Chapter 27
When Juliette arrived at Gigi’s house, a deep sense of apprehension came over her. Or perhaps it was unresolved childhood trauma. She couldn’t be sure.
She pulled into the driveway, mesmerized by the fact that nothing had changed at all.
The house was older, with a brick chimney and a wraparound porch.
The slate-blue siding was weathered from the salty air despite being set farther back from the beach.
The shutters were still the faintest shade of lavender, and the front yard was outlined with a worn, white picket fence.
Her mother’s car was parked out front, so Juliette parked and climbed the few steps to the porch.
Again, she was torn between knocking like a stranger or waltzing into the house she grew up in.
The sun, whose warm rays were blocked by a wall of gray clouds, was sinking toward the west, and with it, the temperature was dropping.
She buried herself in her winter coat and waited.
No answer.
Juliette tried the doorknob, just to check. Unlocked, it twisted, so she let herself in.
A wave of nostalgia slammed into her. Her home was exactly how she remembered.
It was full of rich textures, gold finishings, and glamorous furnishings.
Her mother’s style had remained the same through the years, every room filled with jewel-toned chairs, rugs, and chic decor.
It was exceptionally French, just like Gigi.
“Mama?” Juliette called out.
Something delicious was baking in the oven, and the mouthwatering scent of croissants wafted toward her.
She followed it to the kitchen, breathing in all the comforts she’d gone without for so long.
Moving slowly through the space, she took in all the memories.
Evenings when they would bake cookies together, and it was Juliette’s job to add the chocolate chips.
Stories and laughter they would share while snacking on scones and sipping espresso.
But gradually those happy moments bled into the ones she didn’t like to remember. The death of her father had cast unshakable shadows upon their home. Or the years when Gigi had thrown herself into the flower shop and worked from sunup until sundown, and Gabi stepped in to take care of them all.
Those were the times Juliette didn’t care for, the times when Gigi stopped being a mother completely.
She’d gone from happy homemaker to savvy businesswoman overnight.
She’d abandoned her post as a parent. She sidelined her children for her dreams. Not that there was anything wrong with having goals to pursue, Juliette had visions for herself as well.
But when five young girls were left to raise themselves, it didn’t end well.
A slight gust of cool air assaulted her. The stiff breeze slipped through the sliding glass door off the living room, which was slightly ajar.
Juliette pulled it all the way open and peered out.
There was Gigi, leaning against the railing, bundled in her signature shade of black with a cigarette pinched between two of her fingers. A small puff of smoke unfurled in front of her.
Juliette frowned. “Still smoking, I see.”
Her mother didn’t even flinch. She turned slowly and eyed her daughter.
“Still judging, I see.” Gigi put out the cigarette with the toe of her black leather boot. “I was wondering how long I would have to wait until you showed up.”
Juliette spread her arms wide. “Here I am.”
“Good.” Gigi breezed past her and headed back into the house, stopping to check on the croissants in the oven.
Juliette was left with no option but to follow. As always.
“Hot tea?” Gigi asked, setting the kettle on the stovetop.
“Cut the crap, Mama.”
Gigi turned and leveled her with a sharp gaze, but Juliette refused to cower.
“Why wasn’t I ever good enough for you? And why did you change so much after Papa died?” She blinked away the sudden threat of tears, annoyed with herself for caving in to her emotions so quickly.
Her mother’s features softened, and for a brief moment, Juliette was reminded of the woman she used to be, the one who loved deeply, who was never shut off emotionally. “You were always enough for me, ma petite fleur.”
My little flower.
Juliette’s nickname from when she was five years old.
“You have a funny way of showing it.” Juliette swallowed down the knot of sadness building in the back of her throat. She couldn’t be swayed by sentiment. Not this time.
“I did the best I could, Juliette. It’s hard, you know?
Building a business from the ground up in an effort to support your family.
” Gigi planted both of her hands on the smooth granite counter and sighed.
Heavily. “Pouring your heart and soul into a flower shop, only to discover your extremely talented daughter, the one who would skyrocket it into greatness, wants nothing to do with it.”
