The Color of Us

by Jessica Park

  “I still have to pick up the tin tiles for the ceiling, and we have to choose an overhead light, but it’s good, right? You like it?”

  It’s cute how he suddenly seems to be just a touch nervous, but I reassure him, “I love every perfect inch. It’s even sexier than you told me.”

  We officially started our romance in this kitchen, and I see no reason not to continue the next stage in this renovated version.

  It’s about two seconds before I press myself against him. “Lift me up onto the island like you did that first night?”

  Danny groans, yet he does what I asked, and his lips graze over mine. “We have an audience outside.”

  “Make them go away,” I beg. “I love them all, but make them go away.”

  He flounders for a moment and then yells out, “She loves the kitchen. It’s fabulous! So, you know, thank you for coming, and to all a good night!”

  We hear laughter and footsteps and the clap of the front door shutting.

  I undo his pants. “That sounded a little Santa Claus-ish at the end, but well done.”

  “Well then, merry fucking Christmas to us both.”

  thirty-four

  Maybe it’s because I cannot stand how quiet it will be around here now that the house renovations are nearly done, but the next day, I enlist Mary Ann’s help in designing and building raised garden beds. The boys are working another job during the day, so I only get Danny at my house after hours. Not that he wouldn’t be here anyway though.

  Mary Ann is way invested in this project. “There’s not a lot you can plant in the fall, but next spring, you can do whatever you want. I cannot wait to help you choose your annuals and vegetables. For now, just do some mums for fall color, but it’ll be awesome to get to plant more kinds of flowers next year.”

  Mary Ann is having too much fun, ordering Danny around as he assembles these beds, and while she’s annoying him, she’s also cracking me up. “That looks crooked! I think you have to unscrew that leg and adjust it.”

  He groans. “Maybe these parts are shit.”

  “The parts are fine! Maybe you’re shit,” she yells with a smile.

  Despite their differences, soon, I have raised beds that Mary Ann helps fill with soil from her farm. “It’s full of cow shit and all other kinds of manure. Sounds gross, I know, but you’ll have happy plants.”

  After all of their hard work, I reward them with food as thanks and then light up a fire and hand them both beers. They’ve earned these, at the very least.

  When the sun is starting to set and we’re each about four beers in, the sound of a car rumbling over the dirt road echoes above the crackling of the fire.

  I assume it’s one of our friends, but Danny cocks his head. “Why is your rental pulling in?”

  “What?” I ask with alarm.

  “Yeah. It’s your red BMW.”

  Oh fuck.

  I slam back the rest of my beer. “That’s gotta be my mom.”

  As I turn around, I see that I’m right. While wearing majorly high heels, she manages to extricate herself from the car, sling her bag over her shoulder, and make her way toward us.

  “The fuck is she doing here tonight?” I ask in a panic. “She’s not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

  “You okay?” Danny asks.

  “I’ll have to be.”

  Mary Ann shoots me a look. “Should we go?”

  I grab her hand. “Hell no. Not yet.”

  It’s hard not to laugh because my mother looks as ridiculous as I must have when I first got to Wake. Overdressed and out of place.

  After a few big breaths and the rest of Danny’s beer, I stand and walk her way. “Mom! What are you doing here? Did I get the day wrong?”

  “No, no. Two of my three showings canceled for tomorrow, so I cancelled the third, and then just hopped on a flight here. Well, flights. I know, I should have called. But … surprise!”

  We both step forward and share an awkward hug, and I’m taken aback at how closely she’s holding on to me.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I guess I was afraid you’d tell me to keep my original flight, and I really wanted to see you.”

  “It’s fine, really.”

  “We haven’t gone without seeing each other for this amount of time in … forever, I guess. And our last conversation …” She fumbles for words.

  “Was shitty?” I prompt.

  “Yes, it was shitty,” she agrees.

  It’s obvious how uncomfortable we both are, but I can appreciate that she’s making an effort. I mean, just the fact that she’s even here—not to mention, a day early—says a lot.

