It was one of those things she had pushed out of her mind for quite a while.
She was good at that. Booth called it "compartmentalizing" but Sweets sometimes called it "denial."
She didn't have a name for it, but as far as her past went, pushing things out of her mind worked quite well for her.
The problem with this particular skill was that sometimes, more often than not in fact, when she did remember (or when she chose to remember, depending on who you asked) the memory was often a cold slap of reality.
That was the case as she sat and blinked at her computer screen, the evidence she sought turning up a totally different answer that what she had expected.
Becoming a mother had been one of greatest joys in Brennan's life. While she had known she would embrace it and imagined she would be good at it, it had taken her by surprise how much she simply loved it. She loved her daughter, loved parenting and teaching and guiding. She had thought being a mother would fit nicely into her book of accomplishments. She was rather amazed that it seemed, out of all her accomplishments, to be the only one that really mattered. She had assumed it would take it's place among her other acheivements, but she was surprised when it surpassed anything else she'd done. And it overwhelmed her sometimes just how important her daughter was to her.
All this amazement had caused her to recall Daughter's Day and how special that had been to her as a child. She'd done a good job of never thinking about it, never acknowledging it, but now it seemed like something she'd like to revisit. She'd flipped open her planner to discover with surprise that it wasn't a pre-marked holiday like Mother's Day and Father's Day were. To the best of her recollection, it was the second Sunday in November, but it wasn't in her planner or on her desk calendar.
Puzzled, she turned to the internet, and after an hour of searching there was only one conclusion she could come to:
Her parents had lied.
Numbly, she picked up the phone to speak to the only other person she knew might be as indignant about this as she was.
"Hello?"
"Russ?"
"Tempe!"
"Did you know that Daughter's Day wasn't real? And by extension, neither was Son's Day?"
"It's good to hear your voice, too, Tempe. The girls are doing well, thanks for asking."
"Sorry."
Russ chuckled, because he knew his sister well enough to know that her mind was completely preoccupied and her lack of common courtesy wasn't rudeness, just distraction. "And yes, Tempe. I knew that."
"All along?"
"Yeah."
"Even when we were kids?"
"Well, sure. I mean, no one else celebrated it and it just seemed convenient that Mom didn't discover it until after you asked about it. I remember one year I wanted to go to the bowling alley with my friend Pete because someone said Carla Bonetti was going to be there. I thought she was so hot." He laughed. "But Mom wouldn't let me go because it was Son's Day and we had to celebrate it. I remember telling her that Son's Day should be about what I wanted and I wanted to go bowling with Pete and admire Carla Bonetti's, uh, bowling skills." When there was nothing but silence on the other end, not even a comment on Carla Bonetti's bowling acumen, he knew she was upset. "You didn't know?" He asked gently.
"No. I thought…I mean, after Mom and Dad left, I wasn't anyone's daughter anymore, you know? I kind of just…forgot about it."
"Until now?"
"Yes. I was thinking about it because Hadley is old enough now to understand the significance of celebrations and traditions and I was excited to share that one with her next week, only now I've discovered it isn't real and…"
"And you don't want to lie to her like Mom and Dad lied to us."
"Yes."
"Listen, I'm not going to tell you what to do here, Tempe. I was there for one of the rounds of you versus Booth over Santa Claus."
"What does that mean?"
"It just means I know how you feel about fudging the truth over for kids, but do me a favor, will you?"
"What?"
"Remember how Daughter's Day made you feel when you were a kid. How much you loved it. And you did, Tempe. You loved it. Every year you said it was your favorite day. And try to imagine how Hadley would feel about a day just for her."
"But it's not a real thing!"
"It was to you. And to Mom and Dad, too. And it is to my girls."
"You…you have Daughter's Day with Emma and Hayley?"
"Yeah, well, you know, Son's Day was in December, so…"
"Oh, my God." It dawned on Brennan then. "You never got your last Son's Day with Mom and Dad."
"No. I didn't. They disappeared the week before and I was pissed, you know? Pissed that they didn't come back for my day or for Christmas. Pissed that they left in general. But having Daughter's Day with the girls…I dunno. It kind of helps ease the sting a little. And they love it. You should try it, Tempe."
"I…"
"Promise me you'll think about it."
"I will. I'll think about it."
"Good. Now, I gotta run."
"Sure. I'll talk to you soon."
"Tell Booth I said 'hey' and kiss Hadley for me."
"The same to Amy and the girls."
"Bye."
He disconnected before she could respond and once again she was left with a whirlwind of feelings and emotions that were even stronger than they were before she'd spoken to her brother.