by Tif Marcelo
Mari and Pearl did what all devoted aunties did in these situations—they spoiled her kid. “Maybe Pearl and I have to step up our auntie game, distract him that way.”
“You guys do so much for him already.” Jane coughed. A pedestrian passing their front door jumped from what sounded like a seal’s bark. Jane rubbed her chest.
“Maybe you need a follow up with your doctor.”
“Yes, Mom.” Jane rolled her eyes.
Mari waved a hand in the air and laughed. “Whatever, don’t listen. Go for your walk.”
“All right.” Jane walked out the front door, then turned. She tucked herself into her light sweater. “We’re going to be okay, right? Rings and Roses, I mean. We can’t split up, Mari. We’re de la Rosas.”
“We’re going to be okay,” Mari reassured her.
Jane stepped off the sidewalk and dodged across Burg Street. But as Mari looked at her sister’s back, something else weighed heavy. She was failing in the one thing she swore to herself that she would do, and that was to keep her sisters and the business together.
Could she live with that?
A text from an unknown number beeped through Mari’s phone at 11:00 p.m. that night, rousing her from bed: What I wouldn’t give for some time out on your patio right now.
It took a second for Mari to get her bearings: Reid?
Reid: Yes. Was there anyone else hanging out on your patio?
Her lips wiggled into a smile. It wouldn’t be any of your business, would it?
Reid: You’re absolutely right about that. Sorry.
Mari: It’s okay. Really. How’s it going?
Reid: I was just thinking. You and I should take our patio talk elsewhere when I get back this weekend.
Mari stared at the words on her phone, gauged what to type. Yes would have been the easy answer. But it would be the wrong one. I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.
No dots appeared on the screen, and after a while Mari tucked herself back into bed, though this time, she took the phone with her. The phone beeped another text.
Reid: Okay. I respect that.
part four
She who loves roses must be patient and not cry out when she is pierced by thorns.
—Sappho
sixteen
Mood: “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole
Absolutely not, her mother had said that night during Pearl’s sophomore year a decade ago. Absolutely not.
Being the third de la Rosa to attend Alexandria High School, there had been expectations of her. Mari had been a wicked leader; Jane was the quiet and studious one. And then came Pearl, who muddled through her freshman year searching for a way to make her mark in the world.
She made her mark, all right. She became the most social. She’d thrown herself into her extracurricular activities and built her own resume: Founder of the pep club. Student representative. School newspaper reporter. Varsity tennis player. With her wit and humor and her ability to move from one crowd to the next, by her sophomore year, Pearl had been invited to upperclassman parties.
And finally, she’d felt untouchable.
That night, her parents had refused to let Pearl go to a senior party. She’d been out too much, they’d said; she was hanging with the wrong crowd. Her parents were already worried about Mari—We don’t like her boyfriend. They’d thrown this statement around ferociously; they disapproved when Mari moved out.
We don’t want to have to worry about you, too, Pearl.
Pearl had hated her parents at that moment; they were punishing her for Mari’s sins. They’d stood like towers despite their same five-foot-four-inch heights, two pillars of pure will against her wishes.
She’d thrown a tantrum then, especially unbecoming of a fifteen-year-old, considered shameful in Filipino culture, where she was supposed to hang her head and accept the verdict. But she felt she was too old, too modern, too American. Her parents didn’t have a clue what it was like to live in the twenty-first century in the United States, where teenagers had opinions. Where teenagers had a voice.
So, that night, she had done what any self-respecting teen would do. She snuck out. Not that she had to try too hard. Their town house on Duchess Street creaked and moaned. Its drafty windows whistled during windy days. And with so many people in the house, it wasn’t unusual to hear somebody up in the middle of the night. Their parents had learned to sleep through the chaos of a large family.
Pearl had simply walked out of the house. Then, she stole the Volvo and drove to the only person who’d understand her plight—Mari.
