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Six years ago, we were financially stable enough for me to quit my job as a marketing coordinator and I focused full-time on clothing design, doing a couple of courses, and finding myself leaning towards wedding dresses and evening wear. I designed a friend’s wedding dress, who referred me to another friend, and from there it snowballed and I became so busy I found myself hunting for retail space.
Four years ago, I opened my boutique, Satin and Style and I focused mainly on wedding and bridesmaid dresses, with the odd evening wear dress thrown in. Then Lillian joined me two years later, and we expanded our evening wear range and added lingerie to our catalog.
Standing up, I rummage through my pile of folders until I find the right one. I only had to make a few changes to the design of the wedding dress, and I have a feeling she will be happy, and this would be the final draft.
“You know I’m not going to stop asking.”
“I’m fine, everything’s fine. I just had a busy weekend and I’m tired. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
***
My day is finally over, and I’m turning into Mom’s driveway when my cell chimes with a message. Usually, I work mornings, and Lillian does afternoon shifts so that I can pick Lizzy up from school, but it sometimes happens that clients can only do afternoons, and on those days, Mom picks up Lizzy for me. Having Mom live close by is a blessing. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without her. Lucas, with his hectic schedule, can’t be relied upon to collect Lizzy, so whenever I have a crisis, Mom is there to take care of it. It helps that she dotes on Lizzy and loves spending time with her and that Lizzy absolutely adores her grandma. Parking the car, I rummage in my bag, cursing all the crap I have in there. I try to clean it out at least once a month, but before I can blink, it’s filled again with all kinds of rubbish. Tossing a fairy wand next to the princess crown, I finally locate it.
“Cantina Tequila on Wednesday?”
I bite my lip while debating what to say. I’ve already avoided Lucas all weekend. If I make up another excuse, he’ll know something’s up, and I don’t want that. Not yet.
“Sounds good.”
His reply is immediate. “I’ll get Claire to book for six. Love you.”
“Perfect. See you then.”
Sighing, I stuff it back in my bag. This is damn hard. I’m not the type to play games, so holding back is wearing me down. I want to confront him and ask what the hell is going on.
Lost in thought, I stare at the house I grew up in. I was shocked that Mom decided to keep the house when Dad died. I thought she’d want to move somewhere else where she could start over and make new memories. Instead, she just gave me a funny look when I asked her and said that anything worth something to her happened in that house. I still don’t understand it. Shaking my head to clear it from my morose thoughts, I stuff everything back in my bag, even the crown and wand.
Entering the kitchen, I take a deep breath. “What are you making? It smells fantastic in here,” I ask Mom after a brief but tight hug.
“I’m putting the finishing touches to my Black Forest Cake. It’s my turn to host our planning meeting tonight.”
“Wow, the gloves are off if you’re making your famous Black Forest Cake. Is Patricia still giving you shit?”
“Language, Alexis. But yes, she is.” She turns back to the cake, grabbing the bowl of cream and tossing spoonfuls onto the cake, cream splattering the table around it. “Evelyn told me that Patricia told Audrey that I put enough salt to fill a desert in my Cajun Chicken Pasta bake and that my cupcakes were dry,” she mutters, her tone tight. Ouch. Mom is the least confrontational person I know, but criticize her food, and you’ve created a monster.
“This is a charity organization. One would think its committee members would be more charitable.”
“Oh please, Patricia couldn’t care less about those poor women and children. She just does it so she can look good.”
Deciding to change the subject—for the safety of the cake, which was currently in jeopardy of becoming an unrecognizable lump—I ask, “Have all the arrangements for Uncle Ben’s birthday been made?”
Her smile is instantaneous. “Yes. Lillian booked the tickets, and he’ll pick us up from the airport.”
Uncle Ben used to be married to Mom’s sister, Allison. When Dad died, and it came out that she had an affair with Dad, he divorced her and moved to Atlanta. Despite the distance, he stayed part of the family, and we never brought up her name again. Every year for his birthday, we flew to Atlanta to celebrate with him, and every year for Mom’s birthday, he and his kids flew in to celebrate with us. Christmases, we alternated.
“His place will be a madhouse.”
Shrugging, she returns to spreading the cream. “I don’t mind. It’s nice having a house full of people for a change.”
“Lizzy will be so excited.” She called Ben’s grandchildren her cousins and loved them, but unfortunately didn’t get to see them nearly enough. “How was she today?” Grabbing a cupcake, I slide onto the bar stool while taking a big bite.
“An angel, as usual.”
I snort in humor. “She can set this house on fire, and you’ll still think she’s an angel.”
“Never. My only grandchild would never do such a thing.”
“Uh-huh.” Even though I know she doesn’t mean anything by how she said it, I still feel a bit guilty.
