After the chaos that was Christmas, Brooke and I needed a reset. Something quieter. No awkward stares across dinner tables or offhanded microaggressions that ruin dessert. So, when her parents invited us to visit them in London this spring, I was… hesitant. Brooke was too, but more in that sigh-and-roll-her-eyes kind of way. Apparently they wanted a "fresh start." Their words, not mine.
We figured: Why not? Worst case, we’d explore the UK and avoid being in the house too long. Best case, maybe we’d all act like semi-functional adults for once.
So, we went.
They picked us up from Heathrow—again—and this time the silence in the car wasn’t as heavy. There was music playing (Coldplay, ironically), and Brooke’s mom asked if we’d eaten. I think she was trying. It didn’t feel perfect, but it felt... less cold.
Their house is just outside of London, in a neighborhood that smells like rain and garden tea. Very posh, very polished, but oddly cozy. Brooke showed me the room she grew up in, though most of it had been remodeled into a guest suite. The only thing untouched was a tiny drawing taped behind the closet door—a crayon sketch of her and Bruce holding hands.
That got me.
The trip was easy, mostly. We wandered around Notting Hill, browsed overpriced bookstores, drank tea that somehow tasted like old wood but cost more than a burger. Took a train to Brighton one day. Another day we caught a local play that had me asleep before Act II (don’t tell her mom, she paid for the tickets).
The most surprising part of it all? Her parents were… human. Still wrapped up in their UK elite mindset, still occasionally tone-deaf, but they actually tried to connect. Her dad even asked me more about med school, and this time he didn’t flinch when I mentioned my moms. He just nodded and said, “Hardworking women then, I imagine,” and that was it. No follow-up questions. No weird smile. Just respect.
I think what made this trip feel different was the absence of expectation. We weren’t hosting. We weren’t putting on a show. We were just... being. Her mom even asked Brooke about her art for once, not just grades or career plans. Her dad sat with Bruce and chatted over scotch like old colleagues. It wasn’t sunshine and lollipops, but it also wasn’t stormclouds and pettiness.
Sometimes peace looks like four people quietly coexisting in a living room, all flipping through their phones, with a movie playing nobody’s watching. Sometimes it’s walking hand-in-hand through an unfamiliar place, knowing you’re both a little more at ease than you were yesterday.
We didn’t solve everything. We’re not suddenly one big blended family. But London gave us a moment to breathe. And for Brooke, I think it gave her a little bit of closure—even if she won’t say it out loud.
It was a gentler visit. And that was more than enough.