  She turns to look at the house, and her gasp is audible, her emotions undeniable. This is the first time she’s seen the house in which she raised a family and the house from which she escaped. Or tried to.

  Danny pointed out to me how the roof color changes depending on the light, and I’m glad she’s seeing it at sunset. The black tin has a warmth that is incredible, and the wood on the porch is lit up, showing how rich and inviting it is.

  “I know it’s a lot. All the changes,” I blurt out.

  She nearly stumbles forward as she takes it all in.

  “Mom?”

  She looks to the water, the repaired dock, and she moves her hand to grip my arm. “That view.”

  I let her catch her breath for a minute. “I felt the same way when I first saw it again.”

  Danny’s and Mary Ann’s voices carry our way, and she stands up straight and smiles. “You have friends here. Again, I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  “It’s no problem. I’d love for you to meet them.”

  Together, we walk toward the fire. Mary Ann stands up first and introduces herself.

  My mom shakes her hand. “Wait.” She thinks for a beat. “Did your family own a farm here? One that rescued animals?”

  “That’s us!”

  “We loved that place. Such beautiful produce from spring through fall. Are you still operational?”

  “We are,” Mary Ann confirms. “And thriving.”

  “I’m really happy to hear that.”

  “We’d love to have you come for a visit while you’re in town.”

  Mom looks to me.

  “Of course,” I confirm. “That’d be great.”

  Then, Danny puts out his hand. “Ma’am? I’m Danny—”

  But she cuts him off, “Oh my God. Daniel Schroeder.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t you call me anything but Cindy, kiddo,” she says with a soft smile. “I remember you like it was yesterday. I could pick you out of a lineup.”

  “Fortunately, I’ve never been in a lineup.” He chuckles. “Cindy. You must want to sit after traveling all day. Please.” Danny points her to a chair around the firepit.

  “Thank you. I do need to relax.”

  “Can I get you a drink?” I ask. “How about vodka tonic?” I know there’s some vodka left from the night I first flew into Wake and even after the Bloody Marys.

  “That would be lovely.”

  “And you must be hungry. No airline has ever fed anyone well. I have leftover coq au vin with French bread from the other night.”

  Mary Ann jumps in when my mom looks moderately confused. “Callie cooked it herself, and it’s awesome.”

  “Yes. Yes, that sounds wonderful.”

  “We’ve got this. Sit with your mom,” Danny says.

  They rush away to heat up food and deliver her a strong drink before I can stop them.

  Despite my silent begging to make them stick around, they excuse themselves for the night.

  Under the guise of walking them to their cars, I follow and grab Danny by the back of the shirt. “Psst! Don’t leave me alone with her!”

  “I know you don’t want me to go,” he says as he stops, “but I know that I should. You know I should.”

  He’s right.

  “You’ll be back tomorrow night?”

  “Yes. If
you need me before that though, I’m here. Anytime,” he promises. “But for now, see if you can connect with your mom. Even just a little.”

  His embrace tides me over enough that I can walk back with some air of confidence.

  “You made this?” Mom scoops up rich wine sauce with hunks of my bread from the steaming bowl my friends gave her. “God, it’s spectacular.”

  “I did.” It’s pretty fun, watching her dive into my food with such enjoyment. “I made the bread too.”

  “You made the bread too? It’s incredible. I haven’t had a meal this flavorful and filling in years.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t realize until I started cooking for myself how little I’d been eating in California and how I was constantly starving. For the first time, my stomach doesn’t rumble all the time,” I say with a laugh.

  “God, you’re right. Huh. I didn’t realize that’s how I always feel. Well, until tonight.” She literally licks her fingers. “Fucking quinoa, right?”

  I have to laugh, as this is the same exchange I had with Danny when I first got to Wake. “Agreed. Fucking quinoa. Hey, I’m going to grab a drink. Want another?”

