by Talley, Liz
The next morning when she woke to the sun streaming in her window, she had two thoughts—tomorrow her daughter would marry Tennyson’s son, and she wasn’t sure how she would handle everyone knowing that Kit had left her.
Noah had disappeared at some point in the night, likely slinking back to his own room, and she could hear Poppy barking to be let out of the laundry room. Glancing at the clock, she was surprised to find that it was close to 10:00 a.m. She hadn’t slept that late since she’d given birth to Noah and Kit’s mother had come to stay with them.
She climbed out of bed, brushed her teeth, and tugged on her robe, the first of many mornings that would be different. By the time she let Poppy outside and filled her kibble bowl, she was more than ready for her morning coffee. When she padded into the kitchen, she was surprised to find her other child standing in front of the espresso machine, spooning eggs onto two plates.
“Emma?”
“Morning, Mom,” Emma said. Her voice sounded funny, but not irritated as it had been last night when she virtually dumped Melanie into her bedroom, rifled through the bathroom cabinet where Melanie kept their family’s medications, and forced her to take the anxiety drug.
“Morning. What are you doing here?” Melanie sank onto a stool, the thought of coffee long gone as she faced her daughter. This wasn’t going to be as easy as dealing with Noah.
“Making sure you’re not bouncing off the walls or trying to drown yourself in the bathtub.” Emma fetched a cup from the cupboard and filled it with fragrant coffee. She added a splash of creamer and handed it to Melanie. She also set down a plate of eggs covered in cheese.
“I know you’re upset,” Melanie said, accepting the cup and taking a long sip. The brew was perfect—something Emma prided herself on. She eyed the coffee mug they’d bought at Disney World ten years ago. It had been such a fun vacation, full of pigtails, sunscreen, character autograph books, and Dole pineapple whips. A lifetime ago. Another world.
“I am, but I’m also worried about you. What you did last night . . . well, Tennyson could have had you arrested. You tried to choke her. And you gave her a black eye.”
“I did? I mean, I know I sort of lost it. But a black eye?” Lord, Tennyson would be incensed having a black eye for her son’s wedding. She almost smiled, and Emma caught her.
“Oh no. Don’t you dare think anything about this is funny. You acted like a maniac and ruined my bachelorette party. We got kicked out of drag queen bingo. Drag queens found us obnoxious enough to kick out.”
“Well, at least it was memorable,” Melanie said, taking another draw on her coffee.
Emma pulled up a stool, plonked down her own plate, and set her cup of tea next to it. “Too soon, Mom.”
“Sorry.”
For a few seconds they sat, neither one saying anything. Just drinking their respective morning beverages, noodling around with the eggs, and trying to, no doubt, figure out how to repair what Melanie had done the night before.
Finally, Emma cleared her throat. “Is it true? Did Daddy leave?”
Melanie swallowed, studying a chip in the polish on her pinkie. “I don’t know. I guess.”
“Why?”
Well, that was the loaded question, wasn’t it? Melanie wasn’t sure what to say. Should she tell Emma that Kit likely wanted to have a more “intimate” relationship with Charlotte? Or maybe she should tell her daughter it could be because Melanie didn’t want to have sex with him every other night? Maybe it was more than sex. Maybe it was something else. Maybe it was because Melanie was boring or repressed or not as young and pretty as she once was. Or maybe she herself had no clue what she’d done to drive Kit from the life they’d built together and loved until . . . well, until they both hadn’t loved it anymore. How did a woman tell her daughter that she may have fallen out of love with her father, but she wasn’t sure because she’d been too busy grieving her sister, planning a wedding, and hating Tennyson to worry as much about her husband? So Melanie went with, “It’s complicated.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not an actual answer, Mom.”
“No, but it’s all I have at this point. I’m not sure why your father left. Things have been difficult.”
