Finding Spring

by B. E. Baker

  Troy waters the Gerbera daisy, and I realize the color of the flower is already visible, even through the back of the petals. When the bloom opens all the way, it will be hot pink, as if to say, “Look at me, Trudy. You doubted my existence, but I'm here and I'm fabulous.”

  When we arrive at Mary's, Amy and Andy meet us at the door, both of them bouncing, both of them exuberant. I wave Troy back to the playroom and look around the house, scanning. Living room, empty. Dining room, empty. Office, empty. Luke and Mary are standing in the kitchen chatting. Mary's stirring something, and Luke's holding a glass of water.

  No one else is here.

  “Hey guys,” I say. “Thanks for inviting us over. I was too tired to cook.”

  “I thought you were buying us all dinner tonight,” Mary says. “Now that you're loaded.”

  I pull a personal check out of my purse with a smile and slide it across the counter. “This is the balance of what I owe you.”

  Mary shakes her head. “I've told you a dozen times. It was a gift.”

  “No,” I insist. “It was a loan, and it saved me. Paying you back doesn't lessen that. It just means I'm growing. As my Smom, you have to let me.”

  “Your 'Smom'?” Mary arches one eyebrow.

  “It's my sister-mom. You know, you fill both roles. You're fun and understanding and supportive as a sister, but also you're helpful and sacrificing and you teach me, like a mom.”

  Mary drops her spoon and pulls me into a hug. “I'm proud of you.”

  Tears stream down my face, and I'm not even sure when they started. But I think it's because I believe her. And I believe her because I'm proud of me, too.

  Luke clears his throat. “I'm going to check on the kiddos. Last time they were this quiet, they covered the walls and their clothes in acrylic paint.”

  I pull back from Mary and glance at her pan. “Spaghetti?”

  “I made the sauce myself. The key is to simmer it all day.”

  “I'm definitely intrigued,” I say. “Since all I ever simmer at my place is Prego.”

  “Luke loves to cook and I think it's contagious,” Mary says.

  “I like it.”

  Mary has always commanded a room. She's always been a rock, but she hasn't always looked so happy doing it. She shines now, like, well, like a bright bluish LED.

  “Hey, guess what?” I ask.

  “Yeah?”

  “That photo I sent of the daisy? That's Troy's zombie daisy. It's alive, and it's about to bloom. Probably tomorrow.”

  “You're kidding! That's great.” She reaches for a pot, probably to boil water for the noodles.

  I take it from her and fill it up myself. “Chalk one up to the faith of a child, I suppose.” I shut off the water and then have an idea. “How many noodles are we making? I mean, is it just us?”

  Mary wipes her hands on a towel. “Who else did you think might come?” Her eyes dance.

  I refuse to ask. “I don't know. Trig or Geo, maybe? Paisley? Carol or Addy?”

  Mary shakes her head. “Nope, none of them are coming.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just ask,” she says.

  “Ask what?” I refuse to give her the satisfaction.

  “You want to know whether Paul's coming.”

  I turn away from her and haul the pot across to the stovetop. “What if I do?”

  “I'd say the daisy isn't the only thing that survived a long winter.”

  My heart swells and I realize maybe she's right. Maybe Chris did something to me, torched my ability to love. I thought my heart was dead. I thought I'd never trust anyone again. But with regular watering, my heart may have revived like those blackened daisies to sprout new growth. Because I sure feel like spring inside, warm and tingly and full of promise.

  “Where is he?”

  “He's not coming,” Mary says. “He had plans tonight.”

  “Did he say with whom?” I ask, trying to sound casual, not meeting Mary's eye.

  “He didn't specify.”

  But he wasn't at kickboxing, and now he's not here. What if he got tired of waiting? What if he never liked me that much anyway, and he's met someone else? Someone who was already blooming? It's probably for the best if he did. I mean, even if my heart is sprouting, I still have a lot of baggage Paul doesn't deserve to have to unpack.

