by J. L. Berg
Who knew a new pizza joint could offer so much insight into a couple’s marriage?
I lingered in the stall for as long as I could without it being weird and then made my way to the sinks. Thankfully, it had thinned out a bit. Food was now being served in the fellowship hall, so many people’s attention had been diverted.
I thought I was in the clear, having successfully touched up my makeup while a quiet, young woman kindly ignored me.
And then my Aunt Sally walked in. The word walked wasn’t sufficient enough to describe the way she entered the restroom. It was more like what a hurricane did to a shoreline. She was loud and obnoxious, and I felt somewhat battered and bruised just for the experience of sharing the same air space as her.
“Oh! Eloise, dear! There you are! I was wondering where you’d run off to!” Her voice boomed.
She bypassed the stalls, obviously set on her priorities, and went straight for the mirror. I took a moment to glance at her bold ensemble. On a summer day, at a picnic maybe, it would have been quite a statement. It was a bright, flowery fabric that suggested she was attending something fun and lively rather than the somber occasion she’d chosen to wear it to.
But that was Aunt Sally in a nutshell. She stood out wherever she went. If she were the North Pole, my mother, her sister, would be the polar opposite, freezing her ass off at the South Pole.
“Oh, hon, your makeup, it’s a wreck,” she said, giving me a look that was a mixture of empathy and torture.
Pretty sure the look I gave in return was just the latter.
“Do you want me to fix it? I have some amazing new products from the fall line that would be absolutely gorgeous on you!”
I shook my head. “No, Aunt Sally. Thank you. Have you seen my mother? I want to make sure she eats something.”
“She’s with your brother and sister-in-law. They’re getting her a bite to eat in the fellowship hall. That’s where I was headed before I ran in here to touch up my lipstick. Why don’t you let me do yours, and then we’ll go in there together?”
She really isn’t going to let this go, is she?
Looking in the mirror, I didn’t think I looked that bad. But the truth was, I didn’t look that great either. I’d let my dark brown hair curl naturally this morning, forgoing the curling iron to check on any last-minute funeral arrangements. Of course, there weren’t any because my parents were meticulous planners, like me. And as for my makeup? Well, as much as I tried to touch it up, I couldn’t cover up the Texas-size bags under my eyes.
“Sure, that sounds good,” I said, caving to pressure.
Doing so made her face light up with excitement as she whipped open her purse.
“I know just the perfect combination to go with that porcelain complexion.”
“Nothing too dark,” I managed to say, hoping I wouldn’t come out of this restroom, looking like I was ready for a club instead of a wake.
“Oh, don’t worry, honey. I’ll keep it subtle,” she answered with a wink, pulling out a few shades of nudes and pinks.
This looked way more involved than my normal swipe-on-and-blot routine.
“So, what are your plans now?” she asked as I watched her pick a light mauve color and run a brush over the top of it.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Keep your lips like this,” she said, demonstrating with her own mouth.
She made a sort of O shape, stretching her lips out, and I then did the same before she answered my question.
“What I mean is,” she said, sweeping the first color on the outside of my lips, “I know you’ve been a rock for your mom during this difficult time, and I’m sure you will need to be for a while longer, but after that … what will you do?”
“I’m still not following,” I said as she continued the process with another color, this one slightly lighter than the other.
“Honey,” she said, “you need to get a life of your own.”
“I have a life,” I answered firmly.
“Taking care of your mother can’t be the only thing you do.” Her hand touched my shoulder for a brief moment, and our eyes met. “What about your job? Your—”
“I have a life,” I said defensively, stepping back, not even sure if my lipstick makeover was done. I didn’t care.
The restroom was suddenly too small, and I needed air.
“I’m going to go check on Mom.”
“Okay, dear,” she answered, her head cocked to the side with a soft smile on her face.
I recognized that look well. I’d seen it staring back at me all day from hundreds of people.
Sympathy.
Only this time was different. Aunt Sally wasn’t sympathizing over the death of my father. No, she felt sorry for me.
Maybe everyone did.
I walked out of that restroom, feeling slightly bewildered as I entered the fellowship hall.
I have a life, I thought, looking through the rows of people until I found her.
She sat with my brother and his family, a plate of picked-over food in front of her. Even with the gray hair and deep lines that creased her face now, I could see the young woman she had once been.
The one who used to chase me around the yard and push me on the swings.
The one who never missed a dance recital and always baked cookies on the first day of school.
She was always there for me, and now, I would do the same for her.
It was true; this wasn’t the life I’d had a year ago—the one with the picket fence and the husband who adored me—but it was a life nonetheless.
And I would gladly take it.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, grabbing the empty chair next to hers.
Her face met mine, and I tried not to notice the way her barely there blush highlighted her sunken cheeks or the way the harsh fluorescent lights of the hall brought out that faraway look in her eye that seemed to only grow with each passing day.
