When Girlfriends Break Hearts
Page 20
The party decorations and the garden itself were simply exquisite. Pamela’s drawings had finally metabolized into a dream come true and the string of colorful Chinese lanterns that covered the deck and garden area were magnificent. Everything had been tastefully done. Even a few Chinese papier-mâché umbrellas in the bright pinks, yellows, teals, and oranges had been placed about the garden, and a few even hung upside down around the deck area overhead.
The food had arrived and been presented perfectly by Katie and the crew, as expected. And on top of three different vintage-like, pastel-colored cake stands were Pamela’s favorite cupcakes. Light jazz sounded through two large amplifiers that Pamela’s son and sons-in-law, no doubt, set up, while her daughters and daughter-in-law managed all of the fine touches from the paisley print tablecloths to the personally detailed yellow paper napkins that simply read, “Life is beautiful.” It was a phrase that summed up perfectly Pamela, her life, and her view.
There was a piñata in the shape of a colorful daisy for Pamela’s young grandchildren to take a few smacks at. There was champagne and Oliver’s perfect white- and dark chocolate-dipped strawberries that complemented the bubbly flawlessly. The hors d’oeuvres and their presentation were impeccable, just as the desserts, if I might add. Everything was just the way Pamela would have wanted it. The perfect garden party and the perfect wake all in one.
And the garden—Pamela’s beautiful English garden—was a dream. All of the planned-for flowers and shrubs had been planted and some were even flowering. The tulips had blossomed beautifully and the river rocks gave perfect symmetry to the overall design and layout of the grounds. A small faux bridge had been built out of lightly colored wood to accentuate the illusion that the river rocks were indeed river rocks with a small bubbling brook flowing through the garden that seemed to pop right out of a fairytale. And there was a wheelbarrow off to the side with a small magnolia tree in it that looked to be fresh from the nursery. Next to it was a shovel standing upright in a small pile of soil.
When it came time for the magnolia tree to play its part in the day, after scores of hors d’oeuvres, cupcakes, desserts, and champagne had been consumed, Pamela’s son announced that it was to be planted by all of us, in honor and memory of his mother. He explained that the magnolia tree was the final touch to the garden, the one item in her plan that she insisted be planted despite the chilly, possibly threatening temperatures that frequented Seattle. It would mark the end of one journey and the beginning of another.
Once everyone helped plant Pamela’s tree we were invited to share a few words about her if we wished. I had considered it before I left for the funeral, but wasn’t quite sure what I would say. I figured that if the occasion did present itself that I would leave my words up to fate. I would speak in-the-moment, as no amount of preparedness would suffice.
Scooping up that small handful of soil and sprinkling it about the base of the small tree made me cry my first tears at the party. And it made me smile. This is exactly what Pamela would have wanted.
As I moved away from the tree to let the next person pay their own respects, I surveyed the gorgeous garden. It breathed out freshness and newness. Just as Pamela’s son said, it truly was a new beginning. It was so very beautiful and it had Pamela woven throughout it. Her body may have left us, but her soul remained and her beautiful English garden was testament to that. There is, truly, a good with every bad, I thought as I took notice of how vibrant the red tulips were. Simply perfect.
Once nearly a dozen people had raised their glasses and spoken a personal tribute or shared a sweet memory, I gathered the courage to take the stand and share a few of my own words about the woman who had quite literally changed my life. Had it not been for Pamela I don’t think I would have a newfound friend in Lara. I don’t think I would have been able to come to terms with what had happened among me and Brandon and Robin. And I don’t think I would even consider making amends with Robin.
“Pamela,” I started, holding the side of my hand to my nose as I felt tears and sniffles on their way. “Pamela was one of the greatest friends a woman could ever ask for. A few words that describe Pamela: selfless…kind…courageous…” I started to weep. “Inspiring…and beautiful. She had the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. I didn’t know Pamela as well as a lot of you. She was my yoga instructor for many years, and she became a dear friend.”
I paused, fighting for composure.
“But I knew her enough to know that it’s not every day the world has a gem of a soul.” My fingers twiddled. “I knew her enough to know that she had a heart of gold…and she taught me many things…she’s always inspired me…and…and…encouraged me to see just how lovely and precious life is.”
