Chapter 39 #2
Mom enjoyed Venus, too. In moderation. A sweet montage of Mom giving her scarves, showing her how to braid her hair, trying on jewelry, and teaching her to cook flips through my thoughts.
Mom would bake her a cake on her birthday and put presents for her from Santa under the tree, though Venus never believed in “magical absurdities.” Still, Mom treated her like the daughter she never had, until she viewed Venus as a threat to the son she did.
I can’t imagine I’d be too happy with any friend of Olly’s causing him trouble like Venus did for me. And the night at the Fort Fisher Rock Wall that nearly cost us both our lives was traumatic for Mom, too. I’m trying to be understanding, especially since she’s struggling with the loss of Jay.
But Mom needs to get over her problems with Venus.
The next morning, we drive to Seagrove for a six-mile hike around the lake.
It’s nothing like the wild excursions she’s used to, but she loves it anyway, and I’m glad I took Marnie’s suggestion.
There’s nothing more beautiful than Venus in the outdoors—it’s where she thrives and relaxes, where she feels most at home.
Venus picks wildflowers along the way, tucking them into her hair, and educates me on the mosses, mushrooms, and ferns we encounter along the dirt path. We take diversions around the lake bank and into the dense pine trees.
She climbs a spindly and widely-stretched live oak tree and stands hero-like, twenty feet up. I take pictures to show Olly later.
She beams as she says, “Henry, it’s just like old times.”
She climbs down, and I greet her with a wild kiss. “Not exactly like old times,” I grin, and she laughs.
At a rickety old dock, she strips down to her blue bikini and jumps in. Once I’m convinced that she’s scared away any gators in the vicinity, I get in, too. She pretzels me with her legs and warms me with kisses.
“I’m having so much fun,” she says between our lips.
“Oh, yeah?” I dunk her in the murky water. She emerges aghast and ready for retaliation. A back-and-forth game ensues until we fall into kissing again.
Later, over hot dogs at a retro convenience store called the G&G, she offers to host our first campout at the fairy house. “I’m pet-sitting Buster next weekend. Do you think you could get Olly for the weekend, too?”
“I’m sure Carly wouldn’t mind swapping some nights.”
She smiles as I wipe mustard from the corner of her mouth.
“I’ll talk to Mom, too,” I say. “Don’t feel bad about them not coming to prom, okay? Mom just needs time.”
Venus nods. “Maggie liked me once. She could again, if she’ll let go of her negativity bias.”
“What do you mean?”
“She once confessed that my standing up to Dale about his smoking helped convince her to do the same. She never told you that?”
“Um, no.”
I recall Venus’s directness with my father vividly.
“You shouldn’t smoke close to Henry or in the house at all,” she told him, before rattling off facts about the dangers of secondhand smoke and particulates.
It made me cringe and cheer at once, like so many times in school when she defended me or herself despite the conflict and negative attention it caused.
My hand brushes through my hair. “I didn’t know that. Why wouldn’t she’ve told me?”
“That’s the negativity bias in effect. Most people have a negativity bias—it’s not just Maggie.
It’s a psychological tendency to dwell on the negative and give bad experiences more importance.
It’s like how you might remember a bad day more than an average or good one.
It’s difficult for Maggie to see beyond the ways I’ve hurt you, Henry. She remembers the worst of me.”
“That’ll change. I promise.” I lean forward, planting my elbows on the edge of the picnic table. “She’s done the same with Uncle Jay, holding on to her guilt and pain over his death instead of just… remembering him. She can’t even talk about him.”
I expect Venus to launch into her spiel about the stages of grief, but instead, she nods and slips her hand over mine on the table. “I’m sorry for Maggie. It must be devastating to lose a sibling… and an uncle. If it helps, talk to me about him.”
Over hot dogs and soft drinks, I spill dozens of good memories, along with the bad, like her permission has lifted the ban Mom put in place.
It’s as cathartic as writing about Venus, allowing me to see his life and our stories from different angles.
Sharing Jay with Venus also feels like making the memories last longer and giving them a new life, just as it does when I tell Olly our stories.
After our adventures in Seagrove, we return to Wilmington. At the fairy house, I help her tend to the gardens while she talks about New Zealand.
“You don’t have to choose between me and New Zealand, Venus,” I say, reiterating what I tried to express to her last night. “We’ll make it work if that’s what you want.”
“I don’t know what I want,” she returns flatly, reminding me of her father, who said the same thing during our call.
“That’s how I felt when Jay left me the museum. I didn’t want the place. I was angry at him, overwhelmed by the aftermath, and I already had too much going on to take on a business. I felt so out of my depth that I put it on the market, ready to be done with it.”
She nods. “It does seem like a massive undertaking. What changed?”
“DeeDee asked, ‘What’s the rush, Henry? The decision will wait for you.’ So, I waited for the right answer to come to me instead of chasing it.
Taking the pressure off helped. I spent time in the place with Jay’s things and brainstormed possibilities without worrying over the details.
I loved watching Olly get excited over arrowheads, old coins, and pirate lore.
I talked to people, sought advice, and was surprised that Olly wasn’t the only one excited about it.
Instead of being worn down by Jay’s death, I started to feel uplifted by good memories.
Then, I read about Marnie. She’d transformed several small businesses into amazing successes, including the G&G.
When she agreed to the project, everything fell into place.
Besides, selling is always something I could do later, but I can’t take it back once it’s done.
I’d rather take a chance now than regret it later. ”
“That does put a different perspective on your decision,” she says in a troubled sigh as she picks weeds from an eclectic garden of flowers, vegetables, and herbs outside of the greenhouse.
“The place might fail, but I won’t regret trying. That’s all Jay would’ve wanted from me. You’ll figure out what’s best for you, and everything will fall into place.”
She stops tinkering with the garden and nods. “Thank you for the advice, Henry. I’ll take it under consideration.”
“No problem,” I say, taking over the hose. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I need your advice, too.”
She perks up. “I’d be honored to advise you.”
The entire story about my paper, “The Problem with Sunflowers,” Dr. Kwon, and her book proposal gushes from me in that excited, easy way that I remember talking to her as a kid.
She listens intently as we work through the garden.
She snickers over my pen name for her—Buttercup.
And at the end of my spiel, she faces me, hands on her hips, and nibbles her bottom lip.
“What do you think?” I urge her finally.
A soft smile edges her lips, relieving my sudden nerves. “I think… that’s a book I’d like to read.”