by Tif Marcelo
“I’ll be there in two.”
Her heart leapt. She leaned down and scooped snow from the ground. With the help of the excess length of her pajama top sleeves, she rounded it into a ball and hid it behind her as he came out of his sliding glass door.
Reid was in sweats and an Emory University sweatshirt. He took a step toward her with an expectant smile. Mari felt a momentary pang of guilt but pushed it away. He’d had two shots at her. It wasn’t her fault he’d missed.
Mari drew her arm back and let the snowball fly, hitting Reid square in the chest. He halted, stunned. Then, a playful growl escaped his lips. “You didn’t.”
“Not only am I thorny, but I’m a good shot. Goodnight, Reid.”
“Night, Marisol.”
Mari entered her kitchen and kicked her shoes off. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight. Might as well start the prep for Easter brunch.
twelve
Mood: “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol
Easter, the time for egg hunts, church, chocolate bunnies, and speed dating. My, how times have changed.” Jane had not stopped whispering into Pearl’s ear for the last half hour. Sitting with a group of women across a room from a group of men at the Wheelbarrow Bar and Grill for part two of her Love Unlimited gift certificate, Pearl guzzled her white wine like water on a sunny day.
Her sister was right, of course. It was the Monday after Easter. With the rise in temperature that melted the snow into a slushy mess, the previously stranded single people came out to play. The Wheelbarrow was packed.
“You owe me big-time.” Jane, white-knuckled, gripped her wineglass. Her gaze darted around the room. “Two, heck, three babysitting days. Four, damn it.”
“You said you wanted to get to know more guys.” Pearl infused confidence into her voice as she overtly scanned her sister from head to toe. Jane was dressed to the nines tonight: a short black dress with capped sleeves, two-inch heels, and sexy smoky eyes that impressed the hell out of her. “Besides, you are hot.”
“Quit kissing up.”
“I swear I’m not.”
Her gaze faltered briefly. “Well, thanks. But this wasn’t what I meant about meeting guys. I was thinking of more like getting to know the single dads at the next PTA meeting. This feels so . . . fake. Not to mention anxiety producing. Five minutes. Is that enough time to get to know someone?” She gestured at the banner hanging above them: Love Unlimited Spring Speed Dating Extravaganza.
“Well, no. But we’re here now, so . . .” Pearl tipped the wineglass to her lips to keep her own nerves in check.
Admittedly, she hadn’t expected so many people. Across the room, men of all skin shades, hair styles, builds, and postures milled about like animals stalking their prey.
Even for a major extravert this was . . . overwhelming. “And,” Pearl added. “You are one-half responsible for my gift certificate. You had to know I wasn’t going to do this alone.”
A bell rang from the front of the room, bringing their attention to the grand bar and the stunning view of the Washington Monument through it’s tall windows. Chrome cone-shaped light fixtures hung over scratched and roughed-out tables and stools, the dichotomy of old and new, city and country.
A woman in a fitted pantsuit with a plunging neckline and sky-high silver heels stood in front of the bar. Hair up in a chignon, Davina Petrovich, Love Unlimited’s owner, was attractive and intimidating.
“Here we go. I can’t believe you convinced me to do this. I can’t believe I said yes. I’m way too nice for my own good. At least Ate Mari was around—I didn’t have to pay a sitter.” Jane babbled.
“Shh.” Pearl listened as Davina explained the rules: ladies moved counterclockwise, timed five-minute sessions, no skipping, no backtracking, no exchanging numbers at the table, requests for contact information must be made after the event through the planners.
“Gentlemen, please go to your assigned tables,” Davina announced. Men weaved through the crowd and sat at their seats. Pearl snuck a look at her sister, grabbed for her hand, squeezing it.
Jane’s smile was thankful, if not wary. Her last date had been Pio’s dad.
“Ladies, head to a table,” Davina said.
“See you soon,” Pearl mouthed.
Jane nodded, then walked across the room.
Pearl headed to Table Twenty-Five with a rehearsed smile and braced herself for the disappointment. What was it they said? Expect the worst but hope for the best?