  I don't mention his name again. Mary's spaghetti tastes great, although Troy manages to splatter it all over his yellow polo shirt. I finally drag him home and put him to bed. I should be elated right now. I should be calling Paisley and asking her to come celebrate, or even calling my ex-in-laws so I can go out dancing.

  Instead I just want to call Paul. Which is too pathetic. I pick up my phone and dial.

  “Trudy? Is it really you?” My mom actually answered on the first ring. Did I call to invite her to my graduation?

  “Uh, yeah. Hi.”

  “You didn't even speak to me at the wedding.” That's true. And I don't want her there tomorrow, either. Then why did I call her? “Are you still there?”

  “Uh, yeah, I'm here,” I say.

  “Why are you calling?”

  It's pathetic she has to ask why I'm calling my own mother. But seeing as this is the first time I've actually known her phone number in ten years, it's probably not a strange question. It's not like I'd call her to catch up, and I'd certainly never ask for a favor.

  “I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Okay,” she says.

  “Why did you marry Dad?”

  Now she's responsible for the awkward silence.

  “Hello? Mom? Did you hear me?”

  “Are you sure you want the answer?” she asks.

  No. But I need to hear it. “Yes.”

  “I never loved your father. I liked someone else, someone smarter and better looking. Someone more exciting. I thought your father would help make this other guy jealous, and I used him. Unfortunately, in the process, I got pregnant.”

  “You didn't think about terminating the pregnancy?” I ask.

  “Of course I did. It wasn't easy to do back then.”

  Which means if it had been. . . Super.

  “Look, you asked me and I'm being honest. After I had Mary, I thought about leaving, but I was too depressed to do it. And then I got pregnant with you.”

  “Which is why you split the second you could after I was born.”

  “Not the second I could. I really tried. No one ever gives me credit for this, but I stayed for more than three years.”

  I think about Troy. He's four, and getting him to this point was hard. It's still hard now, but it's beautiful too. He counts on me, and even when I'm a mess, he loves me. When I cry and pout and yell, he forgives me. I can't imagine Mary and me were way worse than Troy, and she walked away from us. Knowing my father was, well, what he was. She didn't care enough about her children to even take us with her.

  “I gave what I could to you two, and there wasn't anything left.” My mom exhales. “I was drowning. I felt like I'd rather die than stay in that house another second. I had to get away and do something I wanted to do, anything but what I was doing.”

  “You became a trucker, Mom.”

  “Don't act superior,” she says. “I saw the world. I paid my own bills. I never stayed in the same place, and I met a lot of interesting people.”

  I don't even ask what she's doing now. I don't care, because I've realized something important in talking to her. She may have given birth to us, but I have no idea where we really came from. Neither Mary nor me are anything like her at all.

  “Thanks, Mom, this has been eye opening.”

  “Sure.”

  I hang up.

  When I finally go to bed, I don't worry about my heart anymore. No matter how bad things got with my life, I’ve always loved Troy more than anything in the world. I’ve always loved Mary. I would do anything for them, anything at all, including walking into a burning building, or cutting off my leg. I also do the hardest thing, which
is giving my all every single day, in and out, rain or shine. I never walk away, and I never call in sick. I am nothing like my mother, and nothing like my father. I fight when it matters. I do the hard things to enjoy the beautiful ones, and my life is full of immeasurable beauty as a result.

  Which means my crappy parents couldn't break me, and Chris couldn't burn me down. I'm an IT manager. I'm a sister. I'm a friend. I'm debt free. I'm a mother. And tomorrow, I'll be a college grad.

  I am beautiful, just like that spunky little hot pink daisy that refused to die. And I'm going to surround myself with people who water me, who fertilize me, who shine on me, and who lift me up. I'm done with anyone who burns me, suffocates me or tears me down.

  I take the red list out of my nightstand and tear it in half, and then tear it in half again and again. I'm done with my list, which means it's finally spring, and I'm ready to bloom.