“Does this mean a divorce?” Same question Noah asked. Melanie could remember asking this one herself when her father’s secret had been spilled and her own mother had been furious at Albert, coldly eviscerating him for his flaws and then ignoring him. She’d even moved to the guest bedroom for several months. Even then, Melanie had been afraid that her parents might split. It was probably every child’s worst nightmare, losing that one stable element in their life.
“I don’t know. Your dad is asking for some room. I’m not sure what that means.”
Probably meant he was gently cupping Charlotte’s head as he plowed her against the hotel room headboard. For men, space meant permission to sample the single life, and Kit had a willing whore at hand just waiting to give him what his wife wasn’t.
“So why did you attack Tennyson? I thought things were better between you two? Over the past month or so you were almost friendly, and then—” She snapped her fingers.
“It’s between me and Tennyson.”
“Horseshit.”
“Em,” Melanie chided, wishing she had a cigarette. This might mean she had a full-fledged addiction to nicotine. Time to toss the Newports and go cold turkey. She couldn’t use the upheaval in her life to justify doing something that could kill her. Hillary had taught her that much. “I’m serious. It’s between us.”
“Well, I pretty much already know. Everyone at the bingo game knows. You think she told Dad to leave you.”
Okay, Melanie had probably been a bit louder than she intended when she yelled whatever she’d yelled at Tennyson. She didn’t remember exactly what that was, but it was damned sure some accusation. All she knew was that she’d spent the whole evening trying to pretend she was fine, but she was so not fine that eventually she became a powder keg of emotion. Having Tennyson constantly pecking at her with “what’s your problem” all night hadn’t helped. Instead it had felt like the woman had tossed gasoline in her face each time Tennyson looked at her like she was a wet blanket. “Tennyson did what Tennyson does best—she stirred the ant mound with a stick.”
“Because she told Dad to fire Charlotte?” Emma asked.
Melanie set the coffee down a little too hard. A plop of hot coffee landed on her hand. “Wait. What? Fire Charlotte?”
“This is the second time this morning that I’ve made coffee, you know.” Emma arched her brows expectantly. Lord, the child was good at making Melanie feel squirmy. She’d make a great mother someday.
“You’ve already spoken to Tennyson?”
Emma nodded. “We accidently left her at the grill last night, so she had to Uber home. I felt horrible about that, especially since my own mother assaulted her. I went to check on her this morning. The black eye is legit, but good makeup will hide it.”
This time the thought of Tennyson with a black eye wasn’t amusing. The woman told Emma that she’d told Kit to cut Charlotte loose. Melanie could actually see Tennyson doing that. She was never good at staying out of everyone’s business. But Kit had made no reference to Tennyson suggesting such a thing. He made it sound like Tennyson had issued a warning to live his best life . . . one without Melanie.
“Is Dad having an affair with Charlotte?” Emma asked.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”
Emma nodded. “But Charlotte wants Dad.”
“Yeah. Probably,” Melanie said, looking down at the droplets of coffee against the marbled white counter. “What exactly did Tennyson tell you?”
“That she had gone to his office to drop off a check and had a talk with Dad. She suspected something and confronted him, reminding him that he had a good life and he was putting that in jeopardy. She said she never told him to do anything like what you accused her of saying. She said she thought she was helping you.”
> “I don’t need her to help me.”
Emma looked at her, studying her. Melanie smoothed a hand through her hair and looked away. She didn’t want that wriggling guilt squirming inside her. She’d jumped to conclusions about Tennyson. But still, the woman had no business sticking her nose into her and Kit’s business. Her good intentions had done irreparable damage.
“Mom, I’m pregnant,” Emma said.
Melanie literally almost fell off the stool. She’d been shifting her weight with one foot on the foot rest, and at Emma’s words, her foot had slipped. She grabbed the counter edge and righted herself. “What?”
“I’m almost eighteen weeks along. I found out right before graduation, right after Andrew proposed to me. That’s why we needed to get married this summer,” Emma said, cradling the coffee cup that held . . . tea.
