say the past four months have been a walk in the park. More like the most terrifying time of my life. The enormity of having the world’s most perfect baby and being responsible for keeping her alive has been a dark burden, colouring every moment of my days and nights for the first few weeks. It’s lifting, slowly but surely, and I’m beginning to breathe again.

Which is why I’ve given Maddy the best gift I could think of to give her—I’ve passed on our amazing maternity nurse, Josie, to Mads and Zach. Now that Rosalie is sleeping through the night and I’m more myself, I feel brave enough to forge ahead without her, and I hope and pray she’ll make Maddy’s experience of new motherhood even richer. Both of our mums may be hands-on, but it’s been decades since they cared for us as babies, and nothing beats a compassionate, competent professional.

I was seriously dubious about getting help. It felt like I was leaning away from parenting. But, four months on, I can admit that Josie helped me to lean in. She taught me so many things that would have taken me hours and days of tears and sweat to figure out on my own. She diagnosed Rosalie’s silent reflux within a couple of weeks and saved all three of us heartache.

Above all, she allowed Rafe and me to take the time to fall in love with our daughter without being pulled too far under by the terrifying weight of new, unfamiliar responsibilities.

We’re contentedly silent for a moment, Maddy petting Norm, and me holding Rosalie upright on my lap, and Jonny sleeping that independent, oblivious sleep of newborns that makes every new mother wonder how they can actually keep themself alive, all on their own, in their crib. Maddy’s mum, Verity, enters from the kitchen, where she’s been brewing us a herbal tea infusion, singing Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

‘Still holding off on baptising her?’ Verity asks me wryly, breaking off from her song to nod at Rosalie.

I bark out a laugh. ‘God, yeah. You too, Mads?’

She grimaces. ‘Yep. Loyola and St Cecilia’s didn’t do a great job with any of us, did they?’ she says, referencing the schools we and our husbands went to.

‘I thought Zach might want that friend of his—the priest—to baptise him.’

‘Nah. It’s not about Fr John, however lovely he is. It’s about starting Jonny off with a blank slate, so he can choose whatever belief system he wants later.’

‘That’s ironic,’ I muse, ‘given that’s exactly what baptism is supposed to provide—a clean slate, I mean.’

Verity laughs. To this tired new mama, she looks even more incredible than usual. Her rich auburn hair is perfectly styled in beachy waves, and her makeup is immaculate. ‘Right? I mean, one look at these two little monkeys and you can tell they’re just riddled with Original Sin.’

‘Naughtiest babies ever.’ I bend my head so I can brush my lips over Rosalie’s temple. The scent of her skin is still the most miraculous thing in the world to me.

‘Yeah. I think we’ll take our chances with Jonny’s eternal soul.’ Maddy pauses. ‘Have you spoken to your dad about it at all?’

‘Nope.’ I pop the P before kissing Rosalie again. I have one hand splayed across her tiny torso and the other held out in front of her so she can wrap her tiny fingers around one of mine. I love her little hands. They’re so chubby and soft and perfect, with those delicious rings of fat around her wrists and their tiny shell-like nails.

‘It’s all hovering there in the awkward depths of Things We Don’t Discuss,’ I continue. ‘I don’t know if it’s just me, but I swear I can feel it hanging in the air every time I see him. I’m actually staggered he hasn’t brought it up.’

‘Did your mum say something to him?’ Maddy wants to know.

‘She told me she warned him not to go there, that my parenting choices are not his jurisdiction. She’s been reading that Brené Brown book you gave her, Verity.’

Maddy grins. She looks thrilled. ‘Ugh, that’s so good. I’m so happy you guys are finally proper friends.’

Not going to lie: it was tough for me growing up to know that my parents barely tolerated Verity and Maddy’s stepdad, Justin. Not only has Verity always been incredibly kind to me, but she’s one of the most well-adjusted people I know.

With hindsight, it was that very issue that had Dad judging her vociferously at every opportunity and Mum running for the hills. A woman who was unhappy with the terms of her marriage and walked out, choosing a man who saw her properly and supported her? Dangerous, powerful stuff indeed.

Over the past couple of years, though, Mum has actually sought Verity out. I made her watch a few of Verity’s Instagram reels after I had that massive showdown with Dad over choosing my own belief system, when she was finally in a place to absorb Verity’s wisdom and advice. By the time Dex came out to my parents, Mum was stronger, more open, in her heart than I’d ever seen her, and she and Verity are firm friends now.