  20

  Paul

  The auditorium at Georgia Tech is so cold that I’m shivering, and I'm wearing a suit. Luke's already given his jacket to Mary. Chase is sitting on her lap, and Amy's perched on her dad's knee.

  Troy taps my leg. “Can I sit on your lap, Mr. Paul? I'm freezing.”

  I nod and he climbs up.

  “I'm glad you came today. I think my mom will smile.”

  “You think?” I ask.

  Troy nods. “She was really crabby when you weren't at Aunt Mary's last night.”

  I can't help grinning like a moron. “Is that true?” I look over at Mary.

  “It's true,” Mary agrees. “For someone who repaid her debts and had a graduation coming, she was borderline hostile.”

  “I am so sorry I'm late,” Paisley squeezes past the people at the end of the row, her pink peacoat unbuttoned, her floral scarf waving in the frenzied air conditioning. “Why is it so cold in here?”

  She sits down next to me and opens her arms to Troy. “Come see Aunt Paisley.”

  Troy shakes his head. “I like Mr. Paul. He lets me play with his watch.”

  “Play with his watch?” Paisley huffs. “I changed your diapers, you little punk. I've cleaned up your puke. Now come warm my lap.”

  Troy rolls his eyes at me, but lets me hand him off.

  Before I can say anything to Paisley, the ceremony starts. The sea of golden robed graduates stretches across the stage, and I can't quite spot Trudy at first. But when I do, I can't look away. She's listening carefully without any idea where we're sitting, so I can study her as brazenly as I want.

  It's a rare treat.

  I don't usually allow myself to stare, since I'm supposed to be keeping it casual. I'm supposed to be present without flirting, around often without pressuring. It's been hard. Actually, it has downright sucked. I want to hold her hand. I want to stroke her face. I want to tuck her hair behind her ears, and kiss the tip of her nose.

  If I'm being honest I want to kiss her, well, her everything.

  I think she's getting closer. She was crabby when I wasn't there yesterday. I hold the thought against my chest like a warm blanket. When they read her name off, I stand up and cheer as loudly as I can. Louder even than manic Paisley.

  Finally, after an hour of formality and inspirational speeches, after what feels like years of names and walking and diplomas, they toss their caps into the air, and Trudy walks down the aisle to where she's noticed her sister and Paisley. It helps that Paisley has clawed her way across the row and is standing in the aisle jumping up and down and screaming, a frantic ball of hot pink shimmer and flowers.

  When Trudy finally turns my way and sees me, her face lights up. She strides toward me then, her eyes soft, her lips slightly parted. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I say back.

  “You came.”

  “I'll always be here for the big stuff,” I promise.

  Her hand darts up and wraps around my neck and she kisses me, full on the mouth. I catch up quickly, my hands reaching through her robes to circle her tiny waist. She drops her cap to the ground and reaches up to pull me even closer with her other hand.

  I'd never have stopped kissing her, but Troy taps my hip. “Mr. Paul?”

  Trudy and I jump apart and look down at him. “Are you going to come live with us now?”

  My mouth drops open.

  “No, honey, Mr. Paul already has a house.”

  “It's a better house than ours. Are we going to live there?”

  “No,” Trudy splutters. “No one is moving anywhere.”

  “So Mr. Paul isn't going to be my dad?” Troy's lower lip trembles.

  Trudy drops to her knees. “Honey, Mr. Paul can't be your dad. You have a dad.”

  His tiny face falls and he looks down. He kicks the chair in front of him, which is thankfully unoccupied. “Not a very good one.”

  My heart breaks and I crouch down next to him. “I will be around to do whatever you want to do,” I say. “We can play fetch with Winnie. We can go get ice—er, salty pretzels?” I look up at Trudy and she smiles.

  “Why can't you just be my dad?” he asks. “Amy and Chase got Aunt Mary for their mom even if they didn’t grow in her tummy.”

  “Sometimes things are more complicated than that,” Trudy says. “But I think we might be seeing more of Mr. Paul in the future.”

  “You better believe it.” I pick Troy up and toss him in the air like a graduation cap. “You won't be able to get rid of me.”

