by Sarah Morgan
“Like what?”
“I don’t know—” Flora thought about it. “Is she athletic? Go to an indoor climbing wall. Or spend the day making pottery. Take her and her friends to a salsa class. Or do something together. If she’s feeling lost, what she really wants is probably to spend quality time with you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. Dads are an embarrassment when you’re a teenage girl.”
Flora wished she had the experience to know. She would have given a lot to be embarrassed by her dad, but her dad had wanted nothing to do with her.
You’re my world, her mother had always said but after she’d died Flora had wondered whether life might have been easier if their world had included a few more people.
She wanted to ask him more about his daughter, but there was a queue of customers building and Celia was frowning at her across the store.
But he seemed in no hurry to leave. “How long have you worked here?”
“I don’t remember a time when I didn’t work here.” She glanced up at the high ceilings and the large windows. “My mother worked here, too, before she died. I helped her from the moment I could walk. Many of our customers were my mother’s customers. We deliver flowers right across Manhattan.” And she was proud to be continuing what her mother had started. It brought the past into the present and gave her comfort.
“How old were you when you lost your mother?”
“Eight.” Barely older than his younger daughter was now.
“And your father?” His tone was softer now, and she was grateful for his sensitivity.
“My mother raised me alone.”
“How did you handle it—losing her?” He sucked in a breath. “I apologize. That was an unforgivably intrusive question, but right now I’m at that stage of looking for answers everywhere. Something I can do, something I can say—I’ll try anything.”
“I’m not sure I handled it. I got through it, the best I could.” Her life had gone from warm sunshine to bitter cold. She’d moved from a warm, safe place to one where she felt vulnerable and exposed. “I’m not sure what helped me, would help others.”
“What did help you?”
“Things that made her seem closer. Flowers. Flowers were like having my mother with me.”
He studied her and she could have sworn for a moment that he saw her. Really saw her. Not the rose-colored dress or the hyacinth tights, or the hair that tumbled and turned and refused to behave in a predictable manner much to the annoyance of her aunt, but the gaps inside her. The pieces that were missing.
He smiled, and she felt warmth spread through her and spill into those gaps. Her heart beat faster and stronger.
There was so much charm in his smile. She was pretty sure that he’d be single for as long as he chose to be and not a moment longer.
“You seem to have turned out all right.” He was in no hurry to leave. “I’ve been worrying my girls won’t be okay. That their lives are ruined. But here you are. You give me hope that we might get through this.”
There was a strength to him, a seam of steel, that made her sure he would get through anything.
“You’ll find a way.” She was instantly embarrassed. “Sorry. That sounded trite. Like one of those self-help quotes that pop up on the internet. Live your best life.” The fact that he smiled felt like an achievement.
“I hate those quotes. Especially the ones that tell you to dance in the rain.”
“I love dancing in the rain.” Better than dancing in her apartment, where her elbows knocked against the walls and her neighbors complained about the noise.
His gaze held hers and again there was that feeling of warmth. “Do you get a lunch break? Would you join me for something to eat? Or a coffee?”
Her heart woke up. Was he asking her on a date?
“Well—”
“You’re wondering if I’m a crazed serial killer. I’m not. But you’re the first person I’ve talked to in a long time who seems to understand.”
She saw that his eyes were green, not blue. And she saw that he looked tired. Maybe he was aware of that, because he gave a faint smile and she found herself smiling back. The brief moment of connection shocked her. It was the closest she’d been to experiencing intimacy with another person in a long time. Ironic, she thought, that it was with a stranger.
“I don’t think you’re crazed, and I don’t think you’re a serial killer.”
“I asked you for coffee because you’re easy to talk to.” The focus of his gaze shifted somewhere behind her. “I’m assuming that scary-looking woman glaring at me is your boss?”
Flora didn’t even need to look. “Yes.”
“In which case I’m going to get you fired if I stand here talking any longer. I don’t want that on my conscience. Thank you for listening, Flora. And thank you for the advice.”
He was handling two traumatized girls by himself. Wounded. Hurting.
Who looked after him? Did he have no one supporting him?
He’d lost his wife, who’d clearly been perfect in every way. Becca. It seemed deeply unfair that people who had managed to find each other in this busy, complex world, should then lose each other. Maybe that was worse than never finding someone in the first place.
She shouldn’t get involved. Coffee and conversation wasn’t going to fix anything.
But who could say no to a single father who was desperately trying to do the right thing by his daughters?
Not her.
“I could do coffee,” she said. “I get a break in an hour.”
2
Izzy
“You’re bringing someone to dinner? You’re dating?