Of course. Tea, the refusal to drink alcohol, the glow. So many indications she’d missed. How had she missed all that? So much now made sense. Dear Lord, her daughter was pregnant.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Emma gave her an apologetic look. “Andrew and I decided to wait until I was past the first trimester. Lots of women have miscarriages. We weren’t actually planning on getting married during my first year of school, but once we found out that we were pregnant, we knew that was the right thing to do. We also didn’t want people thinking that was the sole reason we were getting married. I don’t mind people knowing once the wedding is over, but having people think we’re only doing it because of the baby sort of dampens the whole experience. We wanted our wedding to be about our commitment. We had planned to tell y’all tomorrow. You probably noticed I’ve been wearing tunic dresses and baggier clothes. That’s why I wanted a wedding dress that wasn’t a mermaid style. No hiding a little baby bump in one of those suckers.” Her smile was soft as she cupped the little bump revealed when she pressed her hand against her T-shirt.
“A baby?” Melanie whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She pressed a hand against her mouth. “You’re having a baby?”
Emma looked up, her own eyes glistening with emotion. “End of January.”
“Oh my God,” Melanie said, wiping away the tears splashing on her cheeks. “Do you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”
Emma shook her head. “Not yet. We can find out next month.”
Melanie reached out a hand and laid it on her daughter’s stomach. Emma was still so thin, but there was a definite bump. “Who else knows?”
“You and Andrew. And my doctor, of course.”
“You told me first?” Melanie asked.
“You’re my mama.”
“I can’t believe this. I’m going to be a grandmother. Oh my God.” She laughed.
“I know you’re a little young for it, but you’ll be a terrific one.” Emma reached over and grabbed a napkin from the lazy Susan holding the spices and handed it to Melanie.
She swiped at her face, still trying to come to terms with this new surprise. There were almost too many changes to comprehend. But . . . a baby.
Lord.
“So, Mom, that’s one of the reasons I really hoped you and Tennyson would, I don’t know, figure out a way to coexist, because it’s not just about me and Andrew. It’s about this baby. You both will be the grandmothers, and, I’m sorry, but we can’t have you two throwing cake at one another or trying to strangle each other. You have bad blood between you, but you need to find a way to take this new blood”—Emma cupped her stomach—“and let it heal you.”
Melanie picked up her coffee with trembling hands. “I don’t know if I can truly forgive her for what she did to me . . . to my family.”
Emma rose, scooting the stool back. She wrapped her arms around Melanie and gave her a squeeze. “I guess that’s up to you, Mama. You have the power to forgive and to make amends so that we can build a new, better future for this baby. Tennyson wasn’t trying to hurt you, and, yeah, I get it—she’s a pill sometimes, but she’s not all bad. You want to know what I really think?”
Melanie pulled back and looked up at her daughter. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“I think Tennyson misses you. And I think she’s trying really hard to make amends. I also think you want to forgive her, because there are these flashes where I can see you are better versions of yourselves when you’re together. That probably sounds crazy, but I would swear that you fit each other.”
Melanie made a face. “Fit each other?”
“Like a balancing scale. You give her a place to land, but she gives you wings.” Emma walked to the sink and dumped the remainder of her tea. “I have to go. I have a lot to do today. I’ll see you at the church tonight.”
Melanie sat staring at her cup, thinking over her daughter’s last words. They reminded her of other images—pinkie swears, matching sweatshirts, an old necklace she should have thrown away years ago. Fitting together.
Emma kissed her on the head. “Bye, Mama.”
Then she was gone, leaving Melanie without many words but with a great deal to think about.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tennyson stared at her phone and the message Melanie had sent her ten minutes before.
Code Hot Pink.
What did that mean?
Back in the day, it meant an emergency. Come right away with no delay. But these days it could mean that Melanie wanted to whale on her some more. Tennyson already sported a nice shiner on her left cheekbone. Thank God she had booked an appointment with a hairstylist and makeup artist for both the rehearsal and the wedding. She’d need a lot of concealer and luminescent highlighter to disguise the dark circle beneath her eye. Her family had been arriving in waves, thankfully, all wanting to catch up with old friends that day rather than pester Tennyson with lots of questions and demands, so she hadn’t had to address the shiner. Yet.
