All the Days After

by Carrie Thorne

  Eyes filling quickly with unshed tears that were rapidly threatening to spill over, the dam ready to burst at the slightest tremor, Pippa pouted, “With all of the wedding business. I don’t give a crap if I carry a two-hundred-dollar bouquet of white lilacs and roses. I’m good with a handful of daisies.”

  “It’s easy to get caught up. There are just too many expectations for weddings. And big price tags.” She hoped she was helping rather than making it worse. Holding her breath as she anticipated Pippa’s potentially explosive response, she pulled her legs in and reclined in the cushy chair.

  “Maybe I should just call the whole thing off and get hitched at the courthouse. With a small party here after.” Flood level met but not quite exceeded, a single tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Do you trust me?” She could talk her out of this, she had to. That’s what friends were for, right? Talking each other out of a crisis? Wasn’t it an official maid of honor duty?

  “Of course.” Pippa looked her in the eye as if it was the dumbest question she could ever ask.

  “I have to ask, how far is the wedding over budget?”

  Pippa sniffled and swallowed the impending sob. With a small but persistent nod, unable to speak lest the dam burst, she hinted the answer was significant.

  “Want me to run the numbers?”

  Again, she nodded pitifully. Whispering through a wet voice, Pippa said, “Thank you.”

  In the minutes it took for Sophie to grab her laptop and poor a glass of wine for each of them, she found Pippa already looking frazzled, her normally tame hair wild and frizzy. Surrounded by loose sheets of paper, hair knotted and standing on end, Pippa sat at the dining room table, poorly organizing the receipts and invoices she had for Sophie to review.

  Recognizing a financial emergency when she saw one, she rolled up her imaginary sleeves and took charge. “Let’s get started. We can fix this.”

  Handing her friend the wine, Sophie nudged Pippa out of the way and started to organize the scattered papers. She let a soft hum pass her lips now and again, a subtle smile crossing her lips as she worked. Not intentional, but she knew it let Pippa know all was going to be okay, so she didn’t try to prevent her oddities.

  “You can go take a break while I work on this. Go for a swim or go relax on the patio.” Sophie didn’t mind her friend’s hovering but wanted to give her a break. She clearly needed it.

  Pippa shook her head, too tense to even consider a break. “You and Asher are the only freaks I know that exercise for relaxation.”

  Eyes on the spreadsheet she was efficiently building, Sophie sighed. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

  Relaxing a bit, Pippa sat back in her chair and sipped her drink while Sophie sifted through stacks of receipts and invoices. It reminded her of all the times they’d sat elbow-to-elbow at their dining room table just like this, doing homework instead.

  “It seems like you and Asher have been making friends.”

  Shit. “I guess so.”

  Smoothing her crazy stress-hair, Pippa was starting to visibly relax. “I’m glad. He needs friends. I don’t think he’s socialized at all since he got back.”

  As much as she hated the line of conversation for fear of revealing something, she was glad Pippa was no longer quite so frantic. “Have you told him you’re worried he’s not getting out much?” Good thing Sophie could multitask with the best of them.

  Pippa scowled and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. “He wouldn’t want to hear that from me. Maybe Lincoln or Grady. Or you.”

  “Why not his own sister? It’s clear he values your opinion.” She glanced over at Pippa’s surprised reaction, then returned her eyes to the screen. Pippa really had no idea how much her brother desired her good opinion.

  “He’s always done his own thing. I’m actually shocked he is considering working at Sutherland’s.” Rolling the stress out of her shoulders, Pippa sipped her wine.

  “Why don’t you have a talk with him? Tell him you worry about him. He may seem tough, but everyone wants to know someone cares about them.” Sophie had always longed for a sibling. Thus, she didn’t understand why they couldn’t just talk it out; why they didn’t realize how lucky they were to have each other.

  Downing the last of her wine in a hasty gulp, Pippa stood and restlessly started to tidy the kitchen that had already been cleaned after dinner. “I should. We’ll see. It’s complicated; he’s never exactly sought my advice, or heeded it when it was given.”

