by Lauren Layne
There’s a long moment of silence, followed by Lily’s “Seriously?” and Caleb’s “Wait, what?”
“Where is this coming from?” my sister asks. “All the effort we’ve put in, the new website, the cooking class—”
“You guys’ help was so appreciated,” I say. “And I’m glad we gave it a shot, I really am. But the store’s revenue is still pretty dismal. If we don’t choose to close it now, I expect we’ll be forced to a year from now. And a year from now we won’t have the offer from the Andrews Corporation on the table.”
“We don’t even know what that offer is,” Caleb says. “I thought we basically told them to go to hell.”
Another deep breath. “Actually, we do know the details of their offer. Sylvia’s still on retainer, and I had her get in touch with their attorney to learn the specifics. She came back and said that speaking as a lawyer and longtime friend of the family, if we want to close our doors, we can’t do it under better terms.”
“Is this about Sebastian Andrews?” Lily demands. “Oh my God! That’s why he was hanging around all the time. To wear you down so you’d stop seeing him as the enemy.”
“This isn’t about Sebastian. I haven’t seen him in weeks. Not since the cooking class.”
I don’t tell them that the fact that I haven’t heard from him has led me to the same conclusion Lily’s reached—that perhaps he was sticking around not because of any interest in me as a person, but to soften my perception of him so the offer on the table was no longer coming from an enemy, but… a friend?
If that was the case, he must have had a crisis of conscience, because he hasn’t been around the shop, and maybe that’s just as well. Maybe it’s the same reason I had Bubbles & More’s lawyer take care of all official correspondence. I may know in my heart that it’s the right path, but it doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t also hurt that I couldn’t make Bubbles work for the sake of my dad’s memory—that I couldn’t learn to love it like my parents did.
The whimsical part of me, the one that sings to pigeons, wants to keep my memories of Sebastian Andrews as far away from that pain as possible.
Caleb takes a sip of his sparkling water, stares at the can a moment, as though surprised to see it there, then sets it aside and looks back at the camera. “Okay, I’m just going to come out and say it. This is sort of an about-face from where we were a month ago. Maybe if we had Alec look over the numbers—”
“I did,” Alec interjects. “Gracie’s correct about the state of the store’s finances.”
He takes his wife’s hand as he says it, and Lily glances over, blinking away tears. Even in my melancholy mood, I feel a warm feeling in my chest at the silent spousal connection that’s both sweet and envy inducing.
When my sister turns back to the computer screen, her blue eyes have taken on a warrior’s glint. “This is on me and Caleb. We didn’t give you the support you need, Gracie, and the help we did provide was too little and too late. That ends now. Caleb, the new website looks great—I’m assuming you can add an e-commerce component, right? We can research what it takes to ship to different states—we can be the country’s champagne resource, not just Midtown’s. It’ll be expensive to move into that space, but we can get a loan, we can grow the team—”
“Lil.” I interrupt her softly and take the hand Alec’s not holding, squeezing gently. I wait for her to look back at me, then speak the truth that’s been quietly building inside me for weeks. Maybe longer. “I don’t want that.”
She blinks. “What do you mean?”
“I realize closing the store can’t be a unilateral decision. If you want to keep it open, I’m happy to hand over the reins, but I need to step back. I want to step back.”
“But you love Bubbles,” Caleb protests. “It’s always been your and Dad’s thing—”
“It was Dad’s thing,” I clarify, firmly but gently. “It was never mine. I stepped in only because it was so important to Dad that it stay open, and in the family, and I realized it was going to be me or no one.”
“Gracie, why didn’t you tell us?” My sister looks stricken.
“I should have,” I say. “Though I’m not sure I ever really admitted it to myself until recently. I don’t blame you. Either of you.” I look at Caleb. “But I also can’t keep living for Dad, or for you guys. I have to live for me.”
“I respect that,” Caleb says quietly. “Though I still get to feel like an ass for acting like a baby about keeping the store open, when I didn’t do much at all to help.”
“Same,” Lily says. She inhales and holds her breath for a second. “The deal is good?” She looks at me again.
“It’s fair,” I say. “And it provides severance for the staff, which is most important to me.”
She nods. “Okay. I trust you.”
“Me too,” Caleb says, then looks at me and grins. “But now I’m dying to know… what will you do?”
“I have no idea,” I say honestly. “But the severance will give me a bit of a buffer to figure it out.”
Everyone nods, but there’s a lingering silence that hangs in the air. Not awkward, not angry. Just a little bit sad as we all come to grips with what lies ahead. I thought I’d made peace with my dad’s passing, but this feels a bit like saying goodbye to him all over again.
Lily is the first to break the silence. “So, we’re doing this?”
“Just tell me where to sign,” Caleb says. His smile slips. “Damn. It’s sad though, isn’t it? End of an era.”
“No, no, no,” Lily says, waving her hands. “We’re not going to think like that. This is the right thing to do, and deep down, we all know it.”
She’s right. I do know it. And so I let my family try to distract me from the fact that I’m about to be unemployed with pizza and wine. I continue to badger my brother about meeting his girlfriend.
I smile. I laugh.