Mari’s apartment was stuffy and full of smoke. Bodies were lined up in the living room. Her sister wasn’t to be found, so she settled herself in Mari’s kitchen.
A keg was situated on the floor, and various bottles of liquor decorated the countertop. Red and blue Solo cups littered it. A punch bowl was filled hallway with a foamy drink. Dipping her nose down, Pearl whiffed something fruity—she decided it was the safest thing to drink. She tipped an empty cup into its froth and brought the drink to her lips.
No one batted an eye.
This wasn’t her first taste of liquor. The de la Rosa girls had grown up with alcohol in the home. On New Year’s Eve, they were allowed a taste of champagne. Her parents had thought the less they’d treated it as taboo, the more their girls would approach it moderately as they became adults.
Their theory worked for the most part. Pearl hadn’t been lured into friend’s parents’ liquor cabinets. During sleepovers, while her girlfriends oohed and aahed over what they could drink, Pearl passed on the opportunity.
But right now, in the depths of this party where she was anonymous, she felt older. Even if she had gotten caught, what would her sister have said? She would have surely just taken the drink and admonished her. Anyway, Mari was too cool; she would understand what Pearl was going through—she’d lived with the same parents, after all.
The first taste of the drink was sweet. The next, bitter. Then the sour aftertaste made the sides of her cheeks wince and tears leapt to her eyes. God, it was disgusting. But she kept a straight face, wanting so much to be older than she really was, and more like her sisters.
But a thought snuck into her head—what if she couldn’t be? What if the talent that her parents had kept saying each of them had—the gold star, they’d called it, the thing that every person possessed that made them uniquely stellar—didn’t apply to her? Maybe she was just ordinary.
Before Pearl knew it, she’d drank the entire cup. The buzz took over. It fizzled in her veins, made her warm. It compelled her to go ahead and pour another scoop of the drink in her cup.
A guy and a girl walked into the kitchen, lips locked. They didn’t pay her any mind. Her gaze darted away from them, only to slide back. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies. He lifted her onto the countertop; she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She’d watched enough R-rated movies—she’d seen this before. But up close, this 3-D experience brought heat to her cheeks.
Panic flooded her. She shouldn’t be there. She looked at the drink in her hand and realized she’d polished off the second cup. Her vision waved; her eyes crossed. She padded out of the kitchen feeling disjointed—where was Mari?
Halfway across the living room, Pearl heard her sister’s voice. It was at its third octave, which meant she was pissed. Pearl followed its trail, leading her to the hallway, where Mari’s bedroom was. A woman came out of the room and pushed past her, the door slamming shut. Pearl fought against this wave, finally coming to Mari’s bedroom door.
Her hand settled on the door handle. One push, and the door clicked open.
Her sister had always kept a meticulous space. That was where she and Pearl had differed. While Pearl never did get the point of making one’s bed, Mari squared her corners and folded down the top so it was a perfect rectangle across.
But right now, Mari’s bed was a mess. Pearl’s gaze swung as the door opened to its full breadth to reveal so
meone’s back. A man; his voice rumbled. Although his words were indecipherable, his tone was . . . scary. Pearl stepped in, now with Mari on her mind.
That was when she saw them . . . the bottoms of her sister’s shoes staggered in between the guy’s stance. Mari had this thing with pointy shoes. It was her vice. While everyone was wearing Doc Martens or round-toed ballerina flats, Mari liked her toes sharp. It gives me an edge, she’d said. It makes me feel fierce.
Mari had been sitting on the ground, legs straight in front of her.
“Ate Mari?” Pearl’s voice was a squeak. In that room, Pearl had felt smothered, powerless.
The bodies halted. Her sister’s face appeared from the guy’s shadow. He towered over her with a hand up in the air.
“Pearl? Pearl, what are you doing here?”
It was her voice—Mari’s, unlike Pearl had ever heard it.
Mari was a force. Mari was in charge. No one messed with Mari. This voice coming out of her sister’s mouth was one laced with fear.
