by Tif Marcelo
Pearl, now with both heart and mind opened, decided that maybe Wendy had something interesting to offer.
Wendy waved to her from the opposite side of the glass, then opened the front door to let her into the building.
“I’m so glad you came by.” Wendy stretched her arms to present the space and flashed a kilowatt smile. “What do you think? Coming along, right?”
“It is. You took down the mirrors.”
“I don’t think we’ll need them. Since we’re a corner shop, we’ll have enough light. And my hope is that we won’t clutter this first floor. I want it to be bright, airy, which I think will be a challenge. Sadly, unlike Rings and Roses, we don’t have a renovated attic, so no third floor for us. We’ll have to try to fit the different parts of our shop onto two floors.”
“Different parts?”
She put her hands in her apron pockets. “Pearl, my goal is for Heartfully Yours to be a one-stop shop.”
Pearl stood straighter, compelled. “One-stop?”
“Yep: wedding planning, invitations, and photography to start.”
She shook her head. “Wait, so you’re proposing—”
“Well, I’m not proposing, yet.” She grinned. “Ideally I would like to sit down for a date interview. Maybe two, where I can get a feel of what kind of planner you are. And if that all works out, I’d then propose for you to join the team. The photographer coming on board is Amy Marie Weddings.”
“I know Amy. She’s fantastic.”
“And talented. I already have a calligrapher in mind—not mentioning who that is yet so I don’t jinx it. The total concept is this: I want our clients to come in, sign us all in one sitting if they choose to. Vendor choices are vast in this area, and what I’ve found from my clients is that many don’t want the stress of making those choices. They want quality work, of course. But bringing together a few select vendors, I think, and offering them in one package is a good risk. Where you would come in is as our bread and butter, the planning. Currently I have an assistant planner, but she only wants a part-time position. I want to manage this shop, advertise and market it. As you know, that alone is a full-time job.”
“I do.” Pearl swallowed the information in chunks, and all the energy she’d spent at yoga returned. Heartfully Yours was competition, but not really. Not exactly.
“I know I probably gave my spiel already, but if you’re interested, I’d like to treat you to a proper date interview.”
“I’m interested.” Pearl’s mind reeled with the possibility of being the planner of this shop, though still a part of a group identity. This was what she’d wanted: autonomy within a support system.
“Great. Are you free tonight? Over coffee or tea, at the Kafehaus at the end of Burg. Eight p.m.? I’d love to have a copy of your CV or resume.”
It had been years since she’d written a CV, but feeling the bottom of her once soggy plan solidify, Pearl answered, “It’s a date.”
seventeen
Mood: “Turn the Beat Around” by Vicki Sue Robinson
Mari tapped her Apple Watch for the millionth time to silence the texts coming through. They were all from her mother: Finally back in Manila from vacation.
I missed you all.
I’m uploading my pictures to Facebook.
Update me on R&R soon!
And despite the lump forming in her throat, Mari focused on her current task: managing Brad Gill’s needs.
This would be her first appointment of many with the Glynn couple over the coming three days; Brad had insisted on front-loading all of their wedding planning while he was in town So Hazel doesn’t have to worry her pretty little head about it.
God, if he said that phrase one more time.
Currently, Mari was playing mediator between the couple and Lauren Goshen of Goshen Photography, their future photographer. From the window side table of the Bar, an upscale burger joint two blocks from Rings & Roses, with her iPad in front of her and her planner opened up to a page of notes she had scribbled throughout the meeting, Mari lamented the passing time. She wanted her mother on the line to discuss their business structure. And where was Pearl? She’d texted her hours ago, and with every moment spent in this limbo, her suspicion rose.
Mari needed to remedy her family situation ASAP, whether or not Pearl was ready to talk.
“I’m not sure I’m down with these formal pictures,” Brad said, breaking up Mari’s thoughts like a sledgehammer. He scrolled through Lauren Goshen’s online portfolio on her iPad while Hazel turned the pages of a wedding album. “Us with every family who came to the wedding? It’s unnecessary.”
