A Taste of Bliss

by Adrian R. Hale

My heart hurts as much as my head when we finally leave Dr. Ong’s office an hour later. Mom now carries an air of determination and purpose that she was lacking this morning.

  “Let’s grab lunch in Los Gatos. I want to get a cake from that bakery we love so much to celebrate.”

  “Mom, please don’t take this the wrong way, but have you lost your damn mind? What could we possibly be celebrating?”

  “Life, Blissy! We are celebrating the life I have lived, and what I have left. I will not let anything hold me back from chasing happiness now. Not skipping dessert because I think I need to lose a few pounds, not conventional wisdom that says I need to mope and agonize about death, and definitely not worrying about when this life is going to be over. I will get my affairs in order, and then have the best time I can with what I have left. I am going to eat dessert every chance I get. I will travel, if I can. I will take up scrapbooking so there is something tangible left of my life. I’m going to do life, baby.”

  I quickly glance over at her as we drive. She looks determined and at peace with her lot. I wish I could have the same confidence, because this anxiety and worry is eating me inside.

  “Whatever you want, momma. It’s all about you now.”

  We eat a rich lunch, and buy her the legendary banana cake from Icing on the Cake in Los Gatos before heading back to her apartment. She happily spends the afternoon telling me more stories, some I have heard before, and others that are new to me. She does not tell me anything about the man who got her pregnant.

  Leaving my mom to head home to San Francisco has never been harder. I won’t get a chance to see her until next week, but she’s already planning things she wants to do. A trip down the Pacific Coast Highway to see the waterfall at Julia Pfeiffer State Park in Big Sur is her latest idea. She has created a bucket list of sorts, and is adding things she would like us to do together, as well as things she plans to accomplish on her own. I hope she can accomplish everything in time.

  She has less than a ten percent chance of surviving five years. Dr Ong seems to think she most likely has less than a year, probably six months at best. It’s not enough time. Death never gives you enough time. I think it’s worse to have an estimated time of death than it is to walk through life unaware that your clock is running out. Hit me with a bus, or snuff me out in my sleep, but don’t give me a freaking countdown.

  My mom has less than a year to live.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hey Bliss, how did it go with your mom?” Willa greets me with a hug when I return to the apartment. She’s still dressed for work, her black suit so professional compared to our surroundings. The bunny slippers she wears at home are a comical juxtaposition that is so Willa. She’s a grown woman with a childish side.

  “Anything we can do, honey?” Emme asks as she and Milleigh come in from the kitchen. It’s nice to see them all home at the same time. Having concerned girlfriends around right now is exactly what I need.

  “Hey guys. Mom is okay.” I shake my head furiously, angry at myself for my automatic answer. “No, actually, she’s not good. She’s dying. And she refuses to go with aggressive treatments, and may not be able to afford the medication she’s agreed to take to control her symptoms. This sucks, so bad. I can’t do anything for her.” The tears are spilling down my face faster than I can wipe them away.

  I tell the girls about the visit to Dr. Ong, and Mom’s decision to embrace the time she has left.

  “We could always crowdfund the money she would need to accomplish her bucket list. Taking to the Internet to raise money is nothing new. I can set it up for you, and create a Facebook page and everything. We could call it ‘Lisa’s Loving Life project’ or something like that,” Milleigh offers.

  Her interest and offer touch me, as she and Emme have only met my mom a few times in passing, and don’t know her very well.

  “That would be awesome, thank you so much.”

  “Our company is big on charitable giving, and often puts together teams walking for specific causes and people. I think I could arrange for our next event to be in support of Lisa. There’s got to be a 5k walk for lung cancer we could all do. I hope your mom doesn’t mind becoming the poster child for our new project. When we do things, we go big.” Emme pulls out her laptop and immediately starts compiling a list of ideas and steps for her group to take in support.

  “These are great ideas. I wish I had thought of them myself, or at least had something to offer that I could do. I feel so helpless.”

  “Actually, there is something you could do that is totally your area of expertise.” Willa walks over to the cork board we keep in the kitchen with our schedules and anything we are working on that we want the other roommates to know about. She grabs a flyer for a fashion show I worked recently, and taps on it.

  “How about you put together a show that raises awareness and funds for your mom’s treatment? You have to know a ton of designers and models who could donate their time or garments for you. I am sure you could even get an event space donated by one of the venues you have worked with over the years.”

  “Willa, I could kiss you. You are an absolute genius. That’s such a great idea, I can definitely organize something like that.” My mind is already working, busily organizing exactly what I’ll need to do. It’s a lot of work, but it’s something that will give me purpose instead of letting me float in my helplessness. “Do you think an auction would work with the show? Maybe auction off the dresses, or a date with the models or something?” I laugh, but start thinking more seriously about that idea.

  “Auctioning off dates with women is pretty old-school, and might be a little degrading if a particular girl doesn’t get as much for her time. The dress idea is promising,” Emme says.

  “You’re right, that’s weird. I’ll ask the designers if they would be able to donate the dresses for an auction though, and let them be modeled for the show.”