She turned on her professional persona when she sat at the table. She was courteous and reached for the man’s hand to shake it. She listened to the man boast about his credentials. She answered questions. She smiled. Davina rang the cowbell at the end of five minutes, then off she went to Table Twenty-Six. Then Twenty-Seven, and then Twenty-Eight.
The men she met were handsome enough, pleasant enough. Interesting enough. And yet nothing sparked. No one shone. Twenty-Nine was a jerk. Thirty mentioned being a perpetual day drinker. Thirty-One asked her where she was from. “No, but where are you from?”
As she transitioned to Table Thirty-Two, Pearl’s hopes for a match declined. She peeked across the room to Jane. She gave Pearl a thumbs-up and a toothy smile.
At least one of them was having good luck. Pearl’s night would have been better spent planning out the Bling wedding, if Daphne ever signed the contract.
She admonished herself. When, not if.
Pearl picked up another glass of wine from one of the waiters, eager to drown her worry about the Bling account.
“Pearl?”
Her wits returned to her; she was the only woman still standing. She turned to her spoken name, to the man at Table Thirty-Two.
She plopped down on her chair with a stunned expression.
Trenton’s dazzling smile greeted her. “Well, well, well.”
“Well, yourself. What are you doing here?” She shook her head, laughing. “I mean, I know what you’re doing here, of course.”
“Apparently, the same thing as you.” A pause, and his eyes widened. “So your date at Küche was . . .”
“Level one.” She finished his sentence.
“As was Leighann.”
“Oh . . .” She bit the side of her cheek.
“Any luck? Today, I mean.”
“Some prospects,” she lied, assessing his reaction to her answer. “You?”
“Honestly? Nope.” He shrugged. “I dunno. Starting to think that maybe this whole matchmaking thing isn’t for me. I might be more old-fashioned than I thought.”
She looked into his eyes. “Is that old-fashioned, though?”
“You’re right. Not old-fashioned. It’s an excuse to cover up the fact that I’m failing even when I’m being professionally set up.”
“Same.” She looked away for a beat, but dared to make the next statement. What the hell, right? She was done holding back, in work and in play. “I want this, but it doesn’t seem to be happening. It’s not as if I’m not putting in the effort, you know? Then again, should I be trying so hard? Shouldn’t that person—love, whatever—have some responsibility to come to me?” She met his gaze, and understanding flickered through his face.
“And yet here we are,” he mused.
“Tortured by speed dating.”
“But the beer, the view.”
She sighed, gazing upon the smile that had grown on his face. A smile that she’d known all her life. “The view indeed.”
He narrowed his eyes, playfully. “Are you flirting with me right now, Pearly-Pearl?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks, but she pressed on despite the flutter in her chest. The bell rang. “Guess you’ll have to wonder, since our time’s up.”
“Luckily, I already know your number. And your yoga schedule. Speaking of. Still on for Friday night?”
Another woman had come up on Pearl’s side, waiting her turn, her presence overbearing. Pearl stood and dared him with a coy expression. “No, I’ve got a wedding on Saturday I have to prep for, but since you know
my number, why don’t you call me?”
“You’ve got it.”
The rest of the night was a haze, with Pearl’s thoughts occupied alternately by Trenton and Mari. In the Uber, as Pearl watched DC fall away to the beltway, she laughed with Jane at the luck of seeing Trenton at the event. Jane chatted on about her favorites: Fourteen who had the handsomest smile, and Twenty-One who made her laugh. As the car turned down to bulb-lighted Burg Street, two blocks past the shop, Mari glimpsed a banner hanging in front of Light Up, a specialty lighting shop.
“Did you see that?” Pearl interrupted Jane.
“See what?”
Pearl tapped the Uber driver’s shoulder. “Excuse me, can you do a quick U-turn?”
The car flipped around. It pulled over to the side at Pearl’s signal.
Jane scooted next to Pearl, eyes on the banner hanging from the inside of the shop’s windows. “No freaking way.”
