Secrets of a (Somewhat) Sunny Girl

by Karen Booth

  “That’s what she said.”

  I had no idea what had happened to Mom’s suitcase until we walked into our eerily quiet house and very quickly learned that every last thing that belonged to her was gone—her clothes, her shoes, her jewelry. And apparently her suitcase. Grandma took every picture, leaving behind only one—our parents' wedding portrait. As definitively as our mother was gone from our lives, so were the physical reminders. She was less than a ghost. It was almost like she'd never existed. Amy and I were the most substantial evidence of her time on earth, and we were both battered by it.

  A few days later and in tears, Dad put the wedding portrait in the front closet. We never got anything of Mom's back from Grandma. Not a damn thing. She denied she'd taken everything, but it had to have been her. She'd had a key to the house and all the motive in the world. Amy and I had tried several times over the years, but we only met up with a big brick wall.

  “No. Probably not the best idea to invite Grandma Price,” I said to Amy, pushing my scrambled eggs around on my plate. “It would just upset Dad and I don't think she's doing well anyway. Aunt Lucy posted about it on Facebook.”

  “Good God, Katherine. You're friends with Aunt Lucy? I've blocked that whole side of the family. No good comes from digging up the past with them anyway.”

  “We don't dig up the past. I post funny cat videos and she shares tasteless memes and I mute her most of the time.”

  “Whatever. My point is that you don't need to throw me a bridal shower. Luke and I don't want a lot of hoopla. Really.”

  My stomach growled, but I pushed aside my breakfast. I had to find some great way to play a role in the wedding. I had to do right by my sister. “What about the whole something old, something new tradition? I was thinking about that last night. I could be in charge of that.”

  Amy shrugged. “I wouldn't be off to a very good start, would I? It's hard when you don't have anything old.”

  “You have me.” I smiled.

  “You're not old. You're just grumpy.”

  “Grandma Price has all of Mom's stuff. Including all of her jewelry. There was that pearl necklace Mom used to wear whenever we went somewhere nice. The double strand she wore on her wedding day. The one from their wedding portrait.”

  Amy and I had spent hours upon hours staring at that picture, studying it. It was, after all, the only remaining photographic evidence that our mother had ever existed, outside of the clipping of her obituary that Dad had kept in the desk in his study. Grandma had taken everything else, even the pictures of our summer vacations and Christmas mornings.

  Often, when Dad was out of the house, either mowing the lawn or perhaps running an errand, which was usually a trip to the liquor store, Amy and I would clamor to pull the wedding portrait from the depths of the coat closet. We would sit on the hardwood floor, poring over this glimpse of a happy past. We analyzed our mother's facial expression, looking for clues as to why she might later become so very unhappy. We admired the way her golden blond hair curled at her temples and the way her long veil cascaded down her back. We even dared to pose theories about what our lives might be like if things had been different. If she had lived. I never really cared for that part of the conversation because it sent the guilt crushing down, but Amy liked to talk about it, so I would put up with it until we'd hear Dad's key in the front door and we'd scramble to return the photo to where it belonged—leaning against the wall behind the coats, facing away.

  “Do you think she still has it? The necklace?” Amy asked.

  “I don't know. But we could ask. I could send Aunt Lucy a message and see if she can get it for us.” I had no idea what misguided part of me wanted so desperately for Amy to have something of our mother's for her wedding, but I did. That had always been such a hard part of trying to heal after Mom's death. Neither of us had a single thing to hold onto, which made it really hard to remember the good times. Despite the way things ended up, there had been good times. There had been happy days.

  “You're opening a whole can of worms that I don't know if I'm eager to open. How do you even broach the subject without Aunt Lucy asking whether or not she'll be invited?”

  “Is she invited?”

  “I haven't decided.”

  I waved Patty over with a nod. My coffee cup was empty again. “I’m not sure how I bring it up. Let me think about it.”

  “Anything else I can get you ladies this morning?” Patty asked.