  “We can build some train tracks?” he asks.

  I nod. “In fact, I have a surprise for you.”

  “You do?” he asks.

  I stand up and face Trudy. “I may have violated the rules a little bit and prepared a little party. For you.”

  Her eyes widen. “For what?”

  “A graduation party, you idiot,” Paisley says. “I've been helping him.”

  “I thought you had a surprise for me,” Troy says.

  I ruffle his hair. “I have something for you too. You can see it if you convince your mom to come over to my house for her party.”

  Trudy grins. “Sure, I’ll come.”

  Troy claps. “I hope it's a tiger.”

  A tiger? Uh. I meet Trudy's eye and she laughs. “Troy dreams big.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I say.

  We walk out of the auditorium together, Troy swinging between Trudy and me. I swipe his booster seat from Luke and Mary, who gave Trudy and Troy a ride, and they load up in my Range Rover.

  “I like this car,” Troy says. “It's got a lot more room in it than our car. Can we get one, Mom?”

  Trudy rolls her eyes. “Sure. When I win the lottery.”

  I feel like I've already won when she looks at me and smiles. Then she reaches over and takes my hand. I'm glad my car's an automatic, because I don't let go of her cold fingers the entire drive to my place.

  I usually park in the garage, but that would ruin the effect. I pull up into the circular drive and cut the engine. “Alright Troy, are you ready?”

  He's unbuckled and out of the car before I can even circle around.

  “Child safety locks,” Trudy says. “They're a miracle.”

  “I'll look into them,” I say.

  I unlock the front door of my house and wave Troy through.

  “Whoa!” He rushes over to the huge, knee-height table I had custom made for my enormous entry hall. It's covered with every Thomas the Train piece I could find for sale. It took me four hours to set it all up.

  “Sorry it's not four tables,” I say.

  “But it's the best one table in the world!” Troy immediately pushes the button to turn on a green train. Percy, maybe?

  “What do you think?” I turn toward Trudy, and notice she's crying.

  I pull her into my chest. “I'm so sorry. What did I do?”

  She shakes her head against my chest. “Nothing, it's perfect.”

  “Oh, you cry when you're happy.”

  She shrugs. “When I'm happy, when I'm sad.”

  “You're a confusing woman.”r />
  She pops up on her tiptoes and kisses me. When she pulls away, she says, “You're a bright guy. If you stick around, you'll figure it out.”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  * * *

  I leave the house early, but I'm still worried traffic might make me late. I call Luke. “I'm on my way.”

  “We just left.”

  “See you there.” I hang up.

  When I reach Withrow Jewelers, my heart is pounding. The last time I planned a party, it went so well. Trudy beamed the entire time, and stole kisses from me whenever no one was looking. And sometimes even when they were.

  I really want this party to go at least as well as that one did.

  Luke and Amy are already there when I walk in, which I know because his bright red Raptor is parked outside.

  “So what kind of birthday present are we looking for exactly?” Luke asks.

  “A very special one,” I tell him. “One that would go here.” I point at the ring finger on my left hand.

  Luke's eyes widen. “Is that a good idea? You've only been dating two months.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say. “What was that? You proposed like six weeks after you met Mary. I've known Trudy for almost six months.”

  Luke sighs. “Five. And the point isn't how long you've known each other. It's whether you think she'll say yes.”

  Amy cocks her hip. “You were super duper scared Mommy was going to turn you down. You told me if she did, I was supposed to let you watch MacGyver and bring you ice cream all night.”

  “How do you even remember that?” Luke asks.

  “Because I'm a genius like my parents.” Amy taps on the glass. “Get this one.”

  I bend over to look at the ring she likes. It's a sapphire heart. It costs a hundred and ninety-nine dollars.

  I frown. “It's on sale.”

  Amy beams. “Aunt Trudy loves to find things for cheap. She will like it more once you tell her that.”

  I exhale. Maybe asking for their help was a bad idea.

  “What about this one?” Luke points.