The knock on my front door forces me to get out of bed much earlier than I intended to. This is my first official day unemployed. I glance at the clock hanging on the wall in my living room as I walk past it, dodging boxes along the way. Eleven-thirty in the morning. I never sleep in until half past eleven. I pull the door open. A huge vase of orange roses stands before me.
‘Delivery for Ambri Jennings…’
‘Wow.’ I take the flowers being handed over to me. ‘Thank you.’ I carry them through my living room to the kitchen, setting them on the counter and pulling off the card that’s taped to the vase.
‘“You are what we all should be. I know you’ll be great at whatever you choose to do next.”’ I read it aloud, turning the card over when I see that no name is signed.
Who doesn’t sign a card when they send flowers? It had to be Noah. He’s the only one that sends me flowers. He’s at work today so I bet he got a call and forgot to add his name.
You always know how to make me feel better. XO
I hit the send button on a text to him right as my phone rings.
‘Hello?’
‘She’s still talking to us!’ my mom yells into the receiver, clearly updating my father, who’s probably sitting in the same room with her. ‘We were beginning to wonder…’
‘I’ve been busy, I’m sorry.’
‘We missed you at dinner last weekend.’
Whenever my parents speak they are not individuals. They’re a we or an us. I guess when you’ve been married nearly forty years that can happen.
They don’t live far from me. They’re about a twenty-minute drive, which means Sunday dinner is always possible; no matter what plans I have, I should be able to make it. It’s become something of a tradition.
I never intended to miss dinner last weekend but having Henry thrown back into my life unexpectedly and the pressure of figuring out the new job I had was enough to make me need to sleep through last Sunday.
‘I might miss this week too.’
I have to work up the courage to talk to Henry and I have a feeling it might take me longer than it should. If I can, hopefully he’ll agree to help with the website, and I will once again be available for Sunday dinner.
She sighs into the phone, obviously not thrilled about me missing dinner two weeks in a row.
‘You could come tonight?’
I can’t say no. Ever since Rory died, I feel like I need to do anything I can to make sure that they are happy. It wasn’t just hard on Henry and me. My parents lost a child. That should never happen. No one should have to bury their children. I’ve already missed one week – I think if I miss two they might start to feel it.
‘Sure, Mom. When should I be there?’
‘What time do you get off work?’
‘Actually, I got fired yesterday so I’m free whenever.’
I wouldn’t tell them because they’ll worry, but I hate lying.
‘Fired? Wynne! Ambri was fired from her job!’ She yells it into my ear.
‘Her old room is still exactly the way she left it,’ I hear him say to her not so far off in the distance.
I laugh into the phone. ‘I’m not moving back in, Mom.’
‘Well, if you’re free to come over you can come now, and we’ll have lunch.’
‘OK. Give me an hour.’
‘You didn’t just get out of bed, did you?’
‘Of course not. You think I’m some kind of bum?’ I roll my eyes.
Thank God she can’t hear an eye roll. A tiny white lie about sleeping in won’t hurt her. It’s not like I’m gonna be making a habit out of it. I love my parents dearly but in their mind I’m still a teenager trying to find my way in a world they can’t control. You’d think at my age I wouldn’t still be having these conversations with my parents.
*
‘There she is!’ My dad greets me at the door, arms open and ready to hug away my problems. It used to work when I was five so why not give it a shot?
‘Hi,’ I say as he pulls me to him, squeezing me hard enough to make me laugh.
‘Lost your job, huh?’
‘Yup.’ I nod, following him into the house.
‘Well, kid, that’s life. One door closes and another is waiting ajar not far off. You gotta find that door.’
‘Right. That seems to be the hard part.’
That phrase gives you so much hope. When one door closes, another will open. What no one tells you is that the door you’re looking for isn’t even on the same street or block, heck, it’s not even in the same city. It’s a quest to find it and when you finally think you do, you’re not even sure if it’s meant for you.
‘Did you give her the check?’ my mom yells from the kitchen.
‘She just walked in!’ He waves her away with a laugh.