  She waves a hand. “Thanks, but I have to drive.”

  “Drive?” I falter as I stand. “Drive where?”

  “Oh. Well, I got a room at the bed-and-breakfast outside of Burlington.”

  “What? You’re not staying here?” My voice has more hurt than I would have expected.

  “I didn’t know if that’d be okay,” she admits with some shyness.

  “Mom, of course you’re staying here!” I say firmly and with a degree of irritation. “So, you’re having another drink. As am I.”

  It’s been months since I’ve had any hard alcohol, but I think tonight calls for it, so I mix up two vodka tonics with extra lime.

  When I sit back down, she points in front of us. “The firepit? I think it looks nice. Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful, Mom. Thank you. Hard to think of any other that could be this perfect. And again, you’re sleeping here and not at some random inn thingy.”

  She smiles. “It’s a very nice bed-and-breakfast and not random at all, but I wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable with me spending so much time in your house.”

  “Well, it’s your house,” I say automatically.

  It’s a while before she says anything, and I watch her look around and admire the house, the land, and the lake.

  Finally, she says, “We both know it’s not my house. We both know it’s your house,” she says softly. “Callie, look at me.”

  It takes me another sip before I can.

  “When I saw the picture of the bathroom you’d redone, I didn’t know that. I didn’t understand. And so I overreacted because, as I said, that’s not a bathroom that’s smart for resale. I should have known then that you were designing this house for yourself. It never occurred to me that you’d want to move back here. That’s my fault. My failure. One of many. Then, today, when I saw the outside of this house? And your connection with your friends here? Your investment is clear. You live here now.”

  My hands start to shake. “I can pay for the house. The money Dad left me is enough to—”

  “I’m not taking your money. Besides, don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been spending your inheritance here. The surprisingly low bills barely trickled in.” She flashes me a real smile. “Tonight, I am just so grateful that I’m here with you. And that I’m not your enemy.”

  “You’ve never been.”

  She gives me a look that makes me roll my eyes in admission.

  “Okay, fine, maybe I’ve seen you as one, but that was probably more about me than you.”

  “So, we’re calling a truce to this silent war?”

  “Yes,” I concede. “Truce. But it was never a war.”

  “Oh, it was too.” But she winks. “But one of the smaller wars.”

  After we’re both slightly boozy, she curls up in her chair and faces me with an inquisitive smile. “So … Danny?”

  “What about Danny?” My shrug is useless because I’m sure that I cannot hide how I light up.

  “He was such a cute kid. It’s tragic how he grew up to become so horribly unattractive, isn’t it?”

  “Mom!”

  “All those muscles and cheekbones. And the dimples? Ick. It must have been impossible to have him working here all summer.”

  “Okay, no more vodka for you.”

  “Your mother is not drunk—well, not much—or visually impaired. I saw you two when you said good-bye. You’re together, yes?”

  This calls for a big gulp of my vodka. “Yes.”

  “And he treats you well?”

  That’s easy to answer. “Very.”

  “I’m glad. He seems like a great guy.” She holds out her glass. “Guys like him are to be cherished. Hold him close and don’t let him get away.”

  That’s something I can toast to.

  When we’ve finished our drinks, I hope both of us can be brave. “Are you ready to walk back into this house?”

  “Not at all. I’ve spent years wanting this and dreading this. Yet you’ve made me excited to see our old place. Let’s do this.”

  It’s so strange to feel that my mom and I are now a team, tackling something together, but she’s asking me to help her face her fears.

  The next half hour is so similar to my experience when I walk her through the transformation. The kitchen blows her away.

  She whirls around and grabs on to me as she smiles and tears up.

  “I know. It’s probably too much.”

  “Maybe for some, yes. But for your kitchen? It’s outstanding. It’s cozy and warm and inspiring.” She touches walls, gazes everywhere, compliments the details and design more times than I can count. “This tiny kitchen? I never thought it could feel anything but basic. You’ve proven me wrong. The colors? The textures? Callie, the tiles? Your style is something else. So bold and unique. Okay, and the mixed metals all over? It’s not something I’ve ever seen, but it’s genius. And very you.”