  “That's it. Thank you.” I plucked the check from her hand before she could put it on the table.

  “I miss seeing you two for lunch,” Patty said.

  Yeah. Me too.

  “We'll get back to it soon. As soon as the wedding is over, probably. Between planning and work, I'm swamped,” Amy said. I hoped she was being sincere. Some semblance of our old normal would be a nice change.

  Patty was hailed by a customer a few tables away and I mumbled goodbye.

  “Let me think about Aunt Lucy. I'll come up with something. I'll get you that necklace.”

  “Please don't make a big deal of this. I can ask Luke's mom if she has something old. Or I can buy something at a vintage shop.”

  Amy was trying to keep the involvement from our side of the family at a minimum. I couldn't exactly stage a protest. If anyone understood why she felt that way, I did. “Please let me do this one thing. Okay?” Now I was determined, not only because Amy deserved this but because maybe this would be a chance to patch things up with my grandmother. It had been so many years. Maybe it would give me a new perspective on everything that had happened. That might help me tell Eamon. It might help me see myself in a new light. I wanted to be able to do that. I was tired walking around the world feeling like a semi-fulfilled adult. I wanted to be a fully actuated one, and that meant putting to rest at least some of what had happened in my childhood.

  “Do you think I should invite them to the wedding?” Amy asked.

  “I think it would be a nice gesture. They probably won't come. But at least you would've made the effort.”

  Amy pressed her lips into a thin line and pulled out her phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Adding their names to the guest list.”

  Maybe this could be a good thing. “Now I know what to tell Aunt Lucy if she asks.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “Right. Now let's get to the shoe shop. If I'm not on time to my fitting at Vera Wang, it'll be murder trying to get a new appointment.”

  I slid out of the booth and followed Amy out of the diner. It was a chilly day today and threatening rain. “Cab it?”

  “I say we walk. It's only about ten blocks.”

  And so we did, although those ten blocks consisted of three avenues across before we turned and walked seven streets south. We didn't talk much and I didn't really know what to say. Amy was being so weird about the wedding. She was not being herself, but it wasn't like I had anything to compare her behavior to, so I just let it go.

  The visit to the shoe shop was quick. They sold only bridal shoes, which could've meant a long visit since they seemed to have about one million choices, but Amy had already made her selection—super blingy and sky-high. I was, once again, about to call bullshit on her tirade about low-key and unassuming, but Amy had always loved cute shoes. Who was I to deny her? She paid and we hustled over to Vera Wang, making it in the knick of time.

  I sat and waited as the shop woman got Amy set up with the proper underpinnings. I wasn't quite prepared for the moment when she came out of the dressing room though. I'd already told myself it was okay to cry. I was basically the stand-in for our mother at that point, and it not only made sense that I fall apart at some point during the day it would be expected of me. I just hadn't planned on sobbing.

  “Good Lord, Kat. Get a grip.” Amy stood on the carpeted pedestal and admired herself as the folks from Vera Wang did their thing with Amy's hem.

  “I can't help it.” As surreal as that night had been in front of the shop window
, this felt even more like a dream, like it wasn't really happening. And yet, I knew it was. The feeling that our mom should be here right now was overwhelming. She should've been here to see her youngest daughter looking perfect in her wedding dress.

  “Does that mean you like it?”

  “It's even more perfect on you than it was in the window.”

  Amy pulled up the skirt just enough to show off the shoes. “I think these work well.”

  “Yep. Also perfect.” I nodded, slowly regaining my composure and grabbing a tissue from the generous box sitting on a side table.

  “Good. Two more things I can cross off my list.” Amy looked accomplished, and most important, she looked happy. Maybe she'd be in a better mood the rest of the day.

  “Did you want us to pull some necklaces to try with the dress?” the saleswoman asked.

  “No,” I blurted. “I mean, no, thank you. We have a family necklace we're hoping she can wear.”

  “I see.”