When I leave my sister’s place, I feel the lightest I’ve felt in years.
And then I get on the subway and see the latest message from Sir.
My dear Lady,
First, my apologies for the delayed response. Out of respect for everything you are to me, I wanted to give your suggestion the consideration it deserves.
I’m tempted. You have no idea how tempted, how long I’ve wondered what you look like, what it would be like to hear your voice, to see your face as we talk about nothing. And everything.
But it’s with immense regret—if nothing else, please believe my regret—that I must decline your offer. Not for always, but for now, the time isn’t right for me to introduce a new variable into my life.
Please understand. Please.
I hope we might continue on as we have been. If not, if you’re looking for something else, something more… I’ll understand.
Yours in regret,
Sir
* * *
To Sir, with reassurances,
Please don’t think a thing of it. Of course we can go on as we’ve been! Here, I’ll get us started. An important topic I find it hard to believe we haven’t discussed yet: reality TV. Is there anything better? The drama? The suspense? The sheer juiciness of it all…
Lady
* * *
My dear Lady,
Oh GOD.
Yours in dissent,
Sir
Seventeen
I don’t want to say I’ve hit rock bottom. That would imply I’m at home in my PJs, digging into another pint of pistachio gelato, with no bra and hair that hasn’t encountered shampoo in quite some time.
I’m fine. I am. My brain is very sure of this.
Sir is just some guy whose face I’ve never seen. Sebastian is just some businessman whose interest in me was purely financially motivated. I never had either of them, so I haven’t lost either of them.
So why does my heart hurt?
There is a bittersweet silver lining to my personal life crashing and burning. My professional life is also crashing and burning, but at least I’m i
n the driver’s seat there. With every longtime customer I’ve said goodbye to, with every discount sign I’ve hung, with every box of champagne I’ve carefully packaged to sell to one of the vendors who’ve been buying out our inventory, I feel a little more sure that this is right.
Scary. And sad. But I feel in my bones that this sharp turn in my life’s path is the right one.
I smile at a young forty-something couple as I hand them a crisp white paper bag. They’re celebrating her one-year anniversary of being cancer-free and were thrilled when I pointed them to a particularly nice steal on our going-out-of-business table. A few of our nearby competitors bought out full and half cases, but for the one-off bottles, I’ve decided on an “everything must go” approach.
Dad’s probably ticked about it from up in Heaven. While he himself was a coupon-cutting, deal-hunting aficionado—he loved himself a cheap Chianti—he and my mom had defined Bubbles as a luxury shop from the very beginning. You don’t see a sales rack at Cartier, do you, Gracie?
In truth, I’d never set foot in Cartier. I still haven’t, so I don’t know what it’s like.
But here’s what I do know: The smile on that couple’s face when I’d handed them a bottle of wine to celebrate being alive? The tears in the eyes of a grandmother buying champagne to celebrate her first grandson and finding something in her price range? Worth it, despite the loss. Which tells me something I’ve maybe known all along: I’d rather be a good person than a great businesswoman.
Of course, that’s easy to say now that I have the financial buffer of the Andrews Corporation deal. Not that I’m set for life or anything. But for the first time ever, I’ve got a bit of breathing room in my budget. No more losing sleep about making sure I have enough to pay rent at home and the store. No more Groundhog Day resentment that I have to work seven days a week because I can’t afford to bring on another employee. No more endless stress about being able to keep the employees I do have.
That, apart from our legacy coming to an end, has been one of the hardest parts of all this. Breaking the news to May, Josh, and Robyn that while they’d get six months’ worth of pay, they’d need to find another job. That they’d all received the news with understanding and kindness had been a little bright spot in an otherwise bittersweet period of my life.
May in particular had been in favor of the decision. Time to move on, in more ways than one.
I know she was talking about letting go of my dad. I know that most of the reason she’s stuck around the store is for me, but I also know a little part of it’s for her—a way to stay connected with my father. I don’t want that for her. To stay connected with his memory? Of course. I know she’ll always love him. But I also want her to find that same happiness with someone else.
Robyn had been disappointed, but not surprised. In fact, she’d already started job hunting with the anticipation of the store closing, and I’m glad for it. She’s smart, she’s talented, and I’m confident she’ll find someone or somewhere that can make use of those talents.
Strangely, it had been Josh whom I’d been dreading telling the most. I hate that he worked so darn hard to learn wine, to learn the shop… for nothing.
Not nothing, boss. I was a part of something good. No regrets.
Ironic. Ironic that the employee who’s been a part of Bubbles’s story for the shortest amount of time is the one who was able to sum it up the best. Part of something good indeed.
We’d celebrated that good thing last night with a farewell party here at the shop. Nothing big, nothing fancy. Just the staff, the Coopers sans Caleb, though he’d FaceTimed for a while, a few of our regulars, and close friends. Keva had shown up with Grady and trays of potato chip–crusted cheese and broccoli casserole in tow, which they’d insisted was the perfect pairing for the occasion. They’d been absolutely right.
A little part of me had wondered if Sebastian would show up unexpectedly, the way he had for all of our other events.
He had stayed away, and I’d told myself I was glad.
