The ornament in my hand gave off a small rattle as my hands began to tremble. My mom advanced further into the space and my gaze flew out the window to the Cadillac Escalade parked right in front. I hadn’t seen her SUV pull up. But I’d been so absorbed in Dallas and the tree and our soul-baring conversation.
My mom tilted her head. “Dallas Parker. I’d heard you were back.”
Her voice gave new meaning to the word “frosty” as she spoke to him and it was a wonder the window didn’t gain an inch of ice. I gulped and eyed the distance to the stockroom, which had a back door. I considered making a run for it, but I knew that—despite the fact that she wore sharply heeled boots—she’d be willing and able to chase me down.
When Ivy Reed was determined to have something then nothing stopped her. Besides, my mom wore heels like most women wore perfume. She could probably run a marathon in those things and never feel a single ounce of calf strain. Scary, but impressive.
“Hello, Mrs. Reed.” Dallas nodded to her and appeared at ease, but I could see the vein on his temple throbbing. He brushed a gleam of moisture from his bottom lip, which had obviously been put there by me. Oops.
“Funny story,” I said, managing to speak through the rock in my throat. I was in so much trouble they needed to invent a new word for trouble. “Dallas and I somehow managed to lease the same business space. Isn’t that crazy?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
“The landlady rented the space to both of us,” Dallas said.
“Sounds like a legal issue.” Mom’s eyebrows drew together as I eased the angel ornament onto the tree, hoping the angel would bring me good luck. “I suppose that explains what you’re doing here with him. Besides the obvious, that is.”
My face heated big time. Getting caught kissing a guy would’ve been bad enough. Getting caught kissing Dallas Parker? That might necessitate having to leave town. “I’ve become aware that Morgan is opening a beauty salon. But if the sign outside is any indication, you’re selling used furniture on consignment, Dallas?”
My gut clenched and my gaze flew to Dallas. It had been a lot of years since he’d decked Tom Brand, but part of me worried he might lash out at my mom’s condescending tone. And that would so not improve my situation. Luckily, his face looked neutral.
“I build the furniture myself,” he said, simply.
“Interesting,” she said, surveying the shop. A moment ago I’d felt like our hard work was visible but now I could only see what hadn’t been done, including our half-decorated tree.
“We still have a lot to do obviously,” I said, my voice trembling. I watched disappointment flood her face, sending a slice of pain to my heart. She was disappointed in my salon. She was disappointed in me. I’d never be the daughter she really wanted. Tears threatened. I needed to get busy to keep them at bay. “Speaking of having a lot to do, I’d better finish decorating our tree.”
Mom peered at one of the branches. “Is that tinsel?”
She’d said “tinsel” like it was a dirty word.
I regarded the silvery strands. “Yes.”
“Oh, my. I didn’t think I knew anyone who’d actually put that stuff on their tree. It’s so tacky, and it gets into everything.” She scanned the tree, her gaze stopping mid-point. She reached toward a bulb. “This one is off-center.” She tweaked it slightly. “You also have two reds next to each other and too many greens next to the golds.”
I stood there, irritated as she began rearranging the bulbs. No matter that I’d liked them the way they were. . . .
She glanced at me as she worked. “I’m disappointed you haven’t made time to visit your father and me, Morgan. You seem to be over the illness that suddenly struck you.”
“I’m sorry, but I’ve been so busy.” I grabbed the cardboard box that held the tinsel and began yanking thick clumps of it out. I draped the tinsel over the tree limbs and Mom immediately began to pluck it off as I went. “Sweetie, if you have to use tinsel do it sparingly, like so.” She left one single strand hanging and then blocked it from view with a gingerbread house ornament.
“Mrs. Reed?” Dallas called out, making me cringe. I’d been hoping she’d forgotten he was here and that he’d had her daughter in a lip-lock earlier, but it was harder to stay in denial with him talking aloud. “I could use a different perspective on this sofa. I tend to build for comfort, but perhaps this needs more style. What do you think?”