  I grab my phone to send out some emails and texts to everyone I know who could help. Over the course of the evening, positive replies roll in from all over the city. Finch insists on spearheading the whole thing for me, which is a huge relief. He knows way more people and has even better resources than I do. The fact that he cares so much, along with all of these other people who have readily volunteered their time and help, is amazing. My phone alerts me to a new text, so I open it to check, hoping it’s from a venue I would really like to use.

  Unknown: You pulled quite the disappearing act on me last weekend. While I was planning on humbly accepting my defeat, I just can’t stop thinking about you. Meet me again?

  I squint as I read the text. It throws me for a loop, having been so focused on dealing with my mom and now this show.

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown: Ouch. I guess you run off on all sorts of dates. It’s Talan, from Villa Sonoma Winery. You know, sharp and mysterious.

  Oh my god. It can’t be him. My heart beats quicker, a new feeling of interest bubbling up inside me. I quickly rein in my excitement, not sure yet if it’s good he wants to see me.

  Me: How did you get my number? And I still haven’t decided if you are actually sharp or mysterious. Although discovering my number is a little suspect.

  Talan: You’ll have to go out with me again to get your answer. I have an event in the city tomorrow night. Come with me.

  Me: Do I have to pour wine? I’m not very good with that.

  Talan: I’d never make you pour wine. You’ll be my guest.

  Me: I don’t think I can make it. Nothing to wear & all.

  Talan: If you happen to find something, meet me at 8PM.

  Talan texts me the address. He sure is confident that I’ll show up. I laugh at his self-assured nature. It’s a nice change from the tears that have swollen my eyes the last two days.

  “What are you smiling at over there?” Willa asks when I put my phone down. “That’s not a smile for booking a venue.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a guy.”

  “You evasive
slut. That can’t be Tech Bro Dillon, he never makes you smile like that. It has to be someone new. Fess up.”

  I bury my face in my hands as I laugh nervously. Her face transforms from teasing to shocked as I detail my amazing night with Talan.

  “This was last week and you didn’t even mention it? How the heck did he get your number? You didn’t give it to him, right? Is he some super stalker?”

  I mull over her questions for a second, looking for the only answer that seems acceptable. I quickly search my call log and get the answer I was looking for. Sunday morning he called his phone from mine when he sent that text to Willa. It’s the simplest answer, and yet I didn’t see it at first. I show her and explain that it wasn’t me who told her I had stayed in Sonoma overnight.

  “I’m mortified, Willa. I was totally a selfish lover and snuck out without saying goodbye because I didn’t think I would see him again. Now this, over a week later?”

  “Sneaky bastard. But I like it. You gave him a taste of Bliss and he can’t get enough.” She laughs loudly at her own joke, snorting before she can control herself.

  I can’t help but laugh, too. I obviously did something right to get him to continue thinking of me even after I left him without so much as a “Hope to see you again.”

  “You might as well just go with it. He’s been thinking about you for a week. He’s even willing to overlook you running out on him after your slut-tacular evening, so that qualifies a keeper in my book.”

  “Stop calling me a slut. I didn’t even have sex with him.” I narrow my eyes at her until she reluctantly nods. “I might go out with him again, but I really don’t want this to turn into a thing, you know?”

  “No, I absolutely do not know. Why wouldn’t you want a thing with this guy who explodes your panties?” She makes an x with her hands and bangs her arms toward her crotch. I giggle at her crude gesture.

  “I think I have a few too many things in my life that take precedence over an all-consuming new relationship. I need to focus on booking jobs so I can pay my bills, and my mom needs all of the spare time I can give her. It would be selfish to start something with Talan when she’s suffering.”

  Willa regards me for a moment, her hand perched on her hip, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She shakes her head in disagreement. “That’s bullshit, Bliss. I bet if I called your mom right now and asked her if she thought it was a good idea for you to be dating, and making sure she knew it would take up some of your time, she would be supportive of it. You are afraid of finding any sort of happiness because it would mean you have something to look forward to after your mom is gone.”

  “That’s messed up, Willa.” I keep my eyes focused on my fingers that are picking at the loose threads on the throw pillow I am holding. I can’t look at her.

  “No, that’s calling you out on self-sabotage. Stop fighting anything that doesn’t fit your exact plan. Sometimes you have to embrace the good with the bad, and you don't always get to pick how it comes into your life. I’m not saying this Talan guy is going to be anything more than a one date thing, but at least be open to letting it happen. You even gave Tech Bro Dillon more than that. Your mom would never forgive you for halting your life so you could support the end of hers. She’s all about living to the fullest right now. She would be so disappointed if she knew you were doing the opposite.”

  I don’t like where Willa is going with this. Frustrated tears sting my eyes as I grapple with the implications she has brought up. I’m just trying to do my best to make Mom’s life better right now, and stay afloat financially while working through it. It doesn’t make any sense to let Talan think that I have more time for him than I am willing to give. Willa’s threat that my mom would be disappointed with me hurts the most.

