The Key to Happily Ever After

by Tif Marcelo

Mood: “Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift

  The link to Reid’s Facebook profile was one click away. Hazel had friended Mari last week, and when Mari had accepted hesitatingly—she’d always intended to keep customers closed to that kind of access—the Flynn and Quaid family opened up to her. Now the temptation was too great; her heart clamored to catch a glimpse of him.

  After her meeting with Brad and Hazel two nights ago, and then after her fight with Pearl, a fight that had gotten out of control within half a second, Mari had begun to experience something like loneliness. She needed Reid, his friendship. She wanted to speak to someone who wasn’t her family, someone who could give her an objective point of view. Even Amelia was too close.

  To distract herself, Mari scrolled past the engagement pictures Hazel had posted on her wall. Liked and commented on by dozens of people, the staged, smiling photographs were deceptive.

  Online personas were a smidgen of reality, if that. For many, it only showed the optimism and joy of one’s life. For some, it was a projection of the life they sought. It was a vicious cycle—this perception-reality conundrum. Did one beget the other? Were humans simply torturing themselves by subscribing to it? Here’s what Mari knew: while others around her, like Pearl, were comfortable baring their truths to just about anyone, she held on to hers tight. She protected her faults, her secrets, and her mistakes ferociously, and it spilled over so she didn’t share her positive news online either.

  She knew this kind of introversion was costing her relationships—Pearl was one of them. But she wasn’t willing to be vulnerable to scrutiny.

  As it was, despite adoring Hazel, Mari scanned her engagement photos with a critical eye. In person, the woman smiled less around her fiancé; the light in her eyes had dimmed since these photos were taken a few months ago.

  Was it her responsibility to tell somebody about her impressions—to tell Reid?

  But what would you say?

  It isn’t any of your business.

  You’ll push Hazel away.

  Mari stood from her stool, breaking her warring thoughts. Focus would be the name of the game today. This morning was about Pearl.

  She took plates from the cupboard, scooped three sets of forks and spoons from the drawer below it, and set it on her kitchen island buffet-style. Then, to the warming oven, where she extricated platters filled with Pearl’s favorite brunch foods: tortang talong, a Filipino-style eggplant omelet; biscuits with sausage gravy; and maple sausage. From the refrigerator, she pulled out sliced sweet mangoes, but kept her secret dessert-weapon hidden. She turned on her electric kettle.

  Was Mari sucking up? Yes, she was.

  When Jane had texted Pearl last night and set this morning’s meeting, Mari had been against it. Their fight two nights ago was not any of her doing; she wasn’t the one who instigated it. But, as usual, Jane was right—their sisterhood had to come first, despite their disagreements. The last time she and Pearl had a decent personal conversation rather than a business one was . . . she couldn’t even remember.

  Mari wasn’t sure what that meant in terms of the business, but if Pearl was willing to meet her halfway, then she was all for talking about it, civilly.

  After the counter was set, Mari checked the time. Ten minutes till eight. She milled about, tidying up. She threw dirty laundry into the washer, then cleaned out her sink.

  Yet her laptop and Reid’s profile tempted her.

  “Damn it.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, admitting defeat. After taking a breath, she clicked on Reid’s profile page, which only showed public posts, meaning his profile was locked down tight.

  Mari gritted her teeth and scrolled down anyway. The man had been tagged recently by several people during social events. There were always women with him. Gorgeous, fabulous women with flawless faces, hair in beach waves or tight ponytails. Mari closed the laptop. Her hand stilled on the cover, and she shut her eyes, willing her curiosity away.

  “You okay?” Jane flew in with a bag of tortilla chips, one hand deep inside of it. Oh, this was no good. Her sister had a thing for all foods crunchy, and when she was stressed, chips were her go-to therapy.

  “Um, are you?” Mari eyed the way her sister noshed on the chips, lips dotted with salt.

  “No.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Last night, I wasn’t just pissed about you and Pearl.” Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips. “I . . . I reached out to Marco. Yesterday afternoon. After some sleuthing through his social media, I found his personal email address.”