Heartfully Yours, a wedding shop. Opening this summer.
Pearl’s eyes were closed but sleep was miles away. She tossed and turned, and her tummy did flips. It was partly from the white wine and the hors d’oeuvres she’d consumed during the two-hour speed-dating event, partly Trenton’s presence and what seemed to be an alternate path they were taking in their friendship. Mostly, it was because competition was setting up shop a mere two blocks away.
When she and Jane had arrived home three hours ago, they’d gone straight to Mari, who was Pio-sitting for Jane in her apartment. Pio was sound asleep in his bedroom, but the news brought Mari’s voice up to its third octave and woke their nephew. They’d decided to table the discussion until later on this week—they’d all needed to process whether Heartfully Yours’s presence would be beneficial, a hindrance, or simply inconsequential. Nothing could be done about it at eleven at night.
But Pearl knew her sisters, understood their inner workings sometimes better than her own self. While Jane was able to compartmentalize, categorize, and place each problem into a box and lock it up for safe keeping until it was time to tackle it, her oldest sister was probably up. Cooking, maybe. Or sifting through recipes while strategizing in her head.
The sound of a man’s voice nudged Pearl from her thoughts. Their backyard faced the backyards of town houses the next street over, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear their neighbors’ conversations. But when the man’s voice was followed by a woman’s distinct cackle, Pearl’s eyes flew open.
She sat up in bed on her elbows. Was that Mari? Who was she speaking to? All at once, Reid came to mind, the teasing the sisters had done, and the way Mari couldn’t hold their gaze when she talked about him.
Pearl snuck out of bed like she wasn’t in her own apartment, went into her kitchen, and popped open her balcony door as quietly as she could. From below, she smelled cigarettes. She got on her hands and knees and peeked through the slats of her balcony. Reid sat in a chair next to her sister; each had a cigarette in their hand. He laughed at something she’d said. A giggle burst from her lips.
Well, well, well. Looks like her sister did, in fact, have insomnia, but for an entirely different reason.
thirteen
Mood: “Salted Wound” by Sia
As Mari looked at herself through bleary eyes in her office bathroom mirror, she remembered why she usually put herself to bed before eleven at night. There were real consequences from lack of sleep. One was that she couldn’t think straight, and the other was the appearance of bags under her eyes. Correction: not bags, but oversized steamer trunks.
But the more Mari dabbed concealer on the swollen areas under her eyes, the worse they looked. The perfect shades of concealer and foundation were already unicorns; she’d suffered for years looking either slightly pasty or too tan. Despite the highlights and contouring she added as per the instructions from her makeovers at Sephora, the fine lines that had cropped up and the blue hue that had taken permanent residence below her eyes were a beast to manage. And those were the days when she’d managed enough sleep.
“Damn it.” She peered into the mirror.
The shop’s front door jostled open, followed by the sound of humming. Amelia.
“Marisol, it’s me. I see your coat. Are you here?” Her footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Mari popped out of the bathroom. “I’m here, second floor.” When Amelia materialized from the staircase, Mari kissed the older woman on the cheek—she smelled reliably of makeup and mint. “How was your long weekend?”
“Good. Glad now that the sun’s out. Hoping it’s the last snow so the cherry blossoms can do their thing. Don’t you have a wedding at the Tidal Basin this weekend?”
“It’s actually Pearl’s. But I got word that the snow didn’t do the current blossoms too much damage.”
“Cross our fingers.” Amelia did a double take. “But you’re here early.”
“Brunch with my top. And . . . I have a lot on my mind.”
“Ah—I can tell.” She rubbed a thumb just above Mari’s cheekbone. “There. Glob eliminated. Are they good things on the brain or bad? Because you’re smiling.”
“Both?” Mari honestly was on the fence. Last night, her sisters had come home with disconcerting news, news that could affect the shop. But she’d also had her first cigarette in almost ten years—she didn’t finish it because it turned her stomach—and more importantly, she’d spent the night chatting with Reid, discussed things that had nothing to do with work and everything to do with her as a woman, a person separate from Rings & Roses, individual of her sisters. She and Reid had taken breaks in her kitchen, refilled their tea and coffee until the sky turned pink, until he’d departed with a simple goodbye. He’d left this morning for Atlanta and wouldn’t be back until next weekend.