You have to be kidding me. It’s not even been a year since Mom died, and you’ve already forgotten her.” Izzy stopped folding laundry and clamped her mouth shut. Had she really said that aloud? Guilt washed over her. She’d done so well holding it all together, but now her dad had opened a door she’d kept closed. His words had released all the rubbish she’d been hiding inside, like the cupboard holding all of Molly’s toys. Izzy could barely close the door. And now her hands were shaking and misery covered her like a film of sweat. Her body had felt weird, as if she was inhabiting someone else’s skin that didn’t quite fit. She had dizzy spells, moments when she felt oddly detached, panicky flashes when she thought she might totally flip out in public and humiliate herself. At the beginning people were constantly checking she was okay. How are you doing, Izzy? And she’d always answer that she was fine. Apparently they’d believed her, and their comments had shifted to You’re totally amazing. Your mom would be so proud of how you’re handling this. If grief was a test, then apparently she’d got a good grade. She’d even felt proud of herself on occasion, an emotion that was way too complicated for her brain. Was surviving something to be proud of?
Gradually people had stopped tiptoeing around her and gone back to their normal selves and their normal lives. People rarely mentioned it now. She’d thought that might be easier, but it turned out it wasn’t. They’d moved on, but she hadn’t. Her life had been shredded and she was still trying to stitch the fragments together alone with fingers that were raw and bleeding. Whatever she did there was no patching over the fact that there was a big mother-shaped hole in her life. She was trying hard to fill it for her dad’s sake, but mostly for Molly’s sake.
Had her father given any thought to the impact dating would have on Molly?
How could he do this? She didn’t understand love. What exactly was its worth if it didn’t even leave a mark? If you could move so easily from one person to another?
She knew she should probably be pleased for him, but she couldn’t summon that emotion. If he moved on, where did that leave them as a family? Where did it leave her?
The sound around her faded and she could hear the blood pulsing through her ears.
She felt lost and panicky.
Maybe this relationship wasn’t serious. She wanted to whip out her phone and type “grief and rebound rel
ationships” into the search engine. Even though he hid it well, she knew he was hurting and vulnerable. She wasn’t going to let some opportunistic woman take advantage of that. The last thing little Molly needed was a parade of strange women marching through the house.
Her father put his arm round her but she ducked away, even though she needed a hug more than anything.
He looked stunned. “What’s wrong? You’re not normally like this.”
“Sorry. Long day.” Clamping her jaws together, Izzy shook another towel out and folded it.
“Do you really think I’ve forgotten her?”
“I don’t know. Seems that way, that’s all.”
It freaked her out that he could be so calm. She tried to be the same, but he set a high bar. Did he cry? Did he ever howl in the shower like she did? Her tears poured down the drain along with the water. She wanted to know she was normal, that she wasn’t the only one who felt this bad, even though deep down she knew it would scare her to see his tears.
It was a totally crap situation, but if he could be brave and stoic then so could she.
If he could hold it together then so could she. She’d managed well, hadn’t she? Until today.
She folded another towel, and then another, until she had a neat pile. It amazed her how soothing it felt to have completed that one small task.
Mrs. Cameron came in every morning to clean the house and do the laundry, but it was Izzy who removed it from the dryer and folded it all. She didn’t mind. It was a bit like meditation.
“I made homemade veggie burgers for supper.”
“Again? Didn’t we have them two nights ago?”
“They’re Molly’s favorite.” But maybe she should have been making her dad’s favorite, not her sister’s. Pressure, pressure, pressure.
“You made a good decision, Izz. You’re my superstar. Your mom would have been so proud.” He picked up the stack of towels she’d folded. “Molly didn’t eat the lunch I made her this morning.”
“Did you give her ham? She hates ham.”
“She does?” He looked surprised. “I’ll try to remember that. What would I do without you? You’re a good cook, and you’re so great with Molly.”
“She’s my sister. Family.” She was struggling to hold the family together, and now he was planning on inviting a stranger into their home. Although the woman obviously wasn’t a stranger to him. Had he had sex with her? Izzy felt her face turn hot and her chest tighten. A girl at school had panic attacks all the time. Izzy had never had one, not a proper one, but she suspected they were lurking round the corner. What if she had one when she was watching Molly? She forced herself to breathe slowly, and tried not to picture her dad naked with another woman.
The problem with being a family was that every member was affected by the actions of an individual. This should be her dad’s business, except it wasn’t.
“I haven’t forgotten your mom, Izzy.” His quiet tone poked at the small, miserable part of herself that wasn’t bursting with anger.
Maybe he hadn’t forgotten her, but he’d moved on. Her head was full of questions, most of them beginning with “why.”
Why had this happened to her mom? And why didn’t her dad feel guilty, when she felt guilty all the time? Guilty for all the times she hadn’t hugged her mother or told her that she loved her, guilty for never making her bed and for leaving empty milk cartons in the fridge. Most of all she felt guilty about that last fight they’d had before her mother had left the house that night. The one she couldn’t talk about. The one she hadn’t mentioned to anyone, not her friends and certainly not her dad. She didn’t dare say anything to her dad. If she did—well, she couldn’t. No way. It would change everything. The family she’d been working so hard to protect would be blown apart.
Thinking about it stung like squeezing lemon onto a cut.
“When is she coming? I’ll take Molly to the park or something.”
“I don’t want you to do that. I invited her here so she can meet you both.”
Were all men so clueless? She was used to people doing and saying the wrong thing around her, it happened all the time, but the fact that her own dad couldn’t see the bigger picture was particularly hurtful. “You don’t think that’s confusing for Molly?”
