by Wendy Wax
My hands tighten on the steering wheel as I face a few more harsh realities. Number one—however it sometimes feels, I am not Dustin’s only parent. Number two—if I’m willing to accept gifts like the security of Bella Flora and Dustin’s financial future, both of which I put at risk, doesn’t Daniel deserve a say in his son’s life?
By the time we get back to Bella Flora I feel as if I have my own personal dark cloud hanging over my head. Will and Thomas are getting ready to drive down to Mermaid Point. As we pull up in front of the low garden wall, I see my mother step into William Hightower’s arms, and I’m reminded how fluky love and all the things that go along with it are. My mother found romance in her twenties and fifties. At the rate I’m going I’ll be lucky if I ever date again.
Dustin hugs them both good-bye and then runs to me with his arms outstretched. I’ll take unconditional and uncomplicated love over dating any day. Though I kind of hope it’s not an either/or proposition.
Andrew’s the next to depart. He’s driving back to Atlanta and his job at Coke. I really can’t get over the fact that he is now an employed adult. He lifts Dustin and whirls him around. There’s a lot of chortling involved—not all of it’s from Dustin.
“Take care of yourself, Ky.” He hesitates. “You will let me know the next time Sydney’s coming in, right?”
I look at him until he blushes then add an eye roll for good measure. I do not attempt the eyebrow lift.
“Hey, some women prefer younger men. You know, because we’re at similar sexual peaks.”
I seriously doubt that Sydney is one of them and, of course, she now has much bigger fish to fry, but given how deflated I feel I’m not about to pop anyone else’s bubble. “Absolutely.” I smile and then, because no matter how tall or employed he is, he is my little brother, I wrap my arms around him and offer meaningless instructions. “Drive carefully. And text to let us know when you get home.”
“That’s exactly what Mom said.” He grins.
“Well, she has taught me pretty much everything I know about parenting.” I hug him one more time. “Come back soon. Even if Sydney doesn’t.”
Now Bella Flora is empty except for Dustin, my mom, and me, and I’m strangely reluctant to walk inside and feel that emptiness. Apparently I’m not the only one. We linger in the front garden watching Max sniff bush after bush, leaving his mark on the ones he likes best. We’re still standing there watching him and looking slightly forlorn when a text dings in.
“It’s Ray Flamingo,” my mom says, brightening. “He’s at the cottage and wants us to come look at a few things.”
We’re in the minivan and on our way before the image fades from the screen.
* * *
The Sunshine Hotel and Beach Club is a patchwork of midcentury buildings that we rescued from the bulldozer. It was built by Renée Franklin and Annelise’s grandparents back in the early forties and operated as an American Plan hotel for mostly Jewish midwesterners in the winter months and a summer beach club for locals until it closed in the eighties. Renée and Annelise’s father died there under mysterious circumstances and Annelise’s mother, a suspect at the time, disappeared. I shot and produced a documentary about the hotel’s past and our restoration of it, which our former network has stopped me from selling. We all invested in the renovation—my contribution came from the loan I took out against Bella Flora. But we had only enough money to redo the main building, the pool area, and the grounds. The original one- and two-bedroom concrete cottages are just painted shells waiting to be finished out and customized by their owners.
Beach club memberships have been selling; the cottages haven’t. Joe bought his and Nikki’s two-bedroom outright. Bitsy claimed hers in exchange for her sponsorship of the kinder, gentler version of Do Over we’d hoped to produce for ourselves, and Avery recently redid hers when she moved out of Chase’s house. My mother and I are the last “investors” to claim one. If I can’t find a way to hold on to Bella Flora, this could end up being our permanent home.
Our cottage sits about halfway between Avery and Bitsy’s one-bedrooms, not far from Nikki and Joe’s two-bedroom. A tall U-shaped hedge of trees and bushes that intertwined over the years wraps around the cottage area on three sides, hiding it from the street. The concrete path we’re on now branches off to the main building, pool, and the rooftop bar and grill that overlook the beach and gulf.
The cottage area is small enough to put us all within shouting distance. We’ve been referring to it as Bestie Row since Avery moved in. Now there’s no arguing with the name. If we could get a few more women we like to move in, we’d have a commune.
“Greetings.” Ray Flamingo is his usual testament to sartorial splendor and is dressed in the pastel hues that he prefers. He’s a gentle soul with a wicked sense of humor and a will of iron. And while he prefers to work with wealthy clients, the man knows a thing or two about how to stretch a dollar. He is extremely creative in the face of adversity.
Unable to save the original terrazzo floors, he’s finished our concrete slab floor in a shiny white gloss and painted the walls and ceilings a soft white that makes the room feel larger. Rugs in abstract patterns of brilliant blues, citron, and shades of orange divide and liven up the space. A kitchen table under the window is flanked by two cushion-topped storage benches. Two bright tubular chairs that sit on either side of the window can be pulled up to the ends of the table or pushed over to the living area.
Ready-made bookcases have been joined together on either side of a small media console to create what looks like a custom built-in. The sofa is a sand-colored nubby chenille. Two small club chairs are covered in a bright paint-splattered canvas that’s meant to be lived on.