“Okay, that sounds promising.”
She shook her head, jostling her brain to work properly. “No, not really promising.” She brought Amelia up to speed about Heartfully Yours but refrained from discussing their finances in general. Her mother and Amelia were close, but she couldn’t assume her mother had shared that kind of information.
“Seems to me you’re going to have to be like the restaurants, clothing shops, and gift shops in the area,” Amelia said. “Level up. Actually compete.”
“We do that now.”
“Not in the same way the Whistling Pig or even Ohm does,” she said of their neighboring businesses. “It’s never been this in your face. Luckily, you have the best team in the business.” At Mari’s questioning look, Amelia laughed. “Oh, come on. You don’t think seamstresses talk? Just because we’re in the back room doesn’t mean our ears aren’t perked. We have our own whisper network. You have the most established, the most experienced, and the most connected team in the area. You might be worried about Heartfully Yours, but they are equally worried about the three of you.”
Amelia’s words rang in Mari’s head through brunch with Hazel and Brad. She’d said them like a kind of warning, as if Amelia had known about the ever-present conflict between her and Pearl, about the rough couple of weeks they’d had.
Ultimately, Amelia was right about one thing, it was teamwork that businesses were built on. And it was up to Mari to find the key to unlock her team’s potential.
“C’mon babe, do you really want to carry such a big bouquet? And with all the flowers up the aisle—orchids are for funerals and offices, aren’t they?” Brad’s voice nudged Mari back to the present. He was holding Hazel’s hand above the table. Behind him was the view of the Potomac through the windows of Brunch!, a restaurant in Foggy Bottom.
“No, not really—” Hazel said.
He droned on, ignoring her. He called the table settings “gaudy” and “over the top,” and remarked that gifts to visiting wedding guests were a waste of money.
The tension at their table had gotten thick despite the cheerful ambiance of the restaurant. More disturbing: Hazel had little to say back. The woman who had been so expressive in the past had been reduced to nods and shrugs.
Oh, di
d Mari miss Reid at this moment. He had been replaced by Brad and his negative personality.
In short: Brad was pissing Mari off.
Why should he care what kind of flowers the flower girl was carrying? Except for the fact that, maybe, Brad himself was a control freak.
“And now that I’m seeing the invitation.” He passed the intricately designed cardstock back to Mari, face scrunched in disgust. “I don’t know if I like this calligraphy after all.”
“But we decided on it, together.” Hazel’s voice choked.
His expression was dubious. “Eh, technically I made the decision from the pictures you sent. Now that it’s in front of me, I’m finding it too feminine.”
Mari interrupted—this was getting out of hand. “We’re two months away from the wedding, and to have it hand lettered—”
“Is there a rush service?”
“Well, yes—”
“Then let’s rush. We didn’t hire you all to take a back seat. This is the time to show me you’re worth the money I’ve spent on you. Or, we could simply postpone the wedding.”
His words were so smooth, so sly, his mood so even that the ultimatum stunned Mari. Did he just threaten to put the actual wedding on the line, over invitations? In the pause, Hazel’s eyes glassed over with tears. “Of course they can do it. Won’t you, Mari?”
“Yes, of course.” Rattled, Mari’s voice shook. “I’ll contact the calligrapher straightaway.”
She typed out an email to Lily Mai, her favorite calligrapher, on her iPad, heart thudding in her chest, mind only on Hazel and protecting her interests.
Below this instinctual emotion, something else clawed through. Tension. Fear. Part of Mari rebelled against it, tried to ignore it. Hazel chose Brad. For better or for worse, he was the love of her life.
Yet, if Mari had a say, if she had the opportunity to verbalize her feelings freely, Mari would admit she had seen this kind of man before. Brad was a brand of a sly, slick jerk who didn’t have to raise his voice. Passive-aggressive at first.