  “Just wait until the ceiling and final light fixtures are in.”

  Her joy and approval threaten to make me fall apart, so before that happens, I walk her out.

  “This living room is something else.” She takes even more time than I did, walking through, touching the mantel, gasping at the framed photographs, testing out the furniture.

  We walk toward the stairs with the new iron railings, and she cups her hand over her mouth as we walk up, letting her other hand slide over the sleek feel of the metal. “You’ve done extraordinary work. This house has such character.”

  “I know I’ve made huge changes. It’s not the same house that you knew.”

  “And it shouldn’t be. You’ve taught me that.”

  Upstairs, I’m about to send her into the master when she stops me.

  “No, Callie. This isn’t my bedroom. Not anymore. It’s yours.”

  Her words take me aback, and it’s a struggle to respond. “Is my old room okay then?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Together, we bring her bags upstairs, and just before she settles in, I hear her call out, “Oh, I missed this old bathroom! God, I’d forgotten how fabulous this old tile is! Callie, don’t you rip out this original tub!”

  “I won’t! I promise. See you tomorrow, Mom.”

  “Yes, see you tomorrow.” Then, she is just outside of my room for a heartbeat. “It’s really, really wonderful to see you. To be here.”

  My head is spinning, so I head back to my safe place—the kitchen.

  Within minutes, I have whisked eggs and egg yolks together. It’ll just take another twenty minutes or so for me to have a custard for the French toast that I want to make for my mom in the morning. The ripe strawberries from Mary Ann’s get sliced up and tossed with a bit of sugar so that they’ll be perfectly macerated by breakfast.

  Finally, I drag myself to bed. And sleeping alone in Wake comes easily
for the first time since I returned.

  thirty-five

  Despite my mom being on West Coast time, she’s already sitting outside on the deck, the French doors at the bottom of the stairs open and the smell of coffee wafting my way. Somehow, I slept until nine thirty, the latest I’ve awoken in months.

  “Mom? What are you doing up?” I ask groggily as I step outside.

  “Six a.m. every day. So, I just got up a bit ago,” she says with a smile. “I forgot how beautiful this creek is. I used to come out here every morning that the weather permitted. It was the perfect way to start my day. To be honest, I even came out on some days during the winter, just to watch the icy water flow by. It’s almost more special than it is on these warm days.”

  Not until now do I remember, but this was her spot.

  “I made you a cup of coffee,” she says as she hands me a mug.

  My sleep last night was so heavy, and I need a solid caffeine bump, so I welcome the cup. “Thank you.”

  “Putting in these doors to the deck? Brilliant idea. There are so many changes to this house.” Suddenly, she drops her head and raises a hand to cover her eyes.

  My heart sinks, and I’m suddenly furious with myself and feeling selfish for barreling ahead with what I wanted and not thinking about how it would affect her. “God, I’m so sorry. I never should have done all of these renovations. I didn’t know you’d care. I thought you wanted nothing to do with this place.”

  And she seemed to be so in love with everything last night.

  She grabs my arm. “Of course you thought that because that’s what I wanted to believe. It’d be easier if this house meant nothing. If it was just a property to be sold. One with no history, no feelings. Fooling myself about so many things worked for so long. Or I thought it was working. But it doesn’t anymore.”

  “I forgot our life here too. I get it.”

  Then, she lifts to look at me, and the pain in her expression nearly takes my breath away. “Because I taught you to do that. Your pain is on me.”

  I cannot say otherwise, although I wish I could.

  “But you’re here now.”

  She sits before she unloads all that she needs to. “I started my family here. And then I lost my family here. Not just Mike, but also you and Erica. I lost my kids on the same day that I lost my husband, and that’s on me.”