I run into Neel in my kitchen the morning of the wedding, forcing him to press up against the fridge to protect the armful of flowers he’s carrying for the ceremony later today. All morning there have been people in and out bringing flowers (courtesy of Good & Green), setting up tables and chairs, and stringing lights across the backyard.
Before I can awkwardly decide what to say to him, he does a cute bit of slapstick for my benefit trying not to drop the flowers and pretending that we’d almost collided rather than stopped a few feet from each other.
“Nicely done,” I say. “Not even a single petal fell.”
He bows. “I like to think I’m more than just a pretty face.” He shakes his hair back. “Besides, Eddie’s threatening to turn me into a reverse flower girl if he sees any petals down before the ceremony.”
I laugh softly. “But will you get a decorative basket to put them in?”
“Good point. I should ask.”
Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, I glance down. “I’ll get out of your way here.”
He slides around in front of me. “Actually, do you have a few minutes?”
I look up, unsure of what he means. “Yeah?”
“Oh good. Okay.” He lets out such a big breath of air it ruffles the flowers he’s holding. “’Cause here’s the thing, it turns out there’s something worse than a one-sided crush on your friend that ends with you asking her for space. You want to know what it is?”
“Wha—”
“Space!” He says it comically close to my face before drawing back so I can laugh and he can smile. “It didn’t make it hurt less, it just made me miss talking to you, seeing you, hanging out with you.” He circles his free hand at me. “You. So, yeah, I’m still gonna have to work a little on the not wanting to kiss you thing, but I figured I can just keep reminding myself that you don’t like Gangs of Wasseypur.”
My lips twitch. “I never said I didn’t—”
He cuts me off and raises his voice over mine. “Ah, ah—see, it’s helping already.”
I laugh again and it’s a sound of pure happiness because today of all days I need the people I love closest to me. “I guess now I can tell you I’m not the biggest musical fan either.”
Neel nods and gestures for me to keep going. “Good, yes. I don’t like you at all right now.”
I like him so much right now my heart could burst. Whatever else happens with my mom, I am so, so glad to have my friend back. “I’ll see what else I can come up with.”
Neel opens his mouth to respond when Eddie comes around the corner.
“What are you doing? You still have half a truck of flowers to unload.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is we as in we still have half a truck of flowers to unload.”
Eddie gives him a tight-lipped smile. “That’s yours and Ethan’s job. Not my problem he’s not here.” Then he snaps his finger and points outside. “Now show me some hustle.”
I give Neel a sympathetic look as Eddie leaves. “Sorry Ethan’s not here.” More sorry than he knows.
Neel rocks back on his heels, averting his eyes. “That’s fine. I, ah, I actually talked to him.”
“You did? When? How is he?” It’s impossible to play off the question as casual so I don’t even try.
He hunches both his shoulders. “Oh, um, well. Good, I guess? Sorry, but I kind of have to...” He lifts his flowers higher.
“Right. Sure, I should go change too. But later? Can we talk or maybe hang out this weekend?”
He gives me a huge, reassuring grin. “Maybe not a romantic movie in the park, but yeah. And for today, with everything, I’m here for you. You know that, right?”
My smile isn’t as steady as his, but I nod and when he gives me a hug that mostly avoids smothering me with flowers, I feel as ready as I’ll ever be for what comes next.
I take more time than necessary putting on my bridesmaid dress, twisting back my hair, making sure my makeup is perfect. I listen to all the footsteps passing in the hall, all the people it takes to pull off even a small wedding. Not my mom. I know the cadence of her footsteps and she never once comes near my door.
We haven’t spoken since she came to my shop and I basically told her I wasn’t going to leave. I don’t know if she’s planning to ignore me until after the wedding and then ask me to turn over my key. Even imagining that scenario, my chest hurts like somebody kicked it. I rub at the phantom pain, so distracted that I don’t hear anyone approaching until my door opens.
My mom steps in wearing a simple white silk sheath. She looks as lovely as I’ve ever seen her with her long neck bare and tiny pearls peeking out from her swept-up curls. In a perfect world, I’d be able to tell her how beautiful she is, but I don’t have any words as our gazes meet in my mirror.
“I wanted to check if everything was alright with your dress.”