I register these details and even add my admiration for how cleverly Ray and Avery have created additional storage, but my mind doesn’t really want to absorb the fact that within a matter of days we’re actually going to live here.
The hallway is lined with more storage in a patchwork of different-size white cupboards and shelves. In the second bedroom a white tubular steel bunk bed has a full-size mattress on the bottom for me, and a twin with a railing around it on the top for Dustin.
My mother has the master bedroom with a bath that opens onto the walled garden. Dustin and I have the smaller, but perfectly serviceable bathroom—all of it fresh and clean with cheerful pops of color that should be lifting my mood but aren’t.
I smile and tell Dustin how much fun it will be to “bunk” together, but in truth I’m trying not to hyperventilate. We have only a handful of days before we move in here. Which means I have only a handful of days left to decide whether we’re going to do The Exchange or not.
I keep hoping there will be a mental “ding,” kind of like an incoming text, and I’ll simply know the right thing to do. But I’m running out of time to receive this revelation and my hesitation hasn’t helped anyone, including me.
“The cottage looks really great,” I tell Ray. “It’s like something right out of a design magazine.” I smile, but I can feel my lips quivering. Ray Flamingo is a good friend and an incredibly talented designer. But no matter what Avery builds in or Ray designs, nothing is going to turn this concrete cottage into Bella Flora.
* * *
My dad picks up Dustin and Max for a sleepover the next afternoon. Well before the sun is set to go down, Nikki, Avery, and Bitsy arrive at Bella Flora to toast the sunset. Nikki whips up a couple of pitchers of piña coladas, which we’ve decided are not only for summer anymore. Avery pours most of an industrial-size bag of Cheez Doodles into a bowl, and Bitsy arranges Ted Peters smoked fish spread, which has replaced the pricier caviar she once dined on, on a plate, with the requisite hot sauce and crackers. Mom carries out a throw or blanket for everyone. After all, it is almost January and we are drinking frozen concoctions.
New Year’s Eve is still a couple of days off, but this is the last sunset
we’re spending together before we have to vacate Bella Flora, so there’s an unusual somberness to the proceedings.
Nikki reaches for her glass and stifles a yawn. “Gemma’s teething and she was up all night. Every time I think I’ve got this parenting thing figured out something changes.”
“Can we reframe that?” Mom asks.
“Okay . . . I was having trouble giving them both bottles when I was alone and I found this double harness/papoose thing that solved the problem. So, I have been licking things as they arise. Not as actively as Avery”—she nods to Avery, who’s been licking the Cheez Doodle residue from her fingers.
“Very funny,” Avery says as everybody laughs. She now has cheese on her lips.
“The point is, I’m improving,” Nikki says. “So, I guess figuring out how to adapt is my good thing. I mean, change can be good in its own right, right?”
“Yeah, well, in my world change isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Bitsy pours us another round.
“So you’re not enjoying your work at the law firm or here at the Sunshine?” Mom asks. “Isn’t there some satisfaction in taking the hunt for Bertie into your own hands?”
“I do believe you’re leading the witness, Counselor,” Avery interjects.
There’s some laughter at that.
“All right, I’ll go with taking charge of parts of my life that I used to leave to others,” Bitsy says. “That does feel good. But it doesn’t mean I’m not looking forward to having money again so I don’t have to.”
“Good thing accepted.” My mother raises her glass and we all take a sip. “How about you, Avery?”
“Well, I kind of feel like for every step I take forward I’m taking two back,” Avery says, pushing her glass forward for a refill.
“But?” Nikki prompts.
“But, I did get a call from someone interested in a tiny house build. And dating Chase is kind of good.”
We wait as she helps herself to another Cheez Doodle. Avery is not one to spill forth.
“He asked me out for New Year’s Eve,” she says finally. “And I guess there is something kind of exciting about starting fresh.”
“That’s not just good, that’s great,” my mother enthuses. She can insist all she wants that she’s not the good enough police, but she totally is.
“And you?” I ask when I see her gaze begin to settle on me. “Are you really okay with moving out of Bella Flora and having me and Dustin and Max living on top of you in the cottage?” I watch her face in the wash of rising moonlight. There’s no question we will fill the cottage to the brim.
“Look,” Mom says. “Having to move out of Bella Flora is painful. But we’ve been really lucky to live in her all this time. I mean, without Daniel she would have been in other hands a long time ago. At least this time it’ll hopefully only be in other hands for six months to a year.” Her eyes glow. Her positivity is stunning. “Besides, the cottage is cute and I’ll never be sorry about living with you and Dustin. That’s a plus in my book no matter the square footage. And I think your father has a date for New Year’s Eve.”
This is a good thing. My dad only recently stopped actively mooning after my mother.
“You really feel good about that?” Bitsy asks.
Mom nods. “The last couple of New Year’s Eves my resolution has been to figure out what to do with my life. It’ll be easier knowing that Steve is figuring out his own.”
Her eyes fix on me again. But I really can’t think of a single good thing that I can offer with any sincerity.
“Sorry,” she says. “I know I have an overabundance of good things in my life right now. I didn’t mean to run on like that.”