  “Wait. Sleuthing, as in stalking?” Mari’s eyes widened, shocked.

  “It’s not stalking if all his info is out there for the world to see.” She stuffed a chip into her mouth, and while crunching, said, “Anyway, I might have emailed a rant, like, all my emotions in one long letter. Gah.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. Yet. I’ve refreshed my inbox about a million times today.”

  Mari bit her lip, inched her fingers along the counter, and pried the bag of chips from her sister’s hand. She had a feeling future Jane would want Mari to steer her in the right direction. She rolled the top of the bag down and handed her sister a napkin. “What are you going to say if he writes you back?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was far away as she methodically wiped her fingers. “I don’t even know what I want from him.”

  “This is a big deal.” Mari stuffed the bag of chips in the cupboard for safekeeping.

  “I had to do it for Pio. One more try.”

  Mari reached out for Jane’s hand and squeezed it. “Then I support you. But if he says one stupid thing, I will lay it on him, Jane. I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut about it. I’ll sneak into one of his shows and give him hell.”

  “I know.” She squeezed back. “I love you for that.”

  Mari’s phone beeped with a calendar notification for this morning’s meeting. She frowned. “Have you seen Pearl this morning?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Ten minutes later, Pearl still hadn’t arrived. Fifteen minutes after that, Mari called Jane to the table. As she scooped food onto her plate, Mari raised her eyes to her sister. Her voice shook. “This. This is why I can’t deal with how she does business.”

  Pearl finally showed up a half hour later, in the middle of dessert. Her plate was cold; Mari had portioned a little bit of each dish and wrapped it in cling wrap. She and Jane were on their third round of coffee.

  Mari had somehow survived the meal without speaking ill of the youngest de la Rosa. She and Jane passed the time by discussing how they were going to sit their parents down for a business meeting over Skype, Pio’s parent-teacher conference, and their spring container gardening plans.

  The eggplant omelet had come out perfectly, and Mari’s biscuits had been fluffy and perfectly light, if she said so herself. Had Jane not stopped her, she would have eaten Pearl’s share. The rule had always been “you snooze, you lose,” but Mari conceded that it wouldn’t have boded well for their attempt to make up if she’d eaten Pearl’s helping.

  Mari’s irritation had reached a boiling point by the time the outline of—was that Trenton’s car?—idled in front of her windows. By then, Mari was ready to give Pearl a piece of her mind.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Pearl was already apologizing as she walked in, kicking the shoes off her feet, and she came to a full stop ten feet away from the kitchen island. “Oh . . . banana pudding.”

  That was right. Banana pudding, the worst dessert, ever. Mari had cringed the entire time she made it. It was sacrilegious to desecrate a good banana in this manner. Banana bread, sure. Turon—sugared sliced plantain and jackfruit wrapped in an egg roll wrapper—oh, heck yes. But bananas and pudding and Nilla wafers?

  Mari’s tone was curt. “Your favorite.”

  “We . . . I . . . slept in. I . . .” Her eyes darted around the room. “And is that?” The usual smile in her eyes dimmed.

  �
��Tortang talong and shit on a shingle and where were you?” This time, to Mari’s surprise, it was Jane who spoke.

  “You should have told me we were having breakfast.”

  Mari didn’t raise her voice. “It was a family meeting.”

  “You’re totally making me look bad here.” Pearl sported a crooked smile.

  As if that was going to work. “Me?” Mari stood, taking her plate to the sink. She turned on the water, intending to rinse the dish and to wash her irritation down the drain, then promptly shut it off. She spun to face her. “You don’t need me to do that.”

  “That’s just unfair.”

  Mari barked out a laugh. “Welcome to our wonderful world, where fair isn’t a criteria. But if you really wanted to pursue that line of thinking—how fair was it that you wanted us to trust you with a huge client when you can’t seem to come through when we ask you to? Or that you decided all on your own to throw down a life-changing decision and simply expected us to roll with it? Or wait, no. Also that you didn’t give us a chance to remedy our conflict before starting to look for another job?”