I look down at the short, strawberry-colored dress that fits me perfectly. I made sure I’d have no distractions for this day. “It’s fine. Thanks.”
I draw in a breath when she nods, expecting that to be the full extent of our conversation, but instead of turning to leave, she takes another step, one that brings her right up to me. The air pushes against my lungs as I wait for her to say something else, anything else, but she’s silent as she sets a ring box down on the vanity table beside me.
I feel it hit the surface, an impossible weight that pins me down beneath it. It’s as though all the air has been pressed out of my body.
She’s giving it back.
She doesn’t want the ring I made.
She doesn’t want me.
I’ve known it for a long time, but I’ve never truly felt her complete rejection until this moment. I didn’t really let myself hope for a different outcome, but I couldn’t have imagined it hurting this much.
My chin quivers as my head bobs. “Okay,” I say, barely making the sound that comes out of me a word. I gave her a choice and she’s making it. I reach for the ring, but her hand covers mine, trapping it beneath.
“The ring you made is beautiful. I’m glad I got to see you make it and how talented you’ve become. I didn’t realize that this meant so much to you. You never said...” There’s a reproach there, but it’s slight and easily turned the other way.
“You never asked.”
She goes very still. “No, I didn’t.” Then she pulls her hand away, freeing us both from the contact we’re not used to. “I know I’m not the parent you would have chosen to keep. And I understand that. I’m not the one who’s good at this.”
I shake my head at her. “Good at what? Emotions? Me?” She squeezes her eyes shut, but I’m done letting her shut me out. If she’s not rejecting me then what is she doing? “I’ve tried to be so perfect, so easy. I tried to hide all the pain and everything so you wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. I never even thought about what I wanted until recently because I didn’t think it mattered anymore.”
She flinches but her voice is soft. “I know. That made it so much worse. I didn’t know how to help you. He did that, not me. I don’t have that.” Her hand spreads across her chest. “I’ve never had that.”
My eyes narrow even as my vision blurs. I’ve heard versions of this my entire life; she wasn’t the hands-on parent, wasn’t the warm, loving one, so it’s not fair for me to ask for more than she can give. And maybe it’s not. Maybe she’s giving all she can, but right now it feels like an excuse. I’m not asking her to sweep me up in her arms and hold me, or cry and comfort me over losing Dad. I’ve accepted the fact that we’ll never have those moments, but that can’t mean we don’t have anything.
“I did try to connect with you when you were little,” she continues. “But he was always so much better and he and I both knew it. He wasn’t trying to be cruel by nudging me out, but it happened. He had this effortless way with you that I couldn’t begin to understand, and so, time and again he’d step in and tell me it was okay to let him handle you, discipline you, comfort you. And he was right. I would have said the wrong thing, made things worse.” She holds herself very still as she talks as though steeling herself for my reaction. “I told myself you didn’t want me to attempt to make up for his loss with something so obviously inferior. So I didn’t try.” Her voice shakes as it cuts off before she can try again. “I don’t know how to be what he was, but I read articles and found therapists, I sent you to vocational rehab, made up spreadsheets for all the best colleges for wheelchair users. I’ve been working for years to make sure you wouldn’t worry about tuition or anything else you might need. I was so focused on that that I didn’t always notice the rest. But I’m trying now,” she adds with an almost desperate note in her voice. “After the engagement party, I started to see how things here could be better for you.”
I think about the new table and ramp—those were her reactions to the fiasco that was the engagement dinner, not words or even emotions, solutions. John told me in the shop that maybe she was reaching for me too in her own way; this must be what he meant.
“Mom, I’m... It’s good that you told me some of this, but I don’t know that it’s enough for me.” I can’t hide the note of surprise in my voice. “I’ve spent years hoping for a moment with you and to feel loved and forgiven. And you just kept pushing me away, hiding out at your office—” I let out a weak laugh “—I don’t even know where that is anymore.”
She blanches. “You know about my office?”
“Yes, because I went there. I wanted to see the photos of us with Dad from Disney but there was somebody else’s name on the door. You never said a word because we don’t talk about anything. Ever. And now it’s your wedding day and you’re telling me that Dad didn’t let you learn to be a parent when he was alive so that’s your excuse for not being one after he died?” I shake my head feeling lighter and lighter the more I say. “It’s not enough. Everything that happened feels like too much. And I needed more. I still need more. I deserve more.”