“She’s a friend, that’s all. You and Molly have friends over.”
Izzy dragged the rest of the laundry out of the dryer. “So are you telling me this is a sleepover situation?” She saw color streak across her father’s cheeks.
“It’s dinner, that’s all.”
She was tempted to tell him to take the woman out for dinner somewhere else, well away from the family home, but part of her thought it might be better to keep it close. At least then she’d be able to see what was going on. What did this woman want exactly?
She reached for a sheet she’d washed earlier and saw her dad frown.
“Why are you washing Molly’s bedding? Mrs. Cameron should be doing that.”
“Molly spilled her drink.” The lie emerged with an ease that probably should have worried her, but didn’t. She’d promised her sister that she wouldn’t tell anyone she’d wet the bed for the fourth night in a row. The only way to keep that promise was to launder the sheets herself.
Did her dad even know that Molly crawled into Izzy’s bed in the middle of the night when she’d wet her own, bringing with her a zoo of soft toys? It had started in those early weeks and then become a habit. Every night Izzy, drunk from lack of sleep, helped wash her sister and change her pajamas, then tucked her up in her own bed along with Dizzy the Giraffe. Molly would immediately fall asleep, but Izzy would lie there awake for hours, often drifting off only as the sun started to rise. She was tired at school and her grades were slipping. Twice she’d fallen asleep at her desk, and sometimes she walked into furniture.
Some of her friends had taken to calling her Dizzy Izzy. It didn’t do anything for her mood to be given the same name as her sister’s soft toy.
They had no idea what her life was like, and neither had her dad, and she had no intention of talking about it. She’d learned more about people since her mother died than in her entire life before that. She’d learned that people focused mostly on their own lives, not other people’s. And when they did think about other people, it was mostly in relation to themselves. Her friends didn’t think about her life, except when watching Molly meant that she had to say no to something they’d arranged. It wasn’t intentional or malicious. It was carelessness. Thoughtlessness. Those two human characteristics that caused more pain than the words suggested they should.
Was bringing a woman home thoughtlessness, too?
Izzy didn’t know much about anything, but she knew it wouldn’t be good for Molly to see another woman in the house. She didn’t feel great about it, either.
In that moment she missed her mother so badly she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to turn the clock back. There was so much she wished she’d said and done. No one had ever told her it was possible to feel angry and sad at the same time.
She remembered the night before her mother had died. After their terrible fight, her mother had swept into the room to let her know they were going out.
Her dark hair had been swept up in an elegant knot, and her black dress had flowed in a silken sweep to the floor. Izzy had badly wanted to continue their conversation, only this time without the shouting, but before she could speak her father had stepped into the room and the moment had passed.
Izzy had felt frustration and anxiety, but had promised herself she’d make her mother talk about it the next day. But there had been no next day. Her mother had collapsed suddenly from an undetected aneurysm in her brain. She’d died before she reached the hospital.
Their world had collapsed that night. For Izzy it had remained in ruins, but apparently her father had been busy rebuilding his.
“It’s dinner, Izzy. That’s all. She isn’t sharing my bed. She’s not moving in. But I like her.” He hesitated. “I
like her a lot and I think you and Molly will, too.”
Izzy knew for sure she wouldn’t like her. There was no way, no way, she was ready to see her father with anyone else. Where would that leave her? Where would she fit in that scenario? Right now her dad needed her. Would that change if he had another woman in his life?
“How long have you been dating?” She tried to mimic his calm. “How did you meet her?”
“Remember the flowers I bought for your birthday? She’s a florist. She made that bouquet you loved so much.”
Izzy had loved the bouquet. It had made her feel ridiculously grown-up. She’d considered it thoughtful, but now she discovered that the choice had been driven by someone else’s thought. The gift shrank in her head.
“You’ve been seeing her since my birthday?”
“We went for a coffee that day. She’s been through tough times, too. She was about the same age as Molly when she lost her mother.”
That wasn’t good news. She’d think she understood them, and she most certainly didn’t. Families, Izzy decided, were the most complex things on the planet. “But you’ve seen her more than that one time.”
“She works near my office. I’ve seen her for lunch a few times.”
A few times. Enough times to want to bring her home to meet the family.
“You never mentioned it.”
“There was nothing to mention.”
“But now there is.”
Her father put the towels down. “I know this is difficult, and sensitive, but I’m asking you to keep an open mind.”
Molly had only just stopped crying herself to sleep. Would it all start again if her dad brought someone home? “So what? You want me to run round the house taking down all the pictures of Mom?”
He rubbed his fingers over his forehead. “No, I don’t want that. Your mother will always be part of our lives.” He let his hand drop. “You’ve turned the same color as those white sheets you’re holding. Are you doing okay, Izzy? Really?”
“I’m great.” The words flowed automatically. She’d said them so many times she almost believed them, even though a part of her was wondering why this was happening to her. What had she done to deserve it? She wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t awful. She recycled. She’d given money to save endangered whales. She hadn’t yelled when Molly had spilled blackcurrant juice on her favorite sweater.