“Hi, Ellie. Have you grabbed a plate?” she asked, her maternal role never too far behind, even on a day like this. “There’s some good stuff over there. I think Mrs. Abernathy brought those deviled eggs you like.”
“I’m good for now,” I answered, aiming a serious look down at her plate. “What about you?”
“Oh, I’ve had a bit.”
I wanted to push, to ask her to please just eat a couple more bites for the sake of my own sanity and those hollow cheeks, but I didn’t.
I’d just try again later. I knew I’d have better luck at home.
Not much, but better.
“Where were you?” Jack asked as he fed his toddler tiny pieces of ham across from me.
I tried to ignore any inflection his question might carry. I didn’t know why, but I always assumed my brother meant more than he said. Maybe it was the incredibly high IQ that had gotten him into college on a full ride or it could just be that I was just straight-up jealous of his perfect little family and the fact that I’d lost my chance the day I signed my divorce papers.
Yeah, that could definitely be it.
“The restroom mostly,” I answered. “There was a huge traffic jam in there.”
His eyebrows rose, clearly not convinced.
“Aunt Sally cornered me and wouldn’t let me out until she plied me with lipstick.”
He briefly looked at the new shade I was sporting and went back to ham duty. “That makes sense.”
His keen eye made me feel uncomfortable, and a quick look at his trophy wife, Bethany, only made it worse. Dressed in head-to-toe designer, she didn’t have a single hair or lash out of place. How that woman managed to birth two children and still look like she belonged on the front of a fashion magazine was beyond me.
Trying not to let my self-doubt show, I resisted the urge to smooth down my own hair as she sent me a polite smile from across the table.
“Your lipstick looks nice.”
“Thank you,” I answered uncomfortably. “Um, yours too.”
Bethany and I had never been
super chatty. Throw in a funeral, and I was pretty sure radio static would be better entertainment than the two of us.
“Oh, there you are!” Aunt Sally announced, her beaming face a serious contrast to the room’s gloomy mood. She’d found the food tables and stacked her plate accordingly.
At least someone from our family would be enjoying all the hard work that had gone into today.
At that moment, my young niece screamed out the word, “Ham!” and banged her chubby fists on the table, temporarily making everyone nearby chuckle under their breath.
Scratch that, I thought to myself as I watched a small smile appear on my mom’s face.
I guessed two members of the Woods family were enjoying the food.
Aunt Sally chose the seat opposite of my mom and wasted no time in taking over the conversation. “The service was just beautiful today, wasn’t it?” She began digging into her plate, giving a cursory glance at the offerings it bestowed before choosing some sort of potato casserole to start.
There was a short pause as we all waited for the other to respond until, finally, my brother volunteered. “It was a fitting tribute for such a remarkable man.”
Sometimes, I wondered if my brother had been switched at birth.
When we had been kids and all I’d wanted was a normal little brother to play outside with, I’d sometimes wondered the same thing. As we grew up and his oddities worsened—going to summer school for fun and reading Don Quixote to his teddy bear in the third grade—I had known there must have been some kind of mistake.
But, no, he was a Woods, just like the rest of us.
“Oh, Elle, I have some samples for you. Don’t let me forget. I’ll drop them by your car on my way out. I have some things for your mom, too, so I can just do it all at once.”
I looked at my aunt with a half-frown until her eyes met mine. Her fork was halfway to her mouth, and she stopped.
“The lipsticks we used,” she explained. “I thought you might want to re-create the look—you know, for later.”
“Oh,” I answered. “Um, thank you.”
She nodded, satisfied, and finished her bite before taking a look around. “Oh, would you look at that? I didn’t grab myself a drink. Will someone watch my food? Those volunteers are vultures. They’ll pick up my plate as soon as I get up.”
“I’ll tend to it, Sal,” my mom answered, to everyone’s surprise. She hadn’t said anything in what felt like an eternity.
“Thanks, Mary.”
I waited until she was a safe distance away and then turned to my mom. “You ordered more things from her?”
She merely shrugged before adding, “I like supporting her.”
“You barely wear any makeup, Mom, and the stuff you do wear comes from the drugstore on the corner of Main. This is your fifth order this year. She’s taking advantage of you!”
Her eyebrow rose. “She’s my sister. She is doing no such thing. They make nice gifts, and I’ve had to thank a lot of people lately. It’s been a blessing to have her helping me.”
I hadn’t realized she’d been giving Aunt Sally’s products out as gifts.
Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about gifts.
I looked around the room at the sea of people, and realized she’d have to thank a lot more people after today.
The caterer, florist, tons of volunteers, and let’s not forget the minister and his family.
And then it dawned on me …
She’d planned for this. My mom, the meticulous planner, had contacted my aunt, probably weeks before my father had even passed, and planned for this very thing. Just like every detail of the funeral.
I guessed when they said the apple did not fall far from the tree, they weren’t wrong. What else had my mom been planning behind my back?