The party had been a blast—the perfect sendoff for thirty-nine years of serving champagne to Midtown. I’m glad we had it when we did, on the eve of the store closure, rather than after the doors had shuttered for good. It allowed me to show up for work today—for the last time—with the laughter and company of last night fresh in my mind. To somehow get through this day with a smile.
To get to this point. This moment.
Lily reaches out and squeezes my hand as we stand shoulder to shoulder staring at Bubbles’s front door. Robyn and Josh are already gone for the day—no, for good. Behind me, I hear May chattering under her breath, trying to find her lipstick in her purse. Alec’s around too, a calm, reassuring presence.
“You want me to do it?” Lily asks gently when I don’t move.
I shake my head. “No, no. I just…” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Would it be okay… would you mind if I did this part alone? I think I need some time, just me and the store.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Of course.”
“Are you sure? This is your place too—”
“No,” she says softly. “It hasn’t been my place for a long time. And it never was, not like it was yours. Nobody should have to end a long-term relationship with an audience.” Lily turns around to May and Alec. “Pack up, guys. We’re headed out.”
May pulls her lipstick out of her purse with triumph. “Just as soon as I’m dressed…”
She adds a thick layer of bright magenta and makes a kissing noise in my direction, then drops the lipstick back into her purse to get lost again—why she doesn’t keep it in a side pocket, I have no idea. She picks up her bright purple trench coat and bag and comes toward me.
“You enjoy your alone time, love, but you need someone to cry on, you come by my place, okay?”
I smile and nod, not really trusting my voice at the moment. She puts both hands on my cheeks, her usual warrior expression unusually soft. “He’s proud of you,” she whispers. “Your mama too. They’d want you to choose you.”
I manage another nod, my eyes watering this time, and she pulls me forward, pressing a kiss against my forehead. “Remember. My place if you need it. We’ll get drunk, order cheese fries, and watch Katharine Hepburn movies.”
She turns to leave, and as I’ve been doing all day, I try not to think about the fact that I’ll never see her walk through that door again.
Lily and Alec approach me next. Together, but not, and I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with that right now. So I let them hug me. I see Lily’s eyes water and lift a finger. “Don’t. We can’t do that.”
“Right, I know.” She sniffles.
Alec pulls me in for a last hug, then kisses my cheek. He doesn’t tell me he’s there if I need him, but I know. I know they both are.
He holds the door for Lily, who starts to exit, then pauses in the doorway and turns, her eyes taking in the empty shelves. The last remaining boxes I need to pack. Alec and I don’t move or speak, letting her say her farewells, not just to the shop, but to a stage of her life—our lives—now closed.
She nods once, mostly to herself, and steps out into the fall evening air. Alec gives me one last smile, then follows his wife out. Through the window I see him reach hesitantly for her hand. See her head snap up in surprise. See her fingers intertwine with his.
The simple, sweet gesture, one I’ve seen thousands of times over the years but not often enough lately, hits me right in the feels. And the emotions that have been teetering on a tightrope all day fall.
It’s not a sob fest. Just a constant stream of quiet tears that I don’t even fully register until the teardrops dangling off my jawline start to tickle. I wipe at them, but they keep coming.
With a quiet sob, I step forward and reach for the We’re Open sign shaped like a champagne bottle.
I take a deep breath. I flip it.
Sorry! We’re Closed!
Forever.
The plywood sways gently on its whit
e string for just a second longer and then stills. I stay still too, letting myself be frozen in this moment.
And I realize my mistake.
I don’t want to be alone.
I don’t want to be alone, yet neither do I want to eat cheese fries with May or girl-talk with Keva or Rachel. I don’t want to FaceTime my brother or even talk about the good old days with my sister.
I close my eyes and let myself want… him.
I want my musician with his long hair and brown eyes to take me into his arms and hold me. Or just make me laugh. Or let me talk about Dad. Or tell me everything’s going to be okay.
And yet, something’s not quite right. The daydream I’ve conjured up for so long, the face of my dream man has changed. He’s a little bit taller, his hair a little darker.
His eyes aqua instead of brown.
“Damn it.” No way am I letting Sebastian all up into this moment. This is my moment, and I know just how to celebrate. I pivot on my heel and head to the nearly empty cave to retrieve my bottle of Krug. I say my bottle of Krug, because Dad had bought each of us one on our twenty-first birthday. Not the Dom we’d opened on our birthday—the ready to drink now wine. But a save for the right time champagne.
Lily’s had been on her wedding night. Caleb had opened his the night the Cubs won the World Series, because somehow the born-and-raised New Yorker has always had an obsession with a Chicago baseball team.
But I’ve been saving mine. I thought maybe it was for my wedding or the birth of my first child, but I realized just recently that this is the moment. A celebration. And a goodbye.
On a whim, because it feels right, I message Sir.
To Sir—you there?
I tuck the phone into the back pocket of my jeans as I pull out the bottle from its spot in the fridge and peel off the hot pink sticky note that reads Gracie’s—Don’t Touch!
I smile as I trace the ornate label, remembering my dad’s proud announcement of exactly how expensive it was. I kiss my finger, press it to the label, then look up. “I love you, Dad.”