They may or may not have cemented that friendship by getting absolutely hammered together at our wedding in France. The one Dad refused to attend on the grounds of it not being a union in the eyes of God. The one where Mum gave me away.

Verity smiles serenely as she pours our tea into three pretty double-walled glasses. I note with delight that she’s cut thick slices of the banana bread I brought over and slathered them with yellow butter, too. I swear, my breast milk is eighty percent banana bread and twenty percent butter at the moment.

‘Lauren is a very special woman, and honestly, I have a huge amount of respect for her. For her to have gathered the courage to find her voice again from within the confines of such a patriarchal relationship is no mean feat. I’m delighted she’s devouring Brené. I bought her Untamed, too.’

‘Thank you,’ I tell Verity. ‘Honestly.’

‘Ben must be feeling very much out in the cold, these days,’ Verity muses.

I give her a watery grin. ‘Better than burning in hellfire with the rest of us, eh? I know it hurts him, but it hurts him more that we don’t have God on our side, I think.’

‘Not your problem, remember?’ Maddy says sternly.

I sigh. ‘I know, but…’ I tail off.

Verity approaches, arms outstretched. ‘How about I cuddle this little princess while you drink your tea?’ She picks Rosalie up gently and puts her on her hip. ‘Look at you,’ she coos. ‘I can tell you’re going to be a strong, incredible woman, just like your mother and your grandmother.’ She turns back to me. ‘You were saying?’

‘Nothing, really. I just get sad, knowing how much us not baptising Rosalie must kill Dad. I get it—it’s our decision, and only ours. But he genuinely believes that if she dies without being baptised, she’ll go to Limbo, and that’s so horrific for him to have to bear. ’

Maddy snorts. ‘Jesus Christ. We’re not still supposed to believe that, are we?’

‘Well, some people, like Dad, still hold very fast on that front,’ I tell her.

‘I get it, sweetie,’ Verity says to me, shooting Mads a disapproving look over Rosalie’s head. ‘It’s perfectly all right for you to hold compassion for your father, but you need to remember you’re not responsible for his beliefs or his feelings. I’m sure it’s a difficult conflict, and I’m sure he’s praying for Rosalie, but you can’t take responsibility for any of this. I know you know this.’

I groan as I drop to the carpet and walk over on my knees to the coffee table. The tea smells amazing—soothing and fragrant. I think Verity must have put cardamom in it. And that banana bread is definitely winking at me. I take a slice.

‘I do,’ I admit. ‘I just—I hate the idea that he’s putting in all this extra time praying for something that’s totally unnecessary.’

‘Want to take this one, Mum?’ Maddy suggests, eyebrow arched. She scoops a doorstep of banana bread off the plate.

‘Firstly,’ Verity says gently, stroking Rosalie’s back, ‘who’s to say it’s unnecessary? I mean, I’m pretty fucking sure it is, but I have no proof that our truth is right and not Ben’s.

‘Secondly, his actions aren’t your responsibility, sweetie. I’ll keep on saying it until that sinks in. Of course it’s awful to watch someone you love hurting. But Ben’s particular form of faith has him viewing the world as a dangerous, evil place, and praying is his form of control as much as it’s his form of meditation. It allows him to feel like he has some agency, and I’d put money on it being the only time he feels truly at peace.

‘So let him have it. If you’d moulded your actions to his beliefs, you wouldn’t be sitting here with an adoring husband and a beautiful baby girl. Your responsibility is to be in your truth and to think and act in whatever way you’d like to model for this young lady as she grows up. I can just tell she’s going to be the wisest of us all. Yes?’

‘Yeah.’ I blow out a breath and take a huge bite of my banana bread as I nod my thanks. I know Verity’s right. I can’t control everyone around me. Unlike the behaviour my dad modelled for us, I have to respect everyone else’s right to their own life view as much as their right to act in accordance with that life view.

Simply put, I have to let it go, stop feeling this obligation to assuage my father’s conflicts, and prioritise Rafe and Rosalie.

‘Oi,’ Maddy protests. ‘What about my perfect son?’ She gets to her feet, the hand holding the banana bread held aloft, and gazes adoringly into the crib at her beautiful baby boy.

‘He is perfect,’ Verity says dreamily, ‘and I’d like to see him try to be anything other than the most evolved male with you, me and those two gorgeous sisters of his filling his brain.’