  “It was our mother’s,” I added. “She wore it the day she was married to our dad.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” the saleswoman answered, seeming wholly disinterested. She was probably pissed at me for cutting down on her commission.

  I walked up to Amy after the seamstress announced she had everything she needed. “You look absolutely beautiful. Luke is going to flip.”

  “Do you really think we should count on the necklace? Maybe I should just pick something out to be safe.”

  I shook my head. “No. I will get that necklace if it's the last thing I do.”

  Chapter Ten

  The mood of the shopping trip with Amy took a noticeable turn when we left Vera Wang and there was only more stop to make—Maggie's Floral. Mother Nature had gone for the purely theatrical and moved a bank of gray clouds in over the city, shutting out the sun, and casting everything in an eerie blue. It sure as hell felt like the arrival of Mom’s ghost. Flowers were her specialty. She should have been here for this.

  “Do you want to stop and get a coffee? Maybe frozen yogurt? A cookie?” I asked, sensing that Amy might want to put this off. I could be totally onboard with that.

  “No. Maybe we should save that for after. I'm still pretty hopped up on caffeine from breakfast anyway.”

  Amy was going for the “let’s just get this over with” approach. I admired her fortitude in the face of what might be her greatest bridal hurdle. “Great. Then lead the way.”

  The sky was threatening to open up, sprinkling raindrops on us, so we nabbed a cab as soon as we could. Once again, things were quiet between us, but this was one of those symbiotic sister moments. Neither of us had to say what we were feeling or thinking. We were battling the same inner conflict, wanting so desperately to be able to saunter into Maggie’s Floral and revisit happy memories of our mom. But we both knew it would never be as simple as that. The good was too inextricably tied to the bad.

  When Amy and I were kids, our mother worked at Taylor & Daughters Flowers, a few miles from our house. She'd actually started there when she was pregnant with me. She even went into labor while working the counter, her water leaking all over the gray-and-white checkered linoleum floor. Our mom lived for that job. Amy and I loved the shop, too. It was pure magic.

  A hippie lady named Sarah Taylor, who wore long flowing skirts and jangly bracelets, owned it. Ms. Taylor didn't have any actual daughters, but she resented how businesses had “& Sons” tacked on to the end of their name like that was supposed to make them more legitimate, but daughters were never discussed. I'd heard Sarah say many times to her customers that the women who worked in the shop were just like her daughters, and she tended to hire women who were, by her own admission, a bit lost. Apparently our mom fell into that category, a community college dropout with an interest in art, but no real talent for things like paint or sculpture. But she had an eye for color and design and she became a master with flowers.

  For as long as I could remember, Amy and I spent every Saturday at the shop. It was a necessity when Dad was out of town on a work trip, which as we got older, was pretty much every week. It was like a fairytale, with big windows that faced the street, the sun streaming across the long wood counter marred with deep gouges from scissors and clippers. There was this unavoidable feeling that anything could happen there, but it never seemed foreboding. It felt more born of possibility.

  The smell in the shop was like nothing else—sweet and fresh and heady, like a garden in the middle of summer, but even more potent. If there were lilies in the shop, the fragrance always made me a bit sick, but Amy loved it. She would run into the back room and stick her face into the profusion of blooms. If the lilies were open, she’d end up with stains of orangey-brown pollen on her cheeks and nose. Mom was always busy doing arrangements and assisting customers, so it was my job to help Amy get cleaned up. It always took a lot of rubbing with rough brown bathroom paper towels. There were invariably tears and accusations that I was a mean older sister, followed by a stern reminder from me that if she would just stop doing that, I wouldn't have to scrub her face clean in the first place.

  Saturdays were big days at Taylor & Daughters—wedding day. Much of the work would've been done Friday, but there were always a million last minute things to do. Mom was the one who made everything come together. She ensured the flowers were still looking their best, replacing any blooms that might have drooped overnight. Wanting no bride to ever be disappointed, she double and triple-checked the order, then packed everything up in the big white delivery van. That's how Mom became involved with Gordon. He was the delivery driver for Taylor & Daughters, hired when I was one year old. Gordon and Mom had known each other in high school. They'd even dated. Right there, in the charming shop that Amy and I loved so much, was where their affair began.