  Creating a few summary tables, totals, Sophie had a completed budget analysis, ready for review. It had only taken two hours of distracting her friend to power through. If only she’d offered sooner. If she’d realized it was such an issue, she could have saved Pippa a lot of worry. “Okay, I found some of your issues.”

  “Already? I’ve been at it all week.” Pippa set down the pan she had found to dry and dove next to Sophie at the table. She studied the spreadsheet blankly.

  Poor thing was too overwhelmed to even make sense of it. She pointed out where costs were possibly higher than necessary. “I’m not any expert in what things should cost for a wedding, but I see room for improvement. I agree, daisies would be much more practical, and just as pretty. The forecast calls for nice weather, so we shouldn’t need the propane heaters. And the covered space at the venue is big enough for most everyone, so you won’t need this big of a tent, if at all.”

  Pippa responded really well. A little organization went a long way. Reviewing the numbers line by line, she could see some of the unnecessary expenses and how everything added up so quickly. “I really would rather carry daisies. And we don’t need anything special in the aisles. Heck, Christmas lights would be cheaper than the paper lanterns I was looking at.”

  “To be sure. Of course, let’s not lose money on anything you have already purchased or cannot return. Or anything that you’ve paid a substantial down payment for.” Sophie turned to Pippa to gauge her reaction. She was taking it really well.

  Sighing a deep, relieving breath, Pippa nodded. “We should be good on that. I can call the caterer too and ask her where we can cut last minute corners without losing quality.”

  “See? You’re good at this.” Sophie nudged her friend playfully.

  “Thanks. I owe you bigtime.”

  Sophie knew exactly when she was going to call in this favor but feared the price for what she had in mind was much, much steeper.

  6

  T-Minus 11 Days

  Rising from the table she’d commandeered as her temporary desk, Sophie stretched her aching neck and shoulders as wide as her limbs would extend. Although it had been concise yet informative to begin with, Sophie wanted her resumé perfect before she met with Jane. Jane was a bundle of pure sweetness in a tiny package topped with a gray mop of hair. Energetic, brainy, downright likeable.

  Still, Sophie didn’t want to be a pity hire. Not that Jane would hire her out of pity. She was generous, but she wasn’t the type to hire her just to be nice. Foothills Accounting was a successful local business, which wasn’t by coincidence. Jane was as shrewd as she was kind.

  Argh. Nails getting increasingly short, Sophie tore her fingers from her mouth and paced the dining room. She was going to drive herself nuts. This was the perfect job in the cutest little town where she already had friends.

  Family, really. At least the closest thing she’d known to family in fifteen years. Blowing this would mean she’d have to start over.

  Stop fretting. Her resumé looked awesome. That internship with Meckel and Jones had been a great learning experience. With the knowledge she had gained, she could comfortably manage the typical tax prep, as well as personal and small business accounting at Foothills Accounting and offer more extensive budget financing for local businesses as a new service, if Jane was agreeable.

  Pink Floyd’s Money blasted from her phone. Dammit, not now. Not ever, really.

  “Hello, Yvette.” Even the name grated on her nerves. She was not al
lowed to call her Aunt. Nor was she to ever even hint to anyone that Yvette was a totally made-up name. Born Bernadette, she’d found Yvette suited her better as a stage name.

  “Sophie, dear. How have you been? You must be done with school by now.” Voice dripping with honey, she was all politeness.

  Cringing, Sophie made a concerted effort to not bite her nails through the call. Yvette had hated the little habit, so of course Sophie had done it as often as possible in front of her in her own silent protest. Until, of course, Yvette started taking them out for manicures together, talking nonstop while draining their rationed funds. “Yes. Did that graduation gift you promised finally get returned undeliverable?” Blank pause. “Because you forgot to put postage on it? Remember? That’s what you told me two weeks ago.”

  She hadn’t believed the story then, and certainly didn’t believe now that Yvette had even considered sending her a graduation gift. However, she did enjoy calling her on her fibs and embellishments wherever possible. In the nicest possible way.

  “Of course. It must be lost in the mail system. Anyway,” she giggled in a lilting falsetto she’d rehearsed for hours on end when Sophie was fourteen and had discovered having friends over was never going to work. “Your twenty-seventh birthday is what, next week?” Greed oozed like slimy green ectoplasm, clogging the airwaves between them.