The guy—Saul—turned. Pearl hadn’t ever met him, but she knew it was him from Mari’s description. The square of his jaw, the slicked-back hair. Mari had once yammered on, describing him in delicious and enamored detail.
But this version of Saul wore a snarl; his massive stature was threatening.
The boom of his voice followed. “Get the fuck out of here.” He took a step toward Pearl. More words spilled out of his mouth, but Pearl didn’t hear them, she was so focused on the expression on Mari’s face.
“No,” Pearl heard herself say. She was a de la Rosa—she was supposed to be invincible, too.
“I said, get the fuck out of here!”
“No.” Stubbornness fueled her.
Saul charged toward her. His paws landed on her shoulders, shocking her body like a bolt of electricity. His hands caught her neckline and he began to lift her off the floor.
The next second, she heard her sister scream. A thump and Saul fell toward Pearl, a yell escaping his lips. Pearl stepped aside in time, aghast, as he crashed onto the floor. She looked up; Mari held a candlestick in her hand. Her chest was heaving, and it was only then Pearl saw the full extent of Saul’s doing: Mari’s shirt torn right down the middle. Face wet with tears.
Someone else barged into the room and cursed. “Call 911.”
“Hello. Did the screen freeze? Can you hear us, Pearl?”
The sound of her name snapped Pearl out of her vivid daydream, and her eyes focused on the figures in front of her on the screen. Carter and Daphne, seen from a slightly distorted view, each with an earbud in their ear. Around them was the busy atmosphere of a restaurant with the sounds of laughter, the clinking of silverware, and the faraway beat of a pop song.
“Yes, I’m here.” Her voice kicked in. She swallowed, though her throat was dry, as if in the middle of the fight-or-flight acute-stress response. She glanced down at the Post-it note with some scribbled words, a couple with a check mark next to them. Right.
They were discussing the Thatched Roof Winery.
“I’d just said that yes, we’re definitely available tomorrow to do a quick tour. We’re so excited,” Daphne said.
“Great! I’ll call them and confirm the appointment. Tuesday, April tenth, at ten a.m.”
“Will Trenton be there?” Carter asked.
“Honey!” Daphne frowned and shot him a glare. “Trenton is not our wedding planner.”
“Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He turned to Pearl. “No pressure. But you know, if he’s available, we can kind of make it a double date.”
Daphne all but shoved her fiancé out of the screen’s view. “I’m so sorry about that. Don’t even listen to him.” To Carter, she said, “Make yourself useful and get me a vanilla affogato.”
Pearl laughed. “I’ll ask Trenton, though I can’t make any promises. He’s right, though, it’s worth a try, and if it gets you what you want—” she implied with a wink.
“Ha! I like how you think. I knew I hired the right woman.”
Pearl drew in a breath. The mention of being chosen out of many increased the weight on her shoulders. When Daphne had hired Pearl, it was under the banner of Rings & Roses, a well-known company, time-tested and reliable, with a Santa Claus list of satisfied customers. But today, she would offer herself as an individual. Just one person to manage Daphne and Carter’s happily ever after.
For a second, she felt like fifteen-year-old Pearl, a girl who obviously did not belong at a college party and almost got hurt because of it. Then again, if she hadn’t been there, a lot worse could have happened.
“But there was also another reason why I wanted to video chat, Daphne.” Pearl’s fingers had a life of their own and began to tear at the corners of the Post-its.
“What’s up?”
She infused optimism and confidence into her voice. “I’m in a great time in my career right now. After five years at Rings and Roses, it’s time for me to move on. I’m jumping at this opportunity to take on my own clients for my own business.”
Daphne’s jaw slackened. “Wow.”
Pearl pushed on. “It’s not happening right away. These things take time, and I have clients with Rings and Roses through the summer. It won’t change the way you and I do business. That is, unless you want it to. Because your contract is with Rings and Roses, you have the option to stay with them, and the planning will be done by either one of my sisters. Both are capable, remarkable, and exact planners. If you love working with me, you will love working with them. I do hope, though, that you’ll stay with me.”