  The cab zipped up to the curb and jerked to a stop in front of Maggie's Floral. Amy collected our things while I paid the driver, and we made our way inside. A tiny bell chimed when Amy opened the door. An older woman with kind violet eyes emerged from the back room. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes. Hi. I'm Amy Fuller. Are you Maggie? I called about flowers for my wedding. Mrs. Mayhew recommended you. She's my future mother-in-law.” Amy was rambling and her voice was tight. I knew she was feeling just as overwhelmed as I was—the sights and smells made it feel like we’d been thrust into a movie made of our own memories.

  “Oh, yes.” Maggie smiled. “This must be your sister. The one with the special eyesight?”

  Amy slipped out of her coat, draped it over her arm and turned to me. “Yes. This is Katherine.”

  “It's not really that special,” I said. “I mean. It's not like it's a talent. I was just born this way.”

  “Your sister told me all about it on the phone. She's very proud of your abilities.”

  I could feel a blush creeping across my cheeks. It felt good to know I was the only one who could help Amy in this way, but it didn't take away the bittersweet edge of picking out flowers. “That's my sister. Always bragging about something.” I elbowed Amy and she tittered nervously.

  Maggie pulled out a large three-ring binder and placed it on the counter in front of two stools. She sat on the opposite side. “These are some bouquets I've done for other brides. I find it best to start with the bouquet and work everything else from there.”

  “Our mom always said that,” I said. “When she worked with brides. She worked at a florist when we were little.”

  “How nice,” Maggie offered. “Will she be helping with the wedding?”

  An even darker pall crept over the scene. I never should've brought her up. That had been stupid of me. “She passed away when we were kids.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Maggie's voice had taken on a somber and heavy tone.

  “Thank you.” Amy now seemed more annoyed than anxious. “Let's pick something out.”

  Amy and I were both quiet as church mice as we looked at page after page of bouquets. I chimed in when she asked for my opinion
, which wasn't often. There were just a lot of silent headshakes or hums of “maybe” and the occasional hesitant nod. By the time Amy had reached the end of the book, she hadn't found anything she liked.

  “Maybe we could look at some actual flowers,” I suggested. “Come up with some ideas?”

  Just then, another customer came in. “Sure thing,” Maggie said. “Everything is in the back room in floral buckets. Feel free to go into the cooler, too. I'll be back after I'm done helping this customer.”

  Amy and I traced down a narrow hall lined with shelves of clear glass ginger jar vases standing like soldiers.

  “Now this is more like it,” I said when we arrived in the back room. I zeroed in on some beautiful dark purple calla lilies.

  “So now you're going to say something?”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I asked your opinion and you hardly said anything.”

  “I was letting you take the lead. Was I not supposed to do that?”

  “I need your help, Katherine.”

  “Do you? Really? Because I felt like our entire conversation at the diner was about you not needing my help. And then we go to Vera Wang and it was pretty clear you don't think you can count on me to get the necklace. I don't need you to humor me. If you don't want me involved, just tell me.”

  Amy sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. “Do you know what I want?”

  “I don't, Ames. I really don’t.”

  “I want to be a normal bride, arguing with her mom about who should get invited and whether we should have chicken or fish. Instead, I get Luke's mom, who just wants to take everything out of my hands, like I have horrible taste or am completely clueless about what a wedding entails.”

  Maggie appeared in the back room. “Everything okay?”

  Amy looked petrified, which was saying a lot. She wasn't embarrassed by much. “Just a little sisterly squabble. I'm so sorry.”

  “Oh, honey. I wasn't trying to listen, but what I overheard is nothing but perfectly run of the mill. This room has seen brides throw fistfuls of carnations. I'll leave you two to it. Just come and fetch me when we need to talk flowers.” With that, Maggie retreated back to the front of the store.