“Get down to her level. Tell her you said something wrong. Tell her you are sorry. Don’t explain it away. Don’t blame wedding stress. Just tell her you were wrong.”
Claire nodded slowly.
“What if she doesn’t forgive me?”
“She probably will. Children can be incredibly generous when adults give them honest apologies.”
Claire watched Margot dance.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“She has her mother’s eyes.”
“Everyone says that.”
Claire hesitated.
“I want to love her.”
I said nothing.
“I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be her mother. Maybe that isn’t what she needs. But I want to be someone good in her life.”
“Then become that person.”
She looked back at me.
“It doesn’t require a title,” I continued. “It requires showing up. It requires making her feel welcome. Today was a bad beginning. It doesn’t have to determine the rest of your relationship.”
After another pause, Claire said,
“Your toast put me on notice in front of everyone I know.”
“Yes.”
“And you were right.”
That surprised me.
She was twenty-nine years old, sitting in her wedding dress across from a man twice her age who had just publicly confronted something she had done.
And she was admitting it.
That mattered.
Then she asked me something I hadn’t expected.
“Will you tell me about Phoebe?”
I looked at her.
“I’m not trying to compete with her,” Claire said. “But she’s Margot’s mother. If I’m going to be part of that little girl’s life, I think I should know who she was.”
So I told her.
I told her Phoebe noticed everything.
That she made people feel seen.
That she had strong opinions.
That she would absolutely have interrogated Claire about her intentions toward Emmett.
“She probably would have driven you crazy,” I said.
Claire almost laughed.