He was trying to help, to lessen her focus on me and give me room to gather my thoughts. I was grateful for his attempt to help but it didn’t do much good. My mom’s fingers hovered above a red bulb, which was decorated with a flurry of white snowflakes. “It’s not my style, but I suppose I wouldn’t be shocked if it sold. Everyone seems to want modern nowadays.”
She managed to make “modern” sound like a dirty word, too, when I knew good and well the painting she’d purchased on our Caribbean cruise fit the definition.
Irritation rolled through me. “Dallas makes beautiful furniture in many different styles. I think his entire store is going to be a hit.”
Dallas shook his head slowly, telling me to leave it alone. But my comment had been like a reflex. I couldn’t stand up for myself, but I wouldn’t stand for her picking on him.
My mom gave me a tired look. She fingered the trim Dallas had settled along the branches, wrinkling her nose at it. “I don’t know how you can have a beauty salon and a furniture store in the same location. This seems to be the most unlikely pairing I’ve ever seen.”
Her gaze flew to Dallas as she spoke, leaving no doubt that she meant more than the store by her comment. My irritation grew.
“I think it’s a terrific pairing,” I said, gesturing around the room, which, admittedly, still needed a whole lot of work. “Look how that table accents the wood floor. Dallas laid the hardwood himself, saving us labor costs. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen such beautiful floors, or such a stunning table. You should see his house, too. The furniture he made for it is incredible. I loved everything in there.”
Oops. I cringed. What were the chances my mom wouldn’t catch what I’d just admitted? I watched her eyes narrow. Yeah, that would be slim to none. Gulp.
She pulled more tinsel off the tree and placed it back into the cardboard box. “You have time to visit Dallas at his home, but not time for your father or me?”
Guilt settled deep in my bones, thick and smothering. I knew I was wrong for not telling them about the salon or going to see them right away. But I’d had my reasons and the main one was staring me in the face at that very second. I mean, this was exactly the scenario I’d been hoping to avoid.
My mom was so controlling she couldn’t even let me decorate my own Christmas tree! I yanked the tinsel box up off the table and pulled the stuff out again. I tossed a bunch of strands at the tree, my nerves so shattered all I could do was try to regain control over some part of the situation and my life. Granted, tinsel wasn’t the best solution—and the amount I’d thrown on did seem on the tacky side—but I piled more on anyway.
Dallas cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you two to talk privately.”
“What a wonderful idea,” my mom said.
“No . . .” I started, but my voice trailed off because he’d already turned and gone. The traitor. He was out the door before I could even frame a protest, much less utter an intelligent reason why I shouldn’t be left alone in the room with my own mother.
Mom waited three seconds. “Do I need to list the reasons why I’m upset?”
“No, I can guess.” I rubbed my hands over my face, sucking in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lied about how I spent my trust fund. I should’ve told you I didn’t want an MBA, but . . . no, no excuses. I should’ve at least told you the minute I arrived in town.”
She smoothed a set of crystal icicles on the tree and sniffed. “I’m worried about you.”
Okay, I hadn’t expected that one. “Why?”
“You’re not acting like the Morgan I know.” She turned to me and I could see the worry in her eyes. “I love Christmas. I enjoyed that cruise last year but, well, Miami isn’t home. Is it? I’d hoped you’d come home this year. And you did. But you didn’t want to see me.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to see you.” I stepped toward her, tears threatening to choke me. “One of the reasons I returned home was because I missed you and Dad and Connor. I’ve wanted to come back for years, but I didn’t want to work at the bank. I want this,” I said, gesturing around me, which didn’t look all that impressive. “Well, not in its current state. But the salon will be amazing when I’m done with it.”
Her hands flew to her hips. “Morgan Reed, you simply cannot open and run a beauty salon. Think of your education. What a waste. How would you use it?”
Okay, that was more the reaction I’d expected.
“To run a profitable business,” I retorted. “To make sure I increase my savings, so I can buy a home. I can think of a thousand ways to use my degree practically in life.”
She blew out a breath and patted her cheeks, obviously trying to compose herself. Then she got distracted by something over my shoulder. Suddenly, she knelt and tugged at the green felt at the base of the tree to hide the small inch of metal holder exposed. “It’s not just that you lied about how you spent your inheritance. Although that does trouble me. You’re using the funds for something that your grandparents never intended. The trust was set up for your education. If you stop this madness, your dad could probably reinvest whatever you have left and help you recoup your losses. I think that’s the best idea.”