I sigh. “Can’t I borrow one of yours just this once? I mean, I am glad Dad is moving on. And we are lucky to be living with you. Even if we all have to imitate sardines in a can.”
“Sorry, sweetie. But I think that would sort of defeat the purpose of the exercise. You need to come up with something good on your own.”
There is silence around the table. I can almost feel Bella Flora pressing for an answer. I try not to listen because I think Bella Flora is also giving me some shit for handing her over to a stranger.
“Maybe it would help if you tell us why you’re having such a hard time coming up with something,” my mom prompts.
“Seriously.” Nikki jumps on the bandwagon. “You have a fabulous and healthy child. A single child. Who doesn’t need diaper changing and who sleeps through the night. In my book that’s like a slew of good things all wrapped up together.”
“And you do have a roof over your head—it’s going to be a smaller roof for a while, but you’re not going to be out on the street,” Bitsy says, and I think about the Palladian villa in Palm Beach that was stolen right out from under her.
“And you do have us,” Avery points out. “In good times and in bad. In sickness and in . . .”
Nikki snorts and reaches for her drink. “We’re close, not married.”
“Tell us, Kyra,” Mom says gently. “It’s almost always better to share problems than to keep them bottled up inside.”
“Fine.” I draw a deep breath and force myself to meet their eyes. “Tonja threatened Sydney and her role on Murder 101.” I take another breath even though the first one did nothing to calm me. “In fact, she’s threatened everyone. If I don’t let Dustin do the movie, she is going to rain shit down on all of us.” I look at their faces and see the worry written all over them. The truth isn’t setting anyone free. Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, I actually feel worse. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to have dragged you all into this.”
The drink-or-despair reflex, a more modern relative of fight or flight, kicks in. We all reach for our piña coladas and take long, panicked gulps.
Nikki is the first to recover. “I’m not afraid of Tonja Kay,” she proclaims. “I have survived diaper rash, teething, and projectile vomiting that makes The Exorcist look like amateur hour!”
“I’m not afraid of her, either!” Avery says. “I watched Deirdre drop in front of me and I lived through Jason’s teenage meltdown.”
“Tonja Kay can go suck wind!” Bitsy says. “My husband stole everything I have and ran off with a pregnant exotic dancer. We’ve all been through a ton of awful and we’re still standing.”
“That’s right.” My mother stands and holds up her glass. “We are strong!”
“We are invincible!” Bitsy does the same.
Avery gets up and clinks her glass against theirs. “We are women!”
Nikki stands, too, and clinks glasses with all three of them. I’m afraid they’re about to start singing, “I am woman, hear me roar.”
I stand because how can I not? We toast and drink and trash-talk Tonja Kay long past sunset. I apologize again for unleashing her fury on the people I care about most.
“Friends don’t let other people abuse their friends!” Nikki drains the last dregs of her drink. “We reserve the right to do that ourselves.”
Bitsy, who’s the only one whose voice isn’t the least bit slurred, laughs. But no one attempts to improve or correct Nikki’s language. We all know exactly what she means.
The drinks and affirmations continue in the light of a rising moon. But their support doesn’t make me any less responsible. All I’ve done is warn them and apologize. I do have the power to protect them; what I don’t know is whether I have the nerve or the backbone required to do so.
Nine
I’m ashamed of the way I drag myself through, and ultimately waste, these last few days of the year.
Apparently when my gut fails me, I have no fallback and absolutely no talent for weighing and thinking. As any procrastinator knows, the longer you put something off, the harder it becomes. The pebble I began pushing up the hill months ago has grown into a Sisyphean-size boulder. I don’t know how
to budge it.
New Year’s Eve is a quiet affair. Bitsy’s visiting a former neighbor in Palm Beach. Avery is out with Chase while my father is out with a woman none of us have met. Nikki and Joe are staying in with the babies. My mother could be at Mermaid Point with Will, but I think she’s afraid to leave me alone in my misery.
I am well and truly ashamed of myself and my dithering. Mom handled much harder decisions and situations with poise, yet I seem to be wringing every agonizing moment out of this.
Mom, Dustin, and I spend the evening in pajamas. Because I promised Dustin he could stay up until the New Year, he conks out at his usual bedtime. I think I conk out not long after he does. Mom wakes me in plenty of time to watch the ball drop. Moonlight is glinting on the water when I take Max outside. Dustin’s eyelids don’t even flutter as I carry him upstairs and tuck the two of them in. My mother hovers in the doorway briefly and we look at each other. We both know this is not ideal, but we made it through exactly one night of trying to put them to sleep separately and given the packing and prepping we’ve been doing for the move, neither of us has the strength for it.
* * *
We watch the excitement in Times Square curled up in our pajamas on the salon couch and I’m pathetically grateful that I’m not alone. I sigh.
My mother brings her knees to her chest and looks at me. “So, have you made a decision?”
“Not quite.”
Her eyes widen slightly. My mother is incredibly patient, but this is not a Bible story and she is not Job.
“We move to the cottage tomorrow. We finish cleaning up Bella Flora tomorrow afternoon. After that it belongs to our tenant.”