Oh, but she laid the guilt down thick with that one.
“And as for your father,” Gigi continued while pulling the croissants out of the oven. “I was very much in love with him. Unfortunately, he was not so much in love with me. But—the car accident took him from me before another woman could.”
Juliette shook her head, blindsided by her mother’s startling admission.
It sounded dangerously close to an acknowledgement, like her mother was admitting that she knew about their father’s supposed infidelity.
But she needed to focus on one thing at a time.
And she didn’t want to deal with her father’s past indiscretions without her sisters.
“So, let me get this straight.” She tapped her nails against the counter, willing herself to remain calm. “You’re mad because I didn’t want to stay here and run the family business?”
She knew her mother wanted her to take over Mystic Florals at some point, but she had no idea Gigi would be so upset for so long simply because Juliette wanted nothing to do with it.
“It is more than that, Juliette.” Gigi waved one slender hand through the air. “It is a way of life.”
“Yeah, but it’s your way of life.”
Then Juliette saw it. Hurt. It started in the fine lines of her mother’s face, deepened around the growing creases. It clouded her eyes and pinched at the corners of her mouth.
Perhaps she’d taken it a step too far, but if she tried to apologize and take it back now, Gigi would pounce on her remorse and wield it against her.
She needed to change the subject. Maintaining the upper hand in the conversation was absolutely key, otherwise Juliette would fold too quickly and walk away, and their relationship would never heal.
“Papa wanted to divorce you, didn’t he?” Juliette asked, remembering Miss Bobbie’s words at Lovely Mud.
“Yes.” Gigi busied herself with setting the croissants into a bamboo basket lined with baker’s paper, carefully avoiding any eye contact.
A twinge of pity gutted Juliette, cutting through her like a cold blade. “So then, the car accident—”
“Crushed me all the same,” Gigi interrupted. “Even more so when I learned I could have lost Anne-Sophie as well.”
It was almost too much—too much information, too much emotion.
After all these years, Gigi was carrying a grudge against her for not wanting to step up and work at the flower shop for the rest of her life.
But to complicate matters further, Juliette learned her father had wanted to divorce her, and while it seemed like Gigi would have eventually agreed, a car accident stole him from her instead.
All of which she had failed to mention to her daughters.
And there was still one lingering, damning question.
Juliette rolled her lips, bracing herself for the fight she was about to start. “And what about Brock?”
“What about him?” Gigi’s expression was schooled and neutral, devoid of all emotion.
“You ruined us, Mama.” Accusation lit her tone with a fire she couldn’t control.
It burned through her, hot and fast, and the smoke of her anger lingered, suffocating her.
“I know all about how you made him stay away from me, how you wanted him to leave for boot camp and cut all ties. You told him he wasn’t good enough for me, and he believed you.
” She hoped her words scalded Gigi, but instead, her mother looked tired.
She sighed, tilting her head to one side.
“Let me tell you a story.” Gigi’s hands gripped the edge of the counter, and her shoulders sank in defeat. “I knew Brockton’s mother. She was a friend of mine, once upon a time.”
The fury faded as quickly as it came, and Juliette was filled with a kind of sudden numbness.
“What?” The word fell from her lips on a gasp.
“I went to school with Stella. We knew each other for years. Right about the time everything was going perfectly in my life, everything started to go wrong with hers. We went up to Maryland to see her once, your father and I. This was after Aidan had gained custody of Brockton. He was only a year old then, and I was pregnant with you.” She squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them, her gaze was distant, like she was visiting somewhere Juliette wasn’t allowed to visit.
“Grandmama offered to keep Gabrielle for us since it was only a quick weekend getaway.”
Gigi dropped onto one of the green velvet barstools, her age more prominent than Juliette had ever seen it.
Heavy lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes.
Wrinkles crinkled across her forehead. She rubbed her temples with her thumb and middle finger, the large rings she wore twinkling like stars.
“I had morning sickness before with Gabrielle, but with you it was all day. I was constantly ill. Most of the time, I don’t even know how I functioned properly.
” Gigi waved one hand through the air like an afterthought.