  “This wasn’t a work meeting. This was a family meeting. If you had been clear—” She walked up to the counter and put her hand on it. “And if you’re asking why I want to walk away, it’s because of this. No one can make a mistake around you. The job is never good enough. I’m never good enough.”

  “Not true. And quit trying to twist this conversation on me.”

  “Because it’s all wrapped up together.” Pearl pressed her fingers against her temple. “A job isn’t good enough unless you do it yourself. You have to control every little thing. You can make mistakes, but others can’t. You can be whatever and whoever you want to be, but you don’t let anyone else grow up. You can fuck up and be forgiven, but you can’t seem to do that for others.”

  The words that came out of Pearl struck Mari right in the gut. Pain ratcheted through her system. It burned in her veins. It pushed her to the edge. “I’m better off trying to control things, trying to change things rather than burying my head in the sand. At least I’m taking responsibility. At least I’ve taken responsibility.”

  It was a low blow, a blow lower than she’d ever reached.

  She and Pearl had talked about the situation with Saul. They’d gone to counseling. She’d gone to church. She’d prayed about it for days and days, until the event had worn itself thin in her head. While they’d resolved that it was no one’s fault, that the entire situation was a series of unfortunate events, Mari knew that if she hadn’t set the stage, it would have never happened. If she hadn’t fallen into the arms of a man who controlled her, who convinced her that her life belonged to him, she might have noticed. She might have paid more attention that Pearl was getting into trouble herself.

  But yes, a tiny bit of her wished Pearl hadn’t been at her apartment, that she hadn’t been there to protect. She wished Pearl hadn’t been there to witness her at her lowest. And now, Mari would forever hold the guilt of what Pearl had seen, and she would always be responsible for scarring her so badly.

  Mari had tried to turn the page. She’d filed a police report and a restraining order; Saul had taken off to the Midwest, to start anew. She’d resolved to be a different woman, to be a more focused woman, with all her efforts placed on Rings & Roses, on the happiness the business brought to other people. She’d buried herself in the stress of planning her clients’ special days and in the—sometimes manufactured—joy of the happily ever after. I dos became her penance. They were payback for the black spot in her past.

  But the past had repercussions. It still cast shadows. It was still ever present between her and Pearl.

  Pearl’s face changed from indignation to pain.

  “I—” Mari clamped her mouth shut as she saw what her words had achieved.

  “I . . . I’m gonna go.” Pearl spun and walked out Mari’s door. Jane chased after her.

  Alone now, Mari went into her bedroom, closed the door, and sat on her bed as realization set in. Less than two months after assuming control of Rings & Roses, everything had officially gone to shit.

  Business had to go on. Mari followed the opening checklist to the line later that morning; she pretended life was perfect with the customers who’d arrived early to browse through the shop. As soon as Carli checked in for her morning shift, Mari retreated to the third floor, to the alterations area, where she took her stool out and plopped on it.

  Amelia hadn’t yet made it in for the day, and the room was empty and silent, the lights dimmed. Mari stared at a framed picture on Amelia’s wall. It was of the de la Rosa girls when they were much younger—Mari looked to be about twelve or thirteen. She had been heads taller than the other two, at the cusp of puberty and her one and only growth spurt. In the photo, she had an arm around each of her sisters. They were tucked into her like baby birds under their mother’s wing.

  Both her parents were the firstborn, overachievers, and impeccably resilient, and they’d passed on the impression that Mari would somehow be invincible despite the pressure thrown at her.

  Mari wore this layer of invulnerability like an armor. She articulated it with her no-nonsense expression, her straight posture, her lists that would protect her from the unexpected.

  But the armor was a deterrent as much as it was a shield, for if one got past what she chose to show the world, one might wonder if they were dealing with an entirely different woman altogether. Mari was far from invincible. She felt everything.

  And in the quest to keep herself safe, she had hurt the ones she loved.