‘I don’t need money, guys. You taught me well, so I’ve been saving a little bit for years. I can’t say I’ll be living like I’m anything overly important, but I’m not gonna end up homeless or starving or anything.’
She sets a plate of sandwiches on the table. Grabbing the check and waving it in the air. ‘You will take this check and you will add it to whatever you’ve got.’ She shoves the piece of paper into my bag.
‘Fine… If I must.’ I roll my eyes with a smile. Like I’m really going to turn down free money. No matter what your age, when your parents insist on something, you normally do it. At least, I do.
My phone buzzes on the table in front of me.
Hey, babe. Just got your text. I’d do anything to make you happy.
Noah. I know that he would.
The flowers are gorgeous.
I send the text through, getting a reply almost immediately.
Flowers? I didn’t send flowers. I probably should have. LOL
He didn’t send them? If he didn’t send them then… no-o-o-o-o. Damn it, Henry. He’s the only other person on the planet who’s ever sent me flowers. Orange roses at that. How could I forget about that? Probably because forgetting things exactly like that is what I’ve focused on for the last two years.
On one of our many trips to the Rose Garden over the years, I showed him exactly which ones were my favorite, as I did every single time we walked past them.
*
‘Those are the ones.’ I stop in front of the rose bush. ‘“Mandarin Sunblaze.”’ I read the label out loud even though I’ve got it memorized. ‘They’re so gorgeous. Like this sunset, actually.’
Henry shakes his head. ‘I know this is probably the five-hundredth time you’ve told me but I gotta say, I never really saw you as a rose-loving kind of girl.’
‘Why not?’
‘I dunno. It’s too common. You’re not common.’
‘I will take that as a compliment.’
‘As you should.’ He smiles.
‘OK, then, you think you know me so well, what kind of flower did you picture as my favorite?’
He walks down the path, his hand on his chin as if really in deep thought about flowers. ‘Well…’ he finally turns to me with a smile ‘… you are someone who makes me smile whenever you walk into a room, most of the time.’ He winks, a growing grin on his face. ‘What flower could make everyone else smile too?’
‘Um… any flowers could make any woman smile if they’re delivered.’
‘Perfect. Then it’s not even the kind of flower that’s important, it’s how it’s received. Your flowers are a delivered bouquet of the finest Mandarin Sunblaze roses.’
I laugh out loud, nudging him with my shoulder as I walk past him. ‘Why do I hang out with you still?’
‘Who knows?’ He laughs.
*
Freaking Mandarin Sunblaze roses, delivered. Of course, it was Henry.
The card wasn’t signed. Just assumed they were from you. They’re probably from Claire.
No! I silently scream to myself after I hit send. Why is there no text retraction button? God, what is wrong with me? Now I’m lying to my boyfriend? Things just keep building up here. I can only imagine a nightmarish implosion coming my way soon.
‘Ambri, no phone at the table.’
‘Sorry.’ I tuck it into my pocket.
‘Everyone sit. We made turkey and Swiss croissants and a broccoli raisin salad. Ambri’s favorite.’
‘Yum,’ I say, forcing enthusiasm to match hers.
This is one of my favorite meals but not because it’s some glorious food masterpiece. More because it reminds me of a time when my family was truly happy. I remember eating this exact meal as a teenager with Rory by my side. I love it because it reminds me of her.
I sit in the chair deemed as mine and look to Rory’s empty seat to my right. It’s unavoidable when I’m here. Mom leans over, lighting the white candle sitting on her place mat, moving her free hand from her head to her chest and tapping each shoulder in the Catholic cross. We’re not Catholic. Never have been. She took it up while we sat in the hospital with Rory when the chaplain would come visit. He was Catholic. If it helps her, I’m glad.
She lights a candle at every single meal. Once she told me it made her feel Rory’s presence and I can’t argue that. If nothing else, it plants the seed that our family is still broken and will never be quite as complete as it should be.
‘Now… let’s talk shop.’ She opens a notebook to her left, scribbled with writing on the first page. ‘We’ve made a list, because you know how much we love lists.’
I nod. ‘Yes, I certainly do.’
