Chapter 12 – Rosie
ROSIE
Dottie’s cottage never felt quite this big when I lived in it as it does now.
With seventy years of accumulated knick-knacks, furniture, photos, and memories, it all compresses onto my shoulders like a heavy weight.
I glance around the open concept kitchen and dining room and scratch my fingertips against my scalp.
A few empty boxes surround me, and I don’t know where to start.
My phone vibrates from where it rests on the dining table. I glance away from the empty boxes, honestly a little relieved. It’s Stella again.
She’s been harassing me all day to come out for a girls’ night with her and her cousin, Daisy.
A night out with the two friends who helped make sure I graduated high school sounds amazing.
But that would mean leaving Charlie with a sitter or Jack’s mom again.
The single-mom guilt that is all too familiar rears its ugly head and presses into my chest.
Stella
You know how much Charlie already loves Max. Where’s the harm in letting them play together for a few hours?
How about you bring Max here and you and Daisy go out?
Stella
I can go out with Daisy any time. But when was the last time the three of us got to hang out?
Besides a brief exchange at Dottie’s memorial, I haven’t seen Daisy in seven years. When we were teenagers, the three of us used to hang out every chance we got. It would be good to see her.
I glance up at Charlie who’s sitting at the dining table coloring in a book from Dottie’s collection.
She’s got the stuffed mermaid Beck gave her sitting next to her on the bench.
She’s carried it around since he gave it to her the other night.
I had to practically wrestle it out of her grip so she wouldn’t take it into the bath with her.
Charlie lifts her chin, and her curious eyes meet mine. I smile, but she squishes her lips. “What’s wrong, Mama?”
This girl is too perceptive for her age. Or maybe this is what happens when you’ve been a single mom and the two of you have spent so much time together. I exhale a sigh. “Nothing, baby.”
But her brow scrunches. She’s not buying it. Or maybe it’s because I called her baby again. I can’t help it.
I purse my lips while she continues to study me like she already knows I’m about to spill what’s swirling around in my head. A few more years alone together and ours might be right up there next to Lorelei and Rory’s relationship. Minus the takeout. My body could never.
“How would you like to play with Max tonight?”
Her brown eyes brighten and the crayon in her hand goes slack. “Really? Can I?”
The excitement is a little surprising. Charlie doesn’t warm up to strangers too easily. “Do you want to go to his house and hang out with him and his daddy, Jack?”
“Yes!” She rises on her knees and her crayon is abandoned in a heartbeat. She clutches her stuffed mermaid to her chest. “I’ll bring my new mermaid to show him.”
My lips tip into a bigger smile. “I think he’ll like that.”
I text Stella.
I’ll bring Charlie by around 6. Does that work?
Stella
Yessss!! You won’t regret it, promise!
Yeah, we’ll see about that. The ache that began in my lower back this morning has decided to wrap around to the lower part of my stomach to radiate pain down my thighs. The wave of energy yesterday gave me false hope today would be the same. But I’m never that lucky.
My phone vibrates again but this time it’s West. I roll my eyes to myself. We were supposed to talk on the phone last night, but he never called. I waited for longer than I’m inclined to admit before finally taking a bath and going to bed.
West
Hey sweetie! Sorry I missed you last night. Let me make it up to you tonight. FaceTime?
I don’t reply.
These empty boxes aren’t going to fill themselves.
It’s the downside, once again, of being the only child and only grandchild when your grandma passes away.
And the damn reality hits me even harder in the chest—I’ll be doing this again when my parents pass.
For the hundredth time since receiving the news that I lost Dottie, I think of how selfish my parents are.
Anger coils around my stomach, meeting my pain and giving me the nudge I need to start packing and sorting through Dottie’s things.
My gaze zones in on the wall that has an assorted mix of coastal artwork in canvases and frames, and I begin yanking them down.
I stack them one on top of the other, ignoring the roll of bubble wrap and paper, and they scrape against each other.
I don’t care about the scratches or the dents to the canvas.
What does it matter? These were treasures to Dottie but what do they mean to my parents? Nothing.
I go to the next wall and do the same. And the next. Tears build in the corners of my eyes. My breathing accelerates and it must be audible because when I glance over at Charlie, she’s watching me, lower lip stuck between her teeth. I exhale a breath even though my pulse is anything but calm.