Code Hot Pink.
Well, she had exactly two hours until she had to be at the salon. This would have to be dealt with.
She tapped back, What time?
Now?
Give me ten minutes.
She hurried to her room, pulling on a pair of flat sandals. She would have to drive to her old neighborhood and allot for time to figure out how to get back to their meeting spot. Thankfully, she wore a button-down shirt so she could go directly from their meeting spot to the salon if she needed to. She picked up her purse, and then as she passed her dresser, she paused.
When they were young, they always had worn their best-friends necklace when a Code Hot Pink was called. When they arrived, they would press the two halves of the heart together, like they were the Wonder Twins and the uniting of the heart gave them superpowers. It was hokey, stupid, and . . . Tennyson opened her jewelry box and reached past the Cartier Love Bracelets, David Yurman pieces, and baubles from Tiffany to the oxidized pendant coiled beneath. She pulled out the old necklace, wincing as it blackened her hands.
Would Melanie bring hers?
Probably not. She’d probably thrown the cheap necklace out long ago. Because why would she keep it?
Gone was that whimsical girl who made monkeys of clouds and mud pies from the clay bank. In her place was a logical, responsible, somewhat boring woman. Once upon a time, Melanie had been interesting, full of dreams, and now . . . well, now she was someone Tennyson didn’t know and really didn’t want to rediscover. Still, there were glimpses. Like when Melanie had thrown the cake and then laughed when Tennyson had smashed another piece in her face. Or in the dressing room. Or smoking the joint and scarfing down Tostitos. At those moments, Tennyson had felt hope.
She slipped the necklace into the pocket of her shorts.
Ten minutes later she pulled up in front of her old house. The place had gone downhill, the paint faded and peeling, a shutter missing, and the yard her father had once taken such pride in had gone to weed. The window boxes were full of dead petunias, and the driveway had cracked. She shut off the engine and climbed out. There was a power company access three houses dow
n. She should have parked there and walked back, but her car had a mind of its own, obviously.
She walked down the sidewalk, trying to recall her former neighbors’ names. The Taylors lived in the blue house. They had two girls who were younger than she was. The Hendersons were in the redbrick ranch with the big picture window. Her brother had hit a baseball through that window once. She cut back through the path the energy company kept trimmed so the transformers could be reached and walked along the edge of the culvert. They’d done some drainage work, but in the distance she could see the old weeping willow tree. Beneath it was a bench. Sitting on that bench was Melanie.
Tennyson stopped a few feet from the bench.
Melanie wore an old T-shirt and capri leggings, and her hair was in a ponytail. Her old friend looked tired, even defeated. Melanie bit her lip and looked up. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure. So what’s the deal?”
“You want to sit down?” Melanie asked, moving over to make room for Tennyson.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to sit down. Melanie wasn’t showing much emotion, and while she was fairly sure the woman wasn’t going to bodily assault her again, she wasn’t sure how close she wanted to be to her former friend.
After a few seconds’ hesitation, Melanie patted the space. “I won’t bite. Or hit. Or try to choke you. Promise.”
Tennyson shrugged and sank onto the warm bench. The sun was hot, making sweat trickle between her shoulder blades, and there wasn’t much of a breeze between the two worlds the culvert separated. Felt like August, which meant it felt like waiting in line for a ticket into hell.
“Where’d you park?” Tennyson asked.
“In front of my old house. Thank goodness the Hamiltons still live next door. I told Mr. Marvin that I needed to take a picture because I wanted to paint the willow tree. He seemed a bit suspicious, but he let me go through his backyard.”
“I parked in front of my old house, too. Looks shitty. People just don’t care these days. My dad would be so upset to see his grass.”