She passed this same list trait down to me, but I’m not quite as organized with it as she is. I don’t have a kitchen drawer full of nothing but different colored sticky notes like she does. My version of list-making includes the note app on my phone and five hundred different snippets of thoughts I’ve had. None complete, none labeled, and it’s an unorganized mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if most notes were repeats of previous ones. It’s no wonder I can never come home from the store with whatever it is I went for.
‘How do you feel about becoming a chef? We know how much you love food and we’d be happy to sign you up for lessons.’
‘Mom, the last time I tried my hand at baking I had to call 911. Is that really something we want to relive?’
She crosses the word chef off the list.
‘Well, we are thankful that Noah came to your rescue.’
‘How is Noah?’ my dad asks.
‘He’s great. Actually, we kind of made a big decision this week.’
‘Oh! Wynne! She’s engaged!’ She grabs my left hand, knocking the sandwich I was in the process of picking up back onto my plate. She frowns when she sees no ring.
‘No! Mom, we’re not engaged! We’re moving in together.’
‘You make getting engaged sound like a terrible thing. You don’t want to marry Noah? You’ve been together a while now.’
I shake my head. ‘No. I don’t want to marry Noah. I don’t want to marry anyone right now. Plus, we’ve barely been together a year. I read somewhere it takes at least two years to really know someone. I’m definitely not ready for marriage. Not yet. I don’t know if I’m really even ready to move in together…’
‘If you’re not sure, why do it?’ Dad says. ‘That’s a big step.’
I sigh. ‘I feel like I should be ready? I dunno, I guess we’re at that point in our relationship? I mean, we’d never really talked about it before the other night and then it sort of… happened.’ I shrug, glancing between the two of them. Their faces stone-cold sober. ‘He was so excited that I didn’t feel like I could take it back.’
‘Maybe you need more time to think about it? I’m sure he’d understand.’
‘And if he doesn’t…’ my dad cuts in ‘… then he’s not the right guy for you.’
I nod, forcing an uncomfortable smile. Why is talking to people about your feelings sometimes so difficult?
‘I plan to talk to him about it soon.’
We’re all silent for a moment as everyone lets the moving or not moving in thing sink in. Myself included. It’s been in the back of my mind since it happened.
‘Back to the job thing.’ Mom changes the subject, glancing back down at her list. ‘What about a novelist? You always loved to write. Wouldn’t that be so exciting, to have an author in the family?’ Mom pats Dad’s hand proudly as she moves back to her list.
‘She’d be a hell of a writer.’ He adds to her excitement.
‘I am a writer, guys. That’s my job now.’
At least it was.
‘Oh!’ She waves a hand my way. ‘That’s fluff writing and you obsessing over food. You could write the next Stephen King novel! We do love a good crime novel.’
‘Mom, Stephen King doesn’t write crime. He writes horror. You’re reading horror books aloud together as you go to bed.’
I couldn’t even read a Stephen King novel in the daylight, I’m that much of a wimp and yet here are my elderly parents living it up each night reading aloud about things like people wearing other people’s skin and murderous dogs. Sweet and charming on the outside, dark and weird on the inside.
‘Horror, crime, what’s the difference?’
I shake my head with a laugh. God help me that these are two of my favorite people on the planet.
‘I don’t want to write a crime novel. I actually don’t need any ideas at all because I’ve already got one.’
She slaps her notebook closed with a smile. ‘Let’s hear it.’
‘Well… I hope to start my own website and write about local food and music.’ I figured I might as well at least think about what I’d want this website to be now that I’ve nearly committed myself to it.
‘Food and music together?’ Dad asks, an eyebrow raised.
‘No. Well, yes. On the same site but hopefully in two different sections. I don’t really know how it will work yet, but I like promoting local restaurants and I’ve been in contact with Taylor Pearson, the girl—’
‘Oh, my God! Wynne! Taylor Pearson is the darling girl on The Next Superstar, the one from Portland.’ She turns to me with a grin. ‘You’re going to be famous!’
I shake my head. ‘No. Taylor is gonna be famous. I’ll just be writing about her.’