“Do you wanna take your coloring outside to the front porch?”
She bobs her head and even though she smiles, I know she’s worried about me. Wordlessly, she gathers her crayons and coloring book and hops off the bench. Her little hand reaches for the stuffed mermaid and my heart heaves in my chest. I force a pained smile as she slips out the front door.
I blink back the tears. There’s no time for crying. But as I stand there, in the dining room, staring at the bare walls, I can’t fight them any longer.
Sniffing, I wipe my fingers across my cheeks and open the china cabinet that’s overfilling with silver platters, a pristine sixteen-place setting in a pastel floral pattern, and several mismatched teacups and saucers.
Memories assault my mind as I empty the cabinet, the stacks of plates clattering against one another.
Dottie loved hosting afternoon tea with the other ladies in town.
Sometimes Daisy’s mom, Hazel, and Willow, the owner of Peace of Cake, would come.
There was a time or two I came home to find the old biddies high as a kite and scarfing down the cake Willow always brought with her.
A bubble of laughter breaks free from me.
It’s the exact memory I need to shake me from the anger plaguing me.
The next stack I retrieve from the cabinet, I take into my arms with gentleness and care. I owe Dottie that much.
It’s nearly six when I pull into the driveway of Stella’s gray-and-white modern two-story beach house.
The construction is new. There used to be a set of old fourplexes here.
But my guess is some rich developer from LA snatched them up only to tear them down and build these.
Dottie had warned me this was happening often.
Charlie has already unbuckled herself by the time I round the Mini Cooper to open her door. She hops out clutching the mermaid in one hand and the loop of her backpack in the other.
She’s racing ahead of me and up the steps toward the front door. Guess worrying whether she’d be okay if I left her tonight was silly. The girl acts as if she can’t wait to get a break from me. So much for our Gilmore Girls bond.
Stella opens the door as I reach the porch.
She smiles wide at both Charlie and me and welcomes us inside.
Her long, dark brown hair has a fresh cut, showing off tapered bangs.
Glossy pink paints her lips, and strappy high heels show off the red nail polish on her toes.
Two clear signs that she’s ready for a night out of fun.
A black tank top and a red leather mini skirt showing off her muscular thighs finish off the ensemble.
And now I’m feeling both modest and underdressed as I glance down at my flat sandals, jeans, and green sleeveless top. But this shirt is flowy and hides my bloated stomach. The notorious endo-belly has struck at the worst time. Not that there’s ever a right time.
“Hot damn, girl. Where’ve you been hiding that cute figure?” Stella blurts.
I wave off her compliment, knowing full well it’s bullshit, but sweet, and step inside the house. “And look at you? That top and skirt are hugging your curves perfectly.”
She gives me a little spin, her face lighting up like a glowstick, and I snort a laugh. “The perks of breastfeeding.”
“Well, it’s working wonders for you. I don’t think it had the same effect on me.” I glance down at myself and purse my lips. The girls still look good, despite pregnancy and a year of breastfeeding Charlie. But they’re definitely not what they used to be.
“Are you kidding? That color with the low neckline and your gorgeous auburn hair? You’ve got it going on, believe me. Hey, Jack,” Stella hollers over her shoulder to somewhere in the house. “Look at this smokeshow!”
“Okay, that’s not necessary,” I sputter, fire pooling in my cheeks. “I don’t need confirmation from my friend’s husband.”
“You stop that talk right now, Jack is not just your friend’s husband. He’s your friend too.” A glimmer of pain flickers in her eyes.
“Right, I know,” I mumble, tucking my hair behind my ear, which isn’t easy with how big it is. I never noticed the humidity in Golden Harbor while I was living here. But now that I’m back, my hair looks like it’s the before picture in an advertisement for an anti-fizz hair product.
Jack shuffles into the entryway, black hair perfectly styled, and I find myself envious of him. Little Max is latched to his leg and Charlie is already on his back. He lets out a low, loud whistle. “Looking good, both of you. Now, go, have a good time. I got these two rascals.”
Rascals? Who is this guy? Once he was the resident weed dealer in Golden Harbor—probably even supplied it to Willow’s hippy gang—and now he gives piggy-back rides and lives in a two-million-dollar beach house and says things like rascals.
If I wasn’t feeling guilty over leaving Charlie with him, I’d tease him. “You sure?”