Hazel harrumphed next to him. Her thinning patience showed in her rigid posture. One hand clutched the stem of her empty water glass, knuckles white. Up to this point, she’d acquiesced to all of his changes. “It’s important to me for memory’s sake,” she said, voice clipped. “And I’d love to give a print to each of the families who traveled as part of their thank-you note.”
“Thank-you note?”
“And presents. A gift basket sent later on, with some specialty teas and desserts from the area and, of course, a framed picture to my matron of honor and to your best man, your parents, my mother.”
At the thought of tea and dessert, then of food in general, or the lack thereof, Mari’s tummy grumbled. Upon their arrival this afternoon at four, they’d ordered happy hour drinks, and Mari had chosen an exceptional tiramisu that was the perfect blend of crunch and sweet cream. The dessert had given her a quick jolt of energy and enthusiasm, though momentarily. An hour had passed and so had the sugar high.
“What do you think I am, made of money? We’re feeding them, giving them a party. Two, if you count the rehearsal dinner. We should stop at a web package and then get one single print done for us.” He snorted, taking a swig of his beer. He casually pointed at Mari. “Let me guess. This was your idea, right? Always trying to upsell—the two cakes, and I saw how much you all charged for the rush service. That fee was almost as expensive as the invitations themselves.”
Mari gripped her pen and pursed her lips so the anger that threatened to escape her lips was kept at bay. How dare he imply she was nickel-and-diming them?
Hazel, mortified and doe-eyed, fussed. “Brad, that’s not necessary.”
Lauren cleared her throat, a tight smile frozen on her face. “We can definitely start with the web package—I keep all your proofs for a year after your wedding, and you can reorder as you need to. And, instead of a picture with every household, Ms. Flynn, we can have you do a group picture with each table and it will cut down on the time.”
“See. I like that idea.” He leered at Laura, who didn’t hold his gaze. He met Mari’s eyes. “Enough with the photographs. My lovely bride-to-be and I have been at odds about the wedding theme. What are your thoughts, Ms. Wedding Planner?”
Mari treaded carefully considering the table’s vibe: Hazel’s nervousness, Brad’s aggressive posture, the restaurant’s upscale but relaxed flair. The fact that they were window side and people were on the other side of the glass, sometimes peering through while waiting at the trolley stop.
“I propose ‘Leather and Lace’ now that I’ve spent time with the both of you.” She kept her facial expression neutral. “A bit of old school, bit of vintage, but classic through and through. Leather strips made into ribbons instead of grosgrain or silk. The menu hand-lettered onto leather for each table. Lace table runners, Primrose-style goblets, cutlery with wooden handles, antique silver chargers.”
After a beat, he pointed at her. “That’s good. I like that.” He sighed as if satisfied. Next to him, Hazel seemed to fold in relief. “See, it’s coming together, babe. You were worried for nothing.” He took a swig of his beer and snorted out a laugh. “The only thing that would ruin this is if my future wife walked down the aisle looking like a tramp. I mean, you are knocked up, Haz. Can’t give anyone the wrong impression.”
Mari sucked in a breath. And as if the reel changed
to an old-school movie, in a blip, she was back in Saul’s apartment kitchen one Sunday. It had been an unusually hot and humid summer, and his AC was out. She’d retrieved a tube popsicle from the freezer, brought it to the counter to cut the top open with scissors when a hand snuck out and tried to swipe it from her grasp. Mari had gasped but held on to the popsicle, until she was met with Saul’s look of authority. It said that what he took was his.
He hadn’t laid a hand on her. He hadn’t said a word. It had been the way he’d looked at her.
It was exactly the way Brad looked at Hazel.
“No . . . of course not.” Hazel spoke up. Her body was rigid, because yes, the dress she’d picked was sexy. It was perfectly sexy and gorgeous and classic and exactly what Hazel wanted to wear on their day.
