Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Dahlia's waiting in front of our mother’s cabin door with two coffees when I arrive. She hands one to me and knocks. Mom opens the door before Dahlia’s knuckles lift from the wood.
She takes one look at the two of us standing there with matching forced smiles, and her shoulders drop. “Oh. Come in.”
We follow her through the door, and the cabin smells like Pantene shampoo and a recently steamed dress. On the bed, laid out flat, is her wedding outfit. A beautiful floral blouse and forest green skirt.
“Mom.” Dahlia leans against the wall and hesitates a moment, then steels herself. “Did you alter Finn’s slideshow at the welcome dinner?”
Mom's hands go still. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her eyes drop. “I didn’t think—”
“Really, Mom?” Dahlia droops.
“I said, I didn’t think! I wasn’t trying to cause a fuss.”
Dahlia shakes her head. “And you thought posting photos of your wedding or Theo’s ex-girlfriend—”
“That one I'm not proud of.” Her voice loses steam.
“Where did you even get it?”
“His Facebook.” She mumbles to her lap. “Well. Not his. The girl's account. Elise.”
“You’re stalking strangers online?”
“Not stalking. I was scrolling.”
I give Dahlia a look.
Mom continues. “It took me two evenings, and I had to make an account under a false name, which your Aunt Bev helped with, incidentally, though she didn't know what it was for. She thought I was checking on a man from her water aerobics—”
“You and Bev catfished Facebook to stalk Theo's college girlfriend.” Dahlia has both hands over her face. Her shoulders are shaking, and I can’t tell whether she's laughing or crying.
I’m zero help. There’s no way I’m interjecting myself between Mom and Dahlia at this juncture.
Growing up, Mom and I butted heads since I took over much of the day-to-day while Mom was, for lack of a better word, recovering.
But now that I’m out of state, she and Dahlia have their own family ecosystem, and I don’t want to disturb the wildlife.
“What was I supposed to do? Theo was hiding something. I heard him on the phone when we were at the lake. I wondered if he was having an affair, or—”
“Why didn't you just say something?” Dahlia asks. “You had a feeling about Theo. Fine. But why wait until now? And in front of all our family and friends?”
Mom lets out a slow sigh. “I don’t know. I guess I panicked. But I did say things to you. For months. You just looked at me like I was a nervous old woman.”
“You’re not that old, Mom,” I say, and she gives me a nod of thanks.
“Well, maybe I am just nervous about my daughter taking this step, but Dahlia, after sleeping next to a man who was lying to me for twenty-two years, I have a knack for sniffing out deception.” Her chin trembles once and stills.
“I missed it with your father, so when my radar went off about Theo. Him checking his phone the way he does. Flinching at the honeymoon talk while saying ‘Whatever you want.’ It was inconsistent, and I swore I would not sit back and let anyone else suffer the way I did.”
She looks at Dahlia, and her eyes water. “I thought if you remembered the risk you take by marrying someone, you’d take the time to think about it. And maybe Theo would tell you what he was hiding. If he felt guilty enough.”
Dahlia sighs and crosses the little cabin. She sits down next to our mother and takes her hand. “You weren’t wrong.”
Mom blinks, and Dahlia tells her all of it.
The clients, the loans, and the poor financial decisions.
“He told me,” Dahlia finishes. “I’m not going to defend what he did.
He’s going to have to earn back my trust, not because he did something wrong in the first place, but because he let his ego get in the way of honesty. Trusting me.”
Mom nods, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Dahlia’s face pinches. “He’s a good man, Mom. And he has some work to do.”
“Don’t we all.” She pulls Dahlia close, then reaches out a hand for me to join the hug. “I did the same thing,” Mom says through her tears. “I didn’t trust you enough to tell you. I’m sorry.”
“Forgiven!” Dahlia rubs her back. “But you do know that your nephew does cybersecurity, right? Next time, you could just ask him to find incriminating photos.”
Mom pulls back. “That’s what cybersecurity is? I thought he kicked people off websites.”
Dahlia and I burst out laughing.
* * *
The salon on Deck Nine at eleven a.m. is a war zone that smells like dry shampoo and burnt hair. Priya has the schedule on her whiteboard and is running the room like it’s NASA. Bev is under a dryer telling a stylist named Yolanda a story that makes them both cackle.
Renata is FaceTiming her fiancé a tour of the salon while Marisol, Sadie, and the other bridesmaids are getting matching updos and manicures.
I sit in my chair with hot rollers in my hair, with every possible emotion running through me like water.
Because my sister is in the big chair in the middle, in a white robe, getting a veil pinned into her curls.
She’s luminous.
The stylist turns the chair to the mirror, and Dahlia goes still. Then Bev says “Oh, HELL,” and every woman, including the staff, commences gushing.
Dahlia finds me in the mirror. Points at my face. “Don't. If you start, I start.”
I’m not, I mouth, dabbing at my eyes with a folded tissue.
Her eyes narrow, and the second she gets a moment free, she rushes over and sits in the chair next to me. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I laugh.
“Why you’re so quiet today.”
“Umm.” I tap my newly French-tipped nails on the chair. “It’s a lot to process.”
“What is?”
I motion to the room, then to her.
Dahlia cocks her head to the side. “Nope. I don’t buy it. Something is going on.” Her eyes fly wide, and she gasps. “Wait, is it with Finn?”
She says his name loud enough half the salon turns our direction.
I laugh and turn our chairs the opposite direction. “Okay, if I tell you, will you drop this and just focus on your own stuff?”
Dahlia nods like a bobblehead.
“I . . .” I draw the word out, “told him.”
Dahlia blinks. “Told him? Finn?”
“Yes, Finn,” I whisper. “This morning. I told him everything.”
Dahlia’s face goes slack. “And by everything, you mean . . .”
“That I love him. And that I can’t sleep with him on this ship because it’s too confusing.”
She grabs my wrist with both hands. “What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
Her whole body deflates. “What do you mean, nothing?”
“I just told him and left.” I shrug.
Dahlia stares at me for a long moment. “Well, at least he didn’t comment on your nipples.”
A snort bursts out of me. “Might’ve been welcome.”
She laughs, then apologizes for making light of my very serious situation, then starts laughing again. “I can’t believe you told him. I can’t believe you told him.”
I pat her knee. “Well, maybe you inspired me.”
She leans back and throws one leg over the other with her best ‘Who, me?’ charade.
Then, as she’s being beckoned by another stylist, she leans in.
“Listen, Harp. You’ve spent most of our lives taking care of me, but today I just want you to be my sister at my wedding.
Not my planner. Not my emotional support. Just my sister. Deal?”
“Deal,” I manage, tears stinging my eyes.
“Good.” She releases me, turns back to the mirror, and points at Yolanda. “I’m ready. Do my eyes. We have a beach to catch!”