  Chapter Nine

  I arrive early for my corporate job, wondering if I will find someone sent by The Vaughan Group. Thankfully, when I confirm with my contact, they let me know I was the only artist hired. Relieved, I manage to make it through my corporate gig feeling a little better about this freelancing thing. I powder sweaty faces and shiny heads so the VP, CFO, and CEO of the company can get through a company-wide video call. Once the call is over, I prepare them for a few headshots. This isn’t the most fun work I can find, but it pays well. When you are limited on the amount of work you have, everything counts.

  I am in the financial district around lunch time when I finish. I dread having to drive through the city in midday traffic to get home. However bad traffic may be, the slow drive gives me ample time to consider where I am at with life.

  My mom is dying. Unlike some people who die from unseen illnesses, she’s outwardly sick. Even if I wanted to, I can’t ignore that she has a live grenade in her chest. My business is slow, but steady, affording me just enough of an income to cover my expenses, but it will have to grow before it makes life comfortable.

  I have friends who are supportive and helpful. Emme and Milleigh came through on their promise to set up a Facebook page and start a crowdfunding account for my mom. They have already reached out to a bunch of people, thanks to their extensive networks, and donations have begun to trickle in. I think it’s amazing that perfect strangers would read my mother’s story and want to donate to help make the next six months or so of her life special. People really can have good hearts.

  I was able to get a hold of most of the vendors I needed for the fashion show, but I am still waiting on a few key players. The venue I had in mind was, by some miracle of divine intervention, available and happy to allow me to use the space as long as I blast their name everywhere. Finch was able to ask a few designers he’s shot with to donate pieces for the auction. He also managed to book all of the models for me. It seems like things might actually fall into place within the next few days to make this a reality.

  An unexpected phone call from The Vaughn Group startles me while I sit in gridlock. I am hesitant to answer, but think it might be Heidi wanting to confirm my address or some other last minute thing for my final paycheck.

  “Hello?” I answer cautiously.

  “Bliss, it’s Louisa.” Dread fills my heart. There’s nothing I want more than to avoid Louisa at all costs, and here she is, calling me.

  “Hi Louisa, what’s going on?”

  “I heard through the grapevine that you are organizing some fundraiser fashion show to support lung cancer. As you may know, I lost a cousin to cancer a few years ago, and as much as I would prefer not to work with you, I would like to extend my help.”

  This just shows me how involved Louisa is in the industry if she has already heard about my show. Although, it is unlike Louisa to reach out to someone she so clearly hates, if she has lost a loved one to the ugliness of cancer, I could see why she would want to help even me.

  “Wow, Louisa, thank you for your offer. I guess I could use help raising awareness for the show, and getting people to attend. Could you possibly reach out to your network and encourage attendees?”

  “Of course, Bliss. Email over all of the details and I will get Heidi right on that. I may have had a bad reaction to you leaving, but I can put our differences aside to help make this happen.”

  “Thank you again, I really appreciate you reaching out, and for your help. It means so much to me. What do you need from me?”

  “Why don’t you write something up and I’ll send it out with a few notes. I think that should be adequate. Now best of luck, Bliss. Goodbye.”

  Wow. I never would have imagined Louisa would come out of the woodwork offering anything other than criticism and challenges. I’m not sure I can trust her, but I will take any help I can get to make this fundraiser successful. Despite the unusual phone call, I am feeling particularly happy with the state of things when I get home. I guess that is why, when I see the package at the mailboxes waiting for me, I’m not surprised.

  Talan has sent over a dress for me to wear. Not just any dress, but a beautiful and probably very expensive dress. A bartender shouldn’t be able to affor
d a dress like this. I have half a mind to show up at this event tonight in ripped jeans and hand this package back to him before I turn around and leave. But it’s so sparkly, and gold. It’s perfectly low in the front while still being modestly cut through the shoulders to not look skanky. Damn it, I love this dress. It seems I have a soft spot for pretty dresses that I can’t afford. This weakness makes me do things I otherwise wouldn’t.

  The card is the kicker.

  A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl. Now all you have to do is show up.

  -Talan

  It’s almost infuriatingly smooth.

  Chapter Ten

  I scan the hallway as I leave my room and head for the door. I’m hoping to avoid seeing my roommates, so I cautiously sneak a look back to make sure Willa hasn’t heard me from her room.

  A wolf whistle from the living room causes me to jump and turn back around. Willa is blocking the way to the door.

  “Awfully dressed up, Bliss. Where are you off to?” The knowing smile on her face is full of vindication.

  “Shut up. I just wanted a chance to wear this dress.”

  “And where did that beauty come from? I know that has got to cost your share of the rent, and you wouldn’t be that irresponsible. Cute bag,” she says, taking my clutch and turning it over in her hands and inspecting the contents as she walks to the bathroom.

  “Talan sent it.” Impatience strains my voice as I speak through gritted teeth, following her to make sure I get my bag back.

  “Oh, are you seeing Talan tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know, you can be happy about that, Bliss. You don't have to be miserable about seeing a hot guy who happens to have sent you a gorgeous dress.” She closes the door to the bathroom, but I know she’s waiting for my answer. I lean my back against the wall opposite the door and roll my eyes.

  “It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just going out.” I kick the wall with the heel of my shoe and hope she gives my clutch back soon.