‘You should have tried out with her. If I remember right you’ve got a lovely voice.’ Dad pats my hand.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I don’t. That was Rory.’
It’s funny how they think the world works. Like trying out and making it onto The Next Superstar is something you decide you want and by golly they better accept you. They did this in grade school when I tried out for the school play. They had me convinced that I was the next Meryl Streep and then I got the part of a squirrel. A freaking squirrel with no lines. Apparently, I was only a good actress at home.
‘Right! Rory had that. Oh, how I miss hearing that sweet voice.’ Dad smiles, his hand now over his heart as he remembers a piece of her. We’ve had time to let go of Rory. But we’ll never forget her. My parents decided after the funeral that they didn’t want to be the kind of family that didn’t speak of the dead. They wanted to keep her memory alive and not turn her name into a bad word. She will always be a piece of us even though she’s not here.
‘How will you build this website?’
I haven’t mentioned Henry since he left. I don’t even know how they didn’t ask more questions about him. He left, and I pretended like he never existed. The last time they asked if I’d heard from him, I shrugged my shoulders and they never asked again. They had to know something was up, but I couldn’t ever break it to them that he crushed me.
‘Actually, I’m going to ask Henry to help me.’
‘Henry’s back in town?’ Mom’s face lights up.
To say they love him would be an understatement. They adore him. Always have. Sometimes I wonder if they like him more than me.
‘Yeah, he’s around.’
‘You’ve actually seen him?’ Dad asks, as if I’m making it up.
‘Yes.’ I laugh. ‘I’ve actually seen him. A few times, actually.’
‘Oh, how exciting that he’s back! Tell him to come by, we’d love to see him. You should have brought him with you!’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know if that will happen any time soon, but I’ll let him know you’d like to see him.’
Dad frowns.
‘So, Henry will help you build the site. Does that mean he’ll be your business partner? Surely a website needs more than just creation. I would think updates and such would need to be done regularly.’
How does my mom know more about how websites work than I do? I worked for one! I didn’t even think about all the extras. Would he expect to be my partner? It’s not like I can pay him right now and without knowing how well the site is going to do I’m not sure how long it would take to make enough of a profit to ever start paying him. I don’t even know how a website makes money, if I’m honest. Yet again, I’m in over my head.
I shrug my shoulders, filling my mouth with a sandwich.
‘Ambri.’ My mom says it exactly like she used to when she was grilling the truth out of why I wasn’t home in time for curfew when I was in high school. ‘Have you even talked to him about it yet?’
This is the one place where food won’t save me. They know I use it as an out so reading my mind isn’t completely unusual.
I sigh, swallowing down the bite I took. ‘Not exactly, but I plan to. Soon.’
‘If you wait too long he’ll be busy with someone else and then there goes your chance. You’ll have to learn how to cook.’
Why does that sentence make me feel like she’s not even really talking about the website?
‘I will talk to him soon. I promise.’
‘Any plans for your upcoming birthday?’
My birthday. My birthday is a constant reminder of losing my sister. The last few years haven’t been birthdays I’d love to remember. I don’t know if it’ll ever be the way it used to be. My parents mean well, but insist each year on celebrating the anniversary of her death as well. Like a double celebration. I’ve never understood anniversaries of death. I get that it’s a monumental point, but anniversaries are for celebrating and I don’t want to celebrate her death. It’s the day I watched the person I loved the most leave me. I’d rather remember her any other day than that one.
‘No plans.’ I shake my head.
‘Maybe you should spend it with Henry. Like old times.’
I nod. ‘Maybe I’ll do that.’ The likeliness of that happening doesn’t seem very high but I guess, after the last week, anything is possible.
Dad reaches over, squeezing my hand. ‘Whatever you do, make sure you’re happy.’
I nod as I glance over to the lit candle next to me and force a smile. He’s not only talking about my birthday. I know he’s also referring to my Noah dilemma. I don’t know what makes me happy anymore. Everything is all mixed up and what I thought made me happy doesn’t seem to be doing it anymore. Then there is the question I have every time I think of her. I glance over at her empty chair. Would Rory be happy with me?