Pain pierced Mari’s heart and she yearned to deliver a clap back to put Brad in his place. This was the time to resist. This was the time to stand up for her client. But Hazel’s panicked expression—a plea for silence—held Mari’s rebuttal at bay.
Reid wasn’t due back in the area until this weekend, but Mari still couldn’t help but look up at his town house windows. Thrill buzzed through her each time she thought of him jiggling the door open, of him gesturing her inside. Especially today, when all she wanted was to unload the weight off her shoulders. The idea that it was lonely at the top? It was 100 percent true for her. To get here, she’d sacrificed a social life, and when she finally needed a friend, she found not one to turn to.
The look in Hazel’s eyes haunted her. There was nothing tangible to report to anyone, but there was so much negative potential between Brad and Hazel.
She stuck her key in the front door harder than usual to snap herself out of her thoughts. She was allowing her memories to cloud her views about Hazel and Brad’s relationship, when it was none of her business. Besides, a couple’s relationship was based on more than what they let others see. Like the iceberg effect of a foundation under the water, she wasn’t privy to their lives behind closed doors. Brad could’ve been the sweetest man. Perhaps today was another off day. Maybe they’d had a fight before their appointment.
Mari stepped into the doorway and ran into a body.
“Holy shit. Sorry,” Pearl said, dropping her purse and a folder on the floor. She smelled fresh from the shower. The damp tips of her hair brushed against Mari as they both knelt to pick up the spilled contents: lipstick, a pen, her iPhone, receipts.
Mari reached for the folder; papers fanned out of its pockets. “You didn’t text me back. I wanted us to talk, for real, to fix th—” The rest of her sentence never made it out of her mouth, her brain focused on a word at the top of one page. Resume.
Pearl stood, straightening her clothes. She wore high-waisted slacks, a tank, and a cropped blazer. Definitely business casual.
“Headed out?” Mari asked.
“Sort of.”
Mari cocked her head and waited for the rest of the answer. Her face heated with the start of anger, because she already knew. She’d known it when she saw Heartfully Yours’s owner speak to Pearl.
Pearl rolled her eyes and laughed under her breath. “Don’t even.”
“Don’t even what?”
“Lecture me. Because you’re about to, right? Because of the resume? You can’t have it both ways. You can’t tell me I’m not good enough to work for you and then expect me to sit here when an opportunity arises. Wait, let me clarify that: when someone who knows what I can offer chases after my talent.” Pearl waved Mari away, shutting her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at her. “Forget it.”
Oh no, Mari wasn’t going to let her get away that easily. “First of all, you can’t start and end a conversation and walk away. Secondly, you’re the one who’s lecturing me. You’re the one putting words in my mouth. Thirdly, if there’s anyone who should be mad right now, it’s me.”
“You? Whatever.”
From behind her, Jane’s door opened. She stepped out in her robe, eyes bleary. “Shhhh. Pio is asleep, and I feel like shit, if you all didn’t remember.”
“I’m on my way out anyway.” Pearl barely glanced at Mari.
“Pearl.” Mari gritted her teeth. “We have to talk.”
She cocked her head back to laugh before stepping outside. “Definitely not now. I’m busy.”
After the door slammed, Jane raised her arms in exasperation. “You are . . .” She shook her head and growled. “Are you just going to let her go?”
“I’m not going to chase her down Duchess Street. She has her mind made up. Do you know what she had in her hands? A resume—she’s probably dropping it off right now at Heartfully Yours.”
“It takes one sorry, Ate Mari. One. True. Sorry.”
“Why should I be sorry? I didn’t do a damned thing.”
“I can’t with you.” Jane shot Mari a glare and interlaced her hands on top of her head. “I am disappointed. In all of us.” She turned and walked into her apartment, shutting the door with a whoosh.
Mari looked up at the ceiling and said to no one in particular. “This is not my fault!”