I glance up at her, expecting to see a withdrawn expression on her face and maybe even a touch of relief, but not this.
Not the nodding.
“I know.”
Tears sting my eyes. “You know? Then why? All this time I kept trying and you pushed me away. You had to know what I thought...” Didn’t she? Or were we so far away from each other that she never considered or cared about what I might be feeling? “I’d rather have you say it to my face that you blame me than keep hiding away like—”
Her eyes snap open. “No, Rebecca, never.” Her hand returns to press down more firmly on mine as though she needs something to hold her up. “He was always the one who dealt with you, not me, but that night he was exhausted and so I said I’d go get you. But he wouldn’t let me, kept insisting that it would be better if it was just him since you two could always talk about anything.” Her fingers twitch and then with an almost visible effort, they curl around mine. Not easily or without awkwardness, but she’s trying to do what she thinks I want in the moment.
And I see it, feel it, slight though it is.
“But it wasn’t my fault or his.”
Tears run down my face as I watch her, free arm wrapped around her midsection just like mine is wrapped around me.
“And it was never yours.”
She says it with such conviction that my whole body racks with a sob. It’s gotten harder this summer with Ethan to hang on to my guilt, but I knew I’d never be able to purge it completely while I felt my mom blamed me. “I should have told you that from the first, but I was so caught up in my own grief that I pretended not to see yours. I thought college away from here would be the best thing for you, so that’s what I set out to get for you. When you got accepted to Cal State I decided to let the lease go on my office.”
Her words make me choke back a cry and I blink to clear my eyes. “You did what? Then where have you been working?”
“My car a lot of the time. John’s home office when I could, and restaurants when I had to meet clients.” Her chin quivers as she traces the tears on my face. “I wanted you to have a good life and I never thought you could have that here with me, that you would ever truly want that. But if you do—”
I glance at our linked hands when she cuts off. “You’d want me to stay here, with you and John and Layla?”
“I’ve already been looking at bunk beds.”
I sniffle, my body caught between a laugh and a cry. “Is that a joke?”
Her eyebrows nudge together. “No, I drew up a whole plan for the bedroom. I think a trundle would be better than bunk beds but only if that’s what you want. And we don’t have to stay in this house anymore either. If you’re certain you don’t want to go to college, then we have the money to find a bigger place. John’s already been collecting listings. He said we can start looking the second we get back from our honeymoon.”
Something warm and bright flickers to life inside me, a faint glow that pushes back old shadows and lets light into forgotten corners. Tiny memories and relit moments that I’m seeing from new angles. We are so very different, but we both loved him.
She never blamed me.
She’s been hunched over a laptop in her car.
She looked at bunk beds.
And she wants me to stay.
I wriggle my fingers and she drops my hands at the first hint that I want her to let go. But I just turn my hand and reach for hers again. It’s not easy but I do it, and then I hold out the ring box to her again.
“So you want the ring I made?”
“Of course. John’s brother has it now. Why, did you...? Oh no!” And then she hurries to open the ring box, showing me not the ring I made, but the one that inspired it. “I thought you might want to have Aunt Marilyn’s ring to wear today, and to keep yourself after.”
My fingers shake as I take the delicate pearl ring out of the box and slide the delicate spray of blue pearls onto my finger. It’s not a perfect fit, but I can resize it. I can make it mine. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what you must’ve thought.” She shakes her head. “I’ll try to be better about that in the future.” When I don’t respond, she adds more firmly, “I will get better. If you help me, I will never stop trying.”
The thing is I believe her. I know she is trying. It wasn’t enough before, but maybe John was right that we can start something new and big today. I wasn’t sure I even wanted that anymore, but looking down at my aunt’s ring, I think, maybe, I want to try again too.
“I think it would be better for me to try living with Amelia and Mathias, try being more on my own. But maybe we could still get the trundle bed here? For when I’m home with you.” My heart thuds like it’s ready to tear free from my ribcage. “I’d like knowing I’ll always have a place to come home to.”
She doesn’t throw her arms around me or hoot with excitement. Dad would have done that.
My mom nods slowly before taking my hand. “I’d like that too.”