I took a long pause and focused on the neighboring fence, trying to keep my emotions in check as I finished my tribute.
“She taught me that forgiveness is the key to happiness…the key to being content.”
The tears would not subside and I refrained from trying to contain them.
“She was such a forgiving and kind woman. I miss you, Pamela. I miss you a lot….We’ll all miss you.”
I tightly pressed my lips together, trying to prepare a close. I let out a huge sigh and raised my glass of champagne.
“This is all for you, Pamela. And thank you. Thank you for opening my eyes and helping me find peace in my own life. Goodbye, my sweet friend…and hello, my guardian angel.”
Everyone raised their glasses and said a somber yet emphatic, “To Pamela.”
“To Pamela,” I whispered, looking up at the sky. “Thank you.”
***
When the last of the cleared dishes had been packed into my car and only a few of the guests remained, I began to make my way back home. I chose the most scenic and lengthy route, winding through the tree-lined streets with well-manicured lawns and gardens, wanting some time to myself before running to Claire for comfort and telling her of the difficult, yet beautiful, day.
With my windows rolled down, the breeze whipping my hair gently from side to side, my left hand lazily hanging out the window, I thought of Pamela and the last time I had seen her where I had met her, at Studio Tulaa. When she waved goodbye to her studio for the very last time as she drove off into the dark and rainy night. I thought of how she tossed her flowing hair over her shoulder when she laughed and how she’d clap her hands together excitedly to hush her class when it was time to get started with our workout. I thought of how much I would miss seeing her, and doing yoga and meditation with her, and how much I would miss talking with her and just being around her. I thought of how much I missed her at that very moment.
Pamela was a guardian angel. And I don’t think she had recently assumed that role. I think Pamela was always my guardian angel. She encouraged me to have an open heart and seek forgiveness. She knew, from the moment I told her I had a problem with my friends, that I would do the right thing all along. Pamela had believed in me—she had believed that I would pick up the pieces and make anew. She knew I would, just as much as she knew she herself would.
The cancer may have taken her life, but she knew all along that her spirit would continue, and it would shape and affect so many. And her spirit would live on through a ray of sunshine, a flowering tulip, a freshly planted magnolia tree, a carrot and zucchini cupcake—and it’d live on through each “painful but good for you, ladies” yoga plank position, too.
A sudden sense of newness overwhelmed me and courage from somewhere deep inside sprang forth. “Life is beautiful” ran over and over in my mind. The very spirit of life that Pamela stood for—the preciousness and the precariousness of it—encouraged me to make peace. To make peace once and for all. No more waiting to reach out to someone who probably needed a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a friend to hug. Robin needed me as much as I needed her and I wouldn’t let one more minute of time slip by without making right the wrong.
I pulled to the side of the road in a random neighborhood and changed directi
ons, taking the shortest route to Robin’s apartment. She hadn’t been expecting me until Wednesday, but Wednesday could be too late. God willing it wouldn’t be. But I didn’t want to take any chances. Life had dealt me a fair share of lemons. It was about damn time I cranked out more of those lemon chiffon cupcakes.
Robin would most likely be at home anyhow. It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday and if she was anything like…any of us girls…she’d probably be in comfy clothes, snug on the sofa, watching some chick flick or some reality show, or reading a good book. She would be home, though she wouldn’t be expecting me.
But life always takes unexpected turns.
And besides, I had a piece of this new puzzle to this new chapter in a renewed life. And Robin was supposed to be a part of it.
She was always supposed to be a part of it.
Because the best of friendships can survive even the worst of situations…when you learn to forgive.
The End
About the Author
Savannah Page, a native southern Californian and University of Tulsa graduate, lives in Berlin with her husband. She enjoys reading, fresh flowers, and like Sophie, cupcakes. When Girlfriends Break Hearts is her first contemporary women’s fiction book and she is currently working on its sequel. She is also the author of Bumped to Berlin, her premier book about life as an American expatriate in Berlin.
Readers can visit her Website & Blog at: www.savannahpage.com
Table of Contents
When Girlfriends Break Hearts
Also By Savannah Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
About the Author