Daphne seemed to recover from her shock. “This is a lot to take in. I mean, we love you, Pearl, no doubt, but leaving this event all up to one person feels . . . risky. What if you get sick? Or have a fender bender. Who else can step in?”
Pearl felt every cell in her body slacken from what she could only describe as sadness. Yes, she would be the sole person in her business—she wouldn’t have backup. She’d relinquished the camaraderie that she’d grown to rely on. “I completely understand this worry. I do plan to hire an assistant.”
“I know, but . . . we’re expecting four hundred people, Pearl.” She bit her lip. “Can we . . . can we think about it?”
“Absolutely. Of course.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t you dare be sorry.” She smiled for good measure despite her disappointment. It was a good sign that Daphne wasn’t upset. “This is business. It doesn’t change us. And I don’t want us to cancel this appointment with the Thatched Roof. If you choose to stay with Rings and Roses, you’ll continue to work with me until I transition out.”
“Okay.” A relieved grin appeared on her face.
“But there’s one more thing . . . about Trenton.” Pearl swallowed her nervousness. “He’s my one and only, but not how you think.” She grinned into the screen, and hoped that her honesty would be enough for Daphne. “He and I are just friends. We have been friends for decades, and while he came to couples’ yoga with me, we’re not technically a romantic couple. But there’s more. We went to couple’s yoga to make contact . . . with you.”
“You guys were faking it?”
Pearl nodded, wincing on the inside. She waited for a negative response: anger, shock, disappointment. Instead, Daphne went silent, frowned, then a smile bloomed on her face. “Damn. That was one good hustle.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I mean, I should be, right? But I’m not. I’m impressed. The both of you were convincing. The two of you together are . . . great.”
“Honestly, I think it’s one-sided, on my end.” Pearl exhaled, feeling like she’d been unshackled. “I still plan to ask him to come to the winery. I know he has a ball with Carter.”
“Okay. Great.” Except her face did not indicate she thought the conversation was going great. “Sorry, this is just a lot of information. I don’t know what to think.”
“I know. Well . . .” Awkwardness filled her, and with noth
ing left to unveil, she said, “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
The screen switched to black. Pearl leaned back in her chair, looked up at her ceiling. What did she do? What had she done? She’d placed her eggs in one basket without reinforcing the bottom.
Think.
With her memories still hovering in the periphery, and now with the uncertainty of Daphne’s business, Pearl’s thoughts were like cards thrown up in the air, fluttering down aimlessly around her. She couldn’t grasp at a solid comforting idea. Her belly turned in nausea, a sure sign that she had to get to her happy place or else the rest of her day would be an unfocused mess.
She raised her left hand, tapped on her watch’s face.
She’d have to play hooky, but she could still get to the 11:00 a.m. class at Ohm.
But first, she texted Trenton.
You wouldn’t happen to be free tomorrow, would you? No pressure. 10 a.m. winery tour with Daphne and Carter. Thatched Roof.
Trenton: Is this a double date, Pearly-Pearl?
Pearl: Yes. Carter has summoned you.
Trenton: I must answer the call, then. Just got word my new apartment’s ready for me, so was calling out of work anyway. I’m in.
Sixty minutes. Something always happened to Pearl in those sixty minutes. Focusing on her breath smoothed the rough edges of her perspective. Her lungs seemed to hold more oxygen; her muscles, limber and loose, felt like they could take on the weight of the world.
So when she glanced at her phone on the way out of Ohm’s front doors and found Mari’s text with a request to speak, she didn’t answer right away. Her knee-jerk reaction had taken a back seat—she would speak to her sister in person after she changed out of her sweaty clothes. And when she passed Heartfully Yours on the way to Duchess Street and saw its owner, Wendy Salazar, wiping down her windows, she homed in on exactly what her parents had said over the years. When one door closes . . .