Chapter Two
“Mom, that shipment from the Morgan estate just got here. I’m going to go check it out and see if I can grab some photos for social media before they place everything inside,” I shouted from the back of the store, hoping I wasn’t disturbing any customers roaming about
It was the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, which usually happened to be a pretty quiet time of the week for us. Combine that with the fact that it also happened to be our first day open since my father had died, and so far, Timeless Treasures—the little antique store my family had owned and operated since I was a child—was deader than a doornail.
“Okay,” I heard her faintly respond from somewhere up front. One-worded answers seemed to be the norm for my mother since the funeral.
I’d tried to convince her to take some more time off, that I was more than capable of running the store by myself for a little while longer, but she insisted on coming back. She’d said she wanted to be with her things.
That was what she called them—all the antiques and baubles she’d bought and sold over the years for this store.
Her things. Her treasures.
For my mom, it had always been more than a job. This was her life.
It had brought her so much joy to see those forgotten pieces of furniture and dusty picture frames and trinkets find new homes and bring happiness to someone once again. So, I was glad to see her back.
Even if her vocabulary was a little lacking.
“Hey, Jeff,” I said, meeting the truck driver out back.
We had a loading zone there. Ever since I had been little, I’d stood here, watching and waiting to see what new items would appear off the back of the truck. It was like unwrapping presents at Christmas. I was never sure what my mom would bring home.
“Elle Woods,” he greeted me with a sly smile. “No pink today?”
I shook my head and laughed, grateful he had gone with our usual banter instead of offering condolences. I was really sick of sad eyes and sorry words. “One of these days, you’re gonna run out of Legally Blonde jokes, and then what will we talk about?”
The gray-haired man I’d known since my teens chuckled under his breath as his employees began carefully unloading the truck. “Hey”—he laughed again, a deep, full sound that made his middle-aged belly bounce up and down—“I’m not the one who named my daughter Elle Woods.”
“Her name is Eloise, and it’s a lovely, timeless name.”
Both of us froze, turning abruptly at the sound of my mother’s voice. By the tone of it alone, I wasn’t sure if she was chastising our idle chatter or joining in.
By the scared-shitless expression on Jeff’s face, I could see that he didn’t know either.
Thankfully, I spotted a small smile creep along the corner of my mom’s lips as she joined us by the loading dock. Jeff handed her the paperwork to sign, and she quickly did so.
Then, she gave Jeff and me an amused expression. “And besides, she looks nothing like the woman in that silly movie. She’s not even blonde!”
I could almost feel Jeff’s exhale of relief as I echoed him.
There was a sliver of the mother I remembered.
Jeff left to help out with the unloading, leaving the two of us standing there to watch. I waited for her to say something more, but she didn’t. She just silently assessed each piece with a long gaze as I patiently waited for her opinion.
“What estate did you say these were from?” she finally asked.
“Um, Morgan,” I answered, suddenly feeling like I was under a microscope.
Until recently, she’d been the sole buyer for the store. It’d been that way for as long as I could remember, but when Dad had gotten sick, her focus had shifted, and I had taken over.
This was the first time she’d actually seen some of the work I’d done up close.
She nodded once, her hands folded neatly in front of her before she replied, “I met them once—the Morgans. It was for some fancy fundraising thing. Ages ago. It was way out of my league, but I had this crazy notion that I could recruit high-end buyers by being where they were. Your daddy thought it was insane, but I was sure I could play the part if I could just get in front of them.”
She didn’t pause or wait for me to interact. Instead, she just kept watching each piece of furniture come off the truck as she spoke, “I bought a dress from a consignment store, and Sally mailed me a pair of ridiculous heels to wear. I thought no one would notice as long as I looked the part. But they did. They noticed everything—from the off-brand shoes to the costume jewelry I tried to pawn off as real. I’d never felt so cheap in my life, and I came home and cried in your Daddy’s lap.”
“Their kids had to sell everything,” I told her as she stared straight ahead. “To settle their debt. It was massive apparently.”
“Wasn’t exactly how I pictured them becoming my client.” Her eyes lingered on a burgundy velvet chaise. “I think I’m going to head home. I’m tired.”
She took one last look at the truck and the contents and then sort of drifted off, like a ghost.
I hadn’t been exactly sure what life would be like for my mom and me after my father passed, but walking into my house that night and seeing boxes and clothes carelessly strewed about, I knew I definitely hadn’t expected this.
“Mom?” I called out, trying to make my way through the clutter that covered the house.
The old wood floorboard creaked as I walked down the hallway, no matter how lightly I stepped. My father always joked that it was next to impossible to sneak out of this house as teenagers—the floors were a built-in alarm system.
“I’m in here,” she answered, her familiar voice coming from the back of the house.
I followed it, and sure enough, I found her in the small guest room, sitting on the floral bedding, with stacks of old photos scattered around her.
“What are you doing?” I asked, looking at the large mess on the floor. I couldn’t tell where it started or stopped, but the boxes, clothes, and random other things made one giant trail of breadcrumbs. “I thought you were tired.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she explained with a halfhearted shrug.