“So, I went to sleep early one evening while we were staying with Stella since I couldn’t seem to kick the nausea. ”
Juliette’s stomach twisted into an acidic knot of dread. Somehow, she knew what was coming, she already knew what her mother was going to say.
“I woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible cramp in my calf. Not enough potassium, I imagine, but that’s neither here nor there.
And when I looked over, the other side of the bed was empty.
” She pursed her lips, a tiny scowl marring her brow as she continued with her story.
“I was used to your father staying up later than me, so I went looking for him, and I found him. Or rather, I heard him. In Stella’s bedroom. ”
“Mama.” Juliette clutched her chest. She knew that kind of agony, that pure and cruel torture. In fact, she remembered it all too well. Because it was still fresh in her mind.
Gigi lifted one hand. “Please, let me finish.”
Juliette swallowed down the rise of bile, blinked back the sudden threat of tears.
“The years went on, each one taking your father further away from me for longer periods of time.” Resignation haunted Gigi’s expression.
Even after Papa’s blatant adultery, she’d stayed with him.
“You and your sisters were born, but your father’s affairs continued, and all of them grew less and less discreet. ”
Juliette swiped at the hot tears rolling down her cheeks.
Her mother must have been mortified. The sting of humiliation would be unbearable.
Catching Rodrigo in the act had been bad enough, but Gigi dealt with such embarrassment for years, turning a blind eye to his disloyalty.
It must have killed her. “I’m so sorry, Mama. I had no idea.”
“How could you have? You were but a child.” Gigi smoothed back her perfectly coiffed hair, regaining her momentary lapse in composure. “We were officially separated right before the accident.”
Juliette tried to piece together the broken segments of her past. “Why did you stay with him for so long?”
Gigi’s slim shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. “I loved him. Foolishly so. But I did, and it was my burden to bear.”
Juliette sank into one of the velvet chairs next to her mother. “And Brock?”
“What I asked of him was selfish and unfair,” she admitted, her voice hollow. “And what I said to him is unforgivable. But he was joining the military, and the two of you were madly in love. I knew, I just knew eventually…you…well, you would—”
“Leave,” Juliette finished for her.
“Yes.” Gigi hung her head, and from that angle, her classic looks seemed fatigued and drawn. “I had already lost your father. I lost Gabrielle to Jeremiah. I only wanted to keep you a little longer.”
“Oh, Mama.” Juliette’s heart broke a little.
“No apology will ever be enough for what I did. I want you to be happy, but more than anything, I do not want to lose you again. I know I’m a stubborn old woman who is set in her ways.” Gigi reached out her hand, and slowly her fingers curled around Juliette’s. “But can you forgive me?”
Juliette threw herself into her mother’s arms. She smelled of fresh florals, expensive perfume, and faintly of cigarettes. Gigi squeezed her tightly, sniffed once, then pulled away. She dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, being careful not to disturb the thick layers of mascara on her lashes.
“Je t’aime, ma petite fleur.” Gigi cupped her cheek with one hand. “And I am so proud of you. For believing in yourself, for following your own path, for finding your own way. Always.”
Juliette could forgive her mother, and maybe forgetting would come with time.
“I love you too, Mama.” She pulled back. “But I have news.”
Gigi’s eyes quickly darted to Juliette’s bare ring finger.
“Not that kind of news,” she muttered with a smile. “Gabi found me a job. In California.”
Her mother didn’t so much as blink. She simply sat, solemn like a statue, with her hands clasped together.
“So?” Juliette watched her, expectant.
“So?” Gigi asked in turn.
“Do you think I should take it?” Juliette scraped her teeth along her bottom lip, unable to read her mother’s penetrating gaze.
“I think you need to go where you will be content. That may be here, or it might be on the West Coast with Gabrielle.” Gigi lightly spread a bit of whipped cream onto two croissants.
She put one on a plate for Juliette and kept another for herself.
“Only your heart can make the truly important decisions. It’s when we ask our minds to be logical that our desires shift. ”
Juliette bit into the buttery deliciousness of the warm croissant and cool cream. She hated it when her mother was right.