My fists balled at my sides. “Grandma and Grandpa never put a single stipulation on what Connor and I could do with our trusts. I’m opening this salon and I’m going to be a beautician.” The words roared out of my mouth, shattering the hush that had gathered in the store.
Mom twisted her fingers together. “I know you think this is what you want, but the bank would be so much better for you. You’d have a stable career there. You spent four years at the university learning what you’d need to be successful at the bank. You’d be working with your father, and helping to maintain this family’s legacy. I’m sure you want that.”
I took three fiery breaths, so I wouldn’t explode. “No, I don’t want that. You’re not even listening to me. I have the right to live my life in a way that will make me happy. You think you know what’s best for me, but I don’t want to work at the bank and I won’t. Ever.”
Her mouth opened in a shocked expression and an apology flew to my lips, but I held it back. I didn’t want to hurt her, or disappoint her, but at some point I had to live my life. I’d been miserable for so long. Now that I’d figured out how happy I could be, there was no way I wanted to lose that or my soul would shrivel up and die.
She held her palms up in that stop gesture I’d known my entire life. “How can you say these things to me? You’ve always wanted to work in the bank. Ever since you were young you wanted that.”
I shook my head. “I always wanted to be a cosmetologist. Don’t you remember how I used to play with dolls? I used to cut their hair, or curl it, or paint their nails, and I’d sneak your makeup to put it on them.”
Her face went the same color as curdled milk. “This rebellion of yours, or whatever it is, just needs to stop. Connor works at the bank. Grace would’ve worked at the bank. You will work at the bank like your brother and sister.”
Everything inside me crumbled. Her words about how Grace would’ve worked in the bank knocked me like a punch to my gut. Right behind that hurt came that heavy mantle of guilt. Guilt that I’d lived and that she had died. That I couldn’t measure up. That I didn’t know how to be the daughter she would’ve been.
The feeling of guilt was so complex and multi-layered and it hit me then that that guilt was the real reason I’d stayed in Miami for so long. Nobody there knew about my sister. Nobody had ever known my sister and had no way to compare me to her.
That guilt and the hurt and the anger that always ran below those things made me snap, “Why can’t you ever see me? Why do you always have to see Grace in everything that I do?”
Mom licked her lips. Her hand came up and patted at her hair. “I see you’re too upset to talk about this now and I am as well. We’re having dinner at the club tomorrow night. Your father, Connor, and I will be there. It’s our usual dinner night. It would be nice if you would attend so that we could discuss this in a more civilized manner as a family.”
In other words, be there. Or else. There was no way to say no to such a guilt-heavy thing. I knew it and she knew that I knew it. It was Ivy Reed’s classic mom calling card. I sighed. “Okay. I’ll be there.”
Mom nodded briskly. “Good. Seven o’clock sharp.”
“I’ll be there at seven,” I said, sighing again. Okay, I’d kept things from her, which wasn’t nice. But when had I ever not been punctual?
Her expression softened. “I love you, sweetheart.”
Even though I felt like a truck had run over me, I forced a weak smile. “I love you, too.”
She did love me. But she had loved Grace more.
“Good night then.” She left and I turned to stare at the tree. Tears blurred my vision again and this time I let those tears slide down my cheeks.
Of course the tree looked fabulous the way my mom had rearranged it. Christmas was my mom’s favorite holiday and she’d always saved decorating the tree for last because she took so much real pleasure in it. The only activity she loved more was setting the table. She approached both decorating the tree and those table settings with the same eye to beauty and elegance and it showed at that moment.
Past the Christmas tree the streetlights glowed and I could see that they’d set up the booth where Santa would sit to listen to kids whisper their Christmas wishes. Back when I’d been small I’d always asked for the same thing every year. For Santa to bring my sister back, so my mom wouldn’t be sad anymore. So she would have the daughter she really wanted and then I could walk my own path instead of attempting to fill Grace’s shoes.
Shoes I’d never be able to fill if I tried for the rest of my life.