Jane yelled from inside her apartment. “But what are you going to do to fix it?”
eighteen
Mood: “More” by Bobby Darin
The nerve. The absolute nerve of her to think she has any say over my life.” Pearl stepped on the gas as she sped through Alexandria the next day. Red lights flashed as cars crawled to a stop from morning-commute traffic. She slammed her foot on the brake.
In the passenger seat, Trenton hooked a hand on the oh-shit handle. “Okay, Ms. Fast and the Furious. You actually have to share this road with the rest of the city.”
“Ugh, we’re already ten minutes behind schedule. I was so focused on looking over the contract for Heartfully Yours last night, and then I was so pissed about the whole thing that I couldn’t sleep, and then I didn’t hear my alarm.”
Trenton sighed dramatically. Pearl glanced over; a grin pulled at the sides of his mouth.
“What?” Pearl gave him the side-eye. The traffic started its slow roll so she inched forward, pressuring the car in front of her. The person had practically a full car’s length in front of it. “Seriously.”
“I’ve seen you and Mari fight like this more than a handful of times.”
“And you think she’s stubborn, completely inflexible, and infuriating, too, right?”
At his silence, Pearl caught his knowing glance, reminding her that he’d been there from the beginning, and like Jane, he had remained objective through every de la Rosa family crisis. “I was thinking that you two are so much alike.”
Never mind. Trenton didn’t know what he was talking about. “Not true. And this isn’t a normal fight, not something stupid like me borrowing her clothes.”
“It’s still about who’s the boss of whom.”
“Exactly my point. We’re both equal partners in the business now.”
“And yet neither one of you is compromising. It’s always Mari acting protective, and you resisting any of her suggestions. You both want the same things but don’t listen to one another.”
“I’ve listened to that woman all my life. She’s the one who has yet to see me.” Pearl took a right onto Interstate 495, where traffic was miraculously free flowing.
“Do you know why our mothers got along so well?” he asked.
“Because they both could close down a restaurant?”
“Besides that.” Trenton grinned. Their mothers had met up once a month at a restaurant for a girls’ night, and took up a table until they were the last customers, sharing a dish from every course. “It’s because our families are the same. Lots of drama, but close nonetheless. Nothing could come between us siblings.”
Pearl’s heart hollowed out. “I’m not sure about that this time around.”
The warmth of Trenton’s hand enclosed hers where it rested on the gear shift. They’d held hands in front of Daphne and Carter as part of their ruse, but nothing about this moment
was fake. “You and Mari have come back from worse.”
She nodded, acknowledging that he was, in fact, present for the weeks and months the entire family recovered from Saul.
She and Mari hadn’t gone to counseling immediately. At first they’d thought they could simply “get over it.” Their family grounded themselves in each other and their faith, foolishly thinking it was enough. But the threat of violence broke through the usual de la Rosa optimism. It ate away behind the facade of the family. Mari had nightmares; Pearl’s insomnia became debilitating.
When Pearl finally had gone to counseling, she put a name to her feeling: anger. Anger at Mari for keeping an asshole boyfriend around. Anger at herself, at how helpless she felt. It took months to properly assign that anger to the correct person: Saul. With the introduction of yoga, she’d transferred her anger to her breath.
“You have to talk to her,” Trenton said, after miles of silence.
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to. I want to stay mad. And now with Wendy offering me a spot with them, I don’t even know where to start. I mean, how do I tell Jane?”
“Have you decided what to do?”
“No. I took the interview because it was timely. And to be honest, it felt nice to have someone want and value me. Wait a minute.” His words had caught up to her, and she narrowed her eyes. “Did you imply that I’m stubborn and completely inflexible and infuriating like my sister?”
“Maybe.” With an amused grin, he let go of her hand.
The mood veered to one of quiet anticipation as they exited the highway, listening to the sound of the car’s blinker and the rumble of the tires over gravel and dirt. As they rocked along the unpaved path up to the Thatched Roof Winery, Pearl thought about the other thing she had in common with her sister. How their heart remained tightly closed to everyone except for the people who had their backs.