  “Gosh, is that coming up so soon? I’d forgotten.” The trust fund from her mother and grandparents would be fully in her control on her twenty-seventh birthday.

  Colette, her mother, had known she would get stuck with her only living relative, money-grubbing Yvette. Having lived just the two of them since her last grandparent had passed away the year before Colette, there hadn’t been anyone else. It was Yvette or foster care. Sophie didn’t envy that her mother had been forced to make such a tough decision for her young daughter.

  Shrill laughter pierced through the line. More of her natural laugh than the other, it was somehow more grating and ingenuine. “How silly of me. I was so afraid I’d missed sending your birthday present. Can you send me your address so I can mail you a present?”

  Very fishy. She’d never sent her a present before, despite many fictitious tales of the extravagant gifts she’d sent in the past that never seemed to pass post office muster. Why would she start now? Buttering Sophie up wasn’t likely to entice her to share her fortune. “I actually don’t know my address offhand, and it’s temporary anyway.”

  “You are staying with Pippa’s family then? Foothills, right?” Uh-oh.

  Sighing, sinking into the nearest chair, Sophie couldn’t find the energy to invent a decent story to buy her more time. “For now.”

  “I know you aren’t working yet, but if you have anything set aside from the allowance your dear mother left to support us, her only remaining family… I have an audition coming up for a Netflix pilot. My landlord is breathing down my neck for rent, but I won’t have it for another few weeks.” Sophie was almost surprised Yvette didn’t get more roles. She was an awfully talented actress when it came to asking for money.

  Dreaming of refusing, as she so desperately wanted to, she feared the repercussions if she did. Now and again, she actually pulled off a decent rejection. Learning from her aunt, she would spin a tall tale that at least bought her some time. However, she’d learned that it never worked out in her favor, as delays led to devious repercussions.

  Unintelligible, deafening sobs lanced through the phone, jarring the thin membrane of Sophie’s eardrum. “My landlord. He’ll evict me if I don’t come up with the funds, or else he’ll… I don’t even want to say it.”

  And Sophie didn’t want her to say it either.

  “He’s threatened to get his money’s worth, ‘one way or another.’ Oh Sophie, I’m so scared.”

  Oh boy. This was even better than last time. Yvette wasn’t stupid. She didn’t ask every month, only when Sophie had had just enough time to recover from the berating herself for sending money the last time.

  Time to end it. End the manipulation. Break off all ties. Her knuckles paled to a ghostly white as she clutched the phone, desperately trying to find the courage to stand up for herself. Chewed to the nub, her poor fingertips of her non-phone hand were raw.

  “Your dear mother, my sister, was such a generous soul, Sophie. You’re just like her. Generous, kind. Always taking pity on your dear Auntie Yvette. If you sent enough for rent and a minor procedure, like Botox, I’ll nail the pilot and will be able to start sending you money. Just like I always wanted.” Sophie may not be allowed to call her Aunt, but Yvette sure liked adding it when it benefited her.

  Last time she’d landed a decent part, a minor, but recurrent, role as a hooker on an HBO drama, she hadn’t asked for money for a year. A Netflix series would set her up nicely, leaving Sophie undisturbed when her birthday came around. “Fine. I’ll send it to your PayPal account.”

  Yvette’s bubbling gratitude chafed against her ear. “You’re such a dear. With that pretty face, maybe I could get you a part as an extra on the show? As my cousin?”

  Clamping her jaw shut, she refused the offer and ended the call before she exploded. Dammit. Why couldn’t she just refuse? It was never going to end. Even if Yvette got the role, it would always be one more thing.

  Why couldn’t she just leave her alone? This was how Sophie realized she had a knack for accounting. At the ripe age of fifteen, she discovered that she wouldn’t eat dinner unless someone other than Yvette managed the bills. At that, food was still often scarce and minimally nutritive as Yvette was usually “dieting” for her next role.