  The room grew brighter. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  Mari’s vision focused. Amelia was at the doorway with a hand on the light switch. Mari wiped her tears and sniffed in her emotions. “Did Jane call you?”

  “Pearl did.”

  “Ah.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “And rehash how everything has gone completely upside down? Wasn’t I sitting here a couple of months ago worrying about the other shoe dropping?”

  “One didn’t have anything to do with the other, I promise you that. The worry might have taken away some of your joy, but it didn’t cause what happened between you all. Anyway, it’s now that matters—it’s now and what your next step will be.”

  “I don’t know, Amelia. I don’t even know where to start. Our problems are coming from someplace deep, a place I can’t fix.”

  “I don’t think anyone is asking you to fix something from a decade ago, Marisol. That’s a big expectation to put on yourself. But I think I know someone who can help you sort this out.”

  “I can’t.” Mari shook her head, defensive, knowing exactly who Amelia was talking about. “I can’t deal with her disappointment.”

  Amelia walked to Mari and knelt in front of her. “Oh, sweetheart.” She clasped her hands. “I’m not old enough to be your grandmother, but I love you like one. I’m also objective enough to understand how you de la Rosas work. Your pride shouldn’t stop you from getting the good advice and love you need. You should call your mother, sooner rather than later.”

  Mari nodded, shutting her eyes briefly. Then she took her phone out of her pocket and clicked on Regina de la Rosa’s phone number.

  Regina’s face on Mari’s phone screen didn’t have on a bit of makeup. It wasn’t covered in foundation, concealer, eyeliner, and lipstick. She rarely wore makeup in the Philippines, citing the humidity. Mari knew the real reason: the Philippines relaxed her mother. There, her parents were away from the hustle and bustle of the business. Now truly free from it, her mother had not a care in the world. The usual crease in the middle of her forehead now lay flat, replaced by laugh lines on the sides of her mouth and eyes. “Marisol?”

  “Did I wake you, Mommy?”

  “I wasn’t asleep, just reading here in the living room.” Her body straightened. “But you can wake me and call me anytime, iha.”

  At the Tagalog word for daughter, and hea
ring her mother’s comforting voice, Mari relaxed a tad. “We have to talk about the business, Mommy. We’re kind of at each other’s throats here.”

  “Let me guess who it’s between.” She peered at Mari, and the examination jolted her back to when she was a teenager, when half of her mother’s time consisted of dissecting truth from fiction. “You and Pearl.”

  Mari tore off the Band-Aid. “She wants to leave Rings and Roses.”

  Her mother’s face froze. It was as if the connection stilled. Then, finally, she spoke. “Why?”

  “Because.” Mari held her breath, then blurted, “She said she needed to branch out on her own, to start her own business.”

  “But she already has a business, iha. It’s called Rings and Roses, in partnership with her sisters.”

  “Well, she decided to move on.”

  Her mother’s voice steadied. “Marisol?”

  After steeling herself, Mari revealed the history of the last two months to the stunned face on the screen. As she spoke, the braver she felt to discuss not only Pearl but the state of Rings & Roses. “We were surprised at what we saw in the finances. Mommy, why didn’t you tell me? It wouldn’t have changed my decision to take over. This is my dream. But I would have been better prepared if I had known about the finances. I would have made better plans. We could have tried to remedy or enact changes while you were still here.”

  A slew of words left Regina’s mouth, most in Tagalog, her reaction spanning the first stages of grief: denial, bargaining, anger, and depression. Mari listened and rode out the roller coaster as her mother recounted the business’s history, the struggle of making ends meet, the twenty years of ups and downs.

  Finally, what came was what Mari recognized as acceptance. “I was the head of Rings and Roses for twenty years, Marisol, so all the good and bad you inherited was ultimately my responsibility. But I swear to you, I didn’t realize the state of the business when I left it. Thinking back, I really should have had an accountant, but when we started out, I was a one-woman show handling maybe one wedding every two months. I’m sorry.”