  When she found she actually enjoyed making sense of finances, she decided she wanted to help others with her skills. By the time she was sixteen, she had them on a very strict budget and did all the shopping, paid all the bills. It had only taken threatening Yvette that she would call CPS for her to agree to the negotiated budget.

  “Everything okay?”

  Sophie spun around in a fury at the sound before she remembered she was in a safe place. Telephone disconnected. Denise stood a few feet away, eyes heavy with concern.

  “Yeah. Sort of. It’s my aunt asking for money. Again.”

  Denise reminded her so much of her mother. Not in appearance. Denise was soft as a pillow and always available for a hug. Her own mother had been slender like she was, a champion triathlete herself, but was equally available for a hug.

  “Sophie, dear. I’m so sorry. That woman is a real piece of work. Gave me the creeps on the HBO show.” She added, although Sophie already knew it wasn’t a Denise sort of show, “I checked it out after you mentioned it to me.”

  Mischief brewing in her honey eyes, Denise meant it. With her got-your-back attitude, topped with salt and pepper hair slicked back in a fiercely tight braid, Denise was a force to be reckoned with. A lot like Colette had been.

  Not uptight or high-strung like Pippa. No, Pippa was her father through and through. My way or no way. Denise had the finesse to make others do what she wanted and be glad they did.

  Why couldn’t Sophie emulate either approach? Open a can of metaphorical whoop-ass on her aunt. Or somehow convince her she didn’t want Sophie’s money?

  “I say no as often as I can, but she just keeps calling. Manipulates me with a sob story or a thinly veiled threat that she won’t hesitate to act on.” She managed to hold back tears, but barely. Moments like this made her miss her mother more than anything.

  With a fighting sneer, Denise put on her angry eyes. “Next time, you hand the phone to me. I’d love to tell her a thing or two.”

  And that’s where Asher got it. The take-no-prisoners, strike-first-and-ask-questions-later that he was known for. They even shared the warm, whiskey glow to their eyes.

  Letting Denise pull her into a hug, her limbs went limp, and she sunk into the older woman’s arms. “Thanks. For everything. You make me miss my mom. In a good way,” she amended.

  Emotion filtered through Denise’s kind voice, “Now that
is a woman I would like to have met.” Pulling back, she gently tapped Sophie’s nose with the knuckle of her finger. “For being raised by that witch through your adolescence, your mother must have been an amazing woman for you to have turned out as wonderful as you have.”

  Turning to head for the kitchen, Denise started to toss together a restorative lunch. Returning to the table, Sophie accepted that her resumé was as good as she could make it. Jane would take her or leave her, and she’d be okay.

  Colette had been a truly amazing woman. A trust fund baby herself, she’d never acted the privileged debutante like her sister had. At age nineteen, she’d met Nate Jones and fallen head-over-heels in love. Within a few months, she was pregnant with Sophie.

  Although Sophie hardly knew her father, she knew he was a decent sort of man. She remembered him reading to her, telling her exciting stories of his excursions in the army, about his growing up years in Oregon fishing and hunting and camping. Colette’s parents hadn’t exactly blessed the quick marriage initially, but they came around when Sophie was born and had been exactly the doting grandparents every kid should have.

  By the age of twelve, Sophie had lost a mother, a father, and four grandparents. Nail-biting was one of many coping strategies she had adopted, some better, some worse than that.

  As the daughter of a single mom, she’d learned self-reliance from an early age. It wasn’t until she was left to Yvette’s inattention that she learned the real meaning of responsibility. Yvette had blown through her own trust fund years prior, and always had her eyes on Sophie’s. Once Sophie learned to balance the checking account, they could eat regular meals and didn’t worry about eviction, but it had required sacrifice. Not for Yvette, of course.

  After turning eighteen, within a few days of her high school graduation, she’d gone a little nuts. Subconsciously, she’d known she was trying to convince Yvette to leave her alone. Consciously, she’d known she needed to stretch her wings.

  Reliable to a fault despite her boundary-pushing, she’d gone straight to UCLA after high school and earned decent grades. But she experimented a bit. Knew just how many beers it took to reach hangoverville. Learned it was an incredibly stupid idea to smoke weed before an exam. Tried out a number of partners, male and female both, until she better understood herself.