Chapter 15 Cecily
Cecily
"Are you serious?" I send the open box a wary look. "A voodoo doll making kit?"
The size of an adult male's shoebox, it's overflowing with scraps of felt in all colors and shapes, hats, and various accessories the size of my thumbnail.
"Don't knock it," Paloma cautions, pelting me with a button. It rolls across the wood table of the coffee shop before settling near Paisley's elbow. "And don't call it a voodoo doll. We're not invoking evil spirits. It's just a doll."
"It's not about the doll," Paisley informs me. "It's about the time spent crafting and talking. You have to pay attention to what's in your hand so you don't jab yourself with the needle you're using to sew everything on. Makes it easier to talk when you're focused on something else."
"I take it you're not new to doll construction?" I rummage through the felt, coming up with a tiny bow tie.
"I made one for Shane a long time ago. Paloma and I didn't know each other very well when she suggested it." Paisley laughs at the memory.
Shane was Paisley's college boyfriend who nearly married her little sister. Icky, yes, but if he hadn't done that Paisley might not have run into Klein at her sister's bachelorette party, setting into motion the beginning of their happily ever after.
"She thought I was louco," Paloma says, throwing her sooty hair over her shoulder.
"Ooh, you know how I get when you speak Portuguese." Paisley shakes her shoulders, the gold necklace she wears bouncing on her chest.
Paloma throws her head back, laughing throatily. "Stay focused," she instructs us over the table. "We're here for a reason."
Paisley salutes her. "Ma'am, yes ma'am."
A restaurant employee approaches, dropping off our drink order and maple bourbon scones.
When they are gone, Paloma begins her instruction.
She shows me how to thread the needle and knot the thread.
I feel a bit like a malfunctioning human for not knowing how to do this, but Paloma doesn't mention it.
We're hunting through the box, assembling our doll outfits on the table beside our lattes, when Paisley says, "My grandma has this really fun, cute way of dressing. Living, really. We call it 'Coastal Grandma'. You'll meet her at the wedding."
This is Paisley's way of opening up the conversation, letting me know it's time to start talking. We're here for me.
I look up, expecting to be met with two pairs of waiting eyes, but both Paisley and Paloma are intent on their tasks.
I grab the large fabric scissors and cut the edge of what will hopefully resemble a shirt.
"She sounds lovely," I start. "The person you heard Dominic referring to is my grandma.
Savage Grandma. She's not mean or anything like that, but she says whatever she feels like saying.
She earned the nickname years ago when my little sister wore her hair parted down the middle and gathered it into a ponytail at the base of her neck.
Grandma told my sister she looked like a thirteen-year-old Colonial boy ready to start his woodworking apprenticeship. "
Paisley sucks air between her bared teeth. Paloma nearly paints our doll outfits in spat-out coffee.
"I know. And the thing is, she delivers these remarks without fanfare or tone.
" A smile spreads across my face as I think about her.
But then a shadow accompanies these memories, passing over each one and darkening it.
"The emergency family meeting she called was to let us know she has final-stage heart failure and won't live much longer.
" My throat clogs. My eyes burn. I'm realistic enough to know everyone must die one day, and na?ve enough to think it can't happen to someone I love as much as my grandma.
From Paisley and Paloma are the murmured words I'm sorry.
"You both already know my family isn't exactly easy to be around, but it's complicated.
" I sigh, trying to put it all into coherent thoughts.
"Or, maybe it's not complicated. Maybe everyone has childhood trauma sitting in their adult bones.
" The vulnerability makes me uneasy, so I rush ahead and say, "Grandma's dying wish is for me and my siblings and my parents to go on a road trip with her.
" I'm too intent on crafting a tiny shirt collar to look up.
The focus and distraction make it easier to talk, just like Paisley said.
"And my new husband, too. Which, of course, was supposed to be annulled today until Dom accepted the gummy my grandma offered him.
And now, apparently, he's going to hold the annulment hostage until after the road trip. "
Why? Why would he do that? Why does he want to be married to me, even when it means nothing? It's not as if he cares about me.
"That's a lot," Paisley says kindly. "Thank you for sharing with us. For trusting us."
"Why do you loathe Dom?" Paloma asks, using the same word I chose when things were getting heated between us in front of Paisley and Klein's house.
I wait for embarrassment to fill me like it does every time I think about what happened with Dom on our first date, but it doesn't arrive. Maybe the events of the last three days have diluted what happened nine months ago. There are more pressing things to be upset about now.
I tell them what happened at Obstinate Daughter, about how our chemistry was sizzling. "It was like adding a tablespoon of butter to a hot cast-iron skillet. Crackling. I've never felt that before. Ever."
"What happened?" Paisley asks, dread deepening her tone.
I tell them everything. Every word Dom said, verbatim. My hands work to make Doll Dom's caramel tufts of hair, and I recite everything the real Dom said in that dim hallway.
"He still doesn't know I overheard. He believes I ghosted him. And he has the gall to be indignant about it." Using the fabric glue, I adhere each curl to the light brown sweep of hair I cut.
Paisley says, "Don't kill me for saying this, but it doesn't sound like Dom. Honestly."
"I heard him. Clearly. With my own two ears."
I look over and see Paisley has stopped crafting. Her arms cross over her stomach, teeth nibbling her lower lip. "I know. That's what makes it extra odd. It means he's either the opposite of everything he presents himself to be, or there's an explanation."
"You need to talk with him," Paloma says. She's putting a baseball hat on her doll.
"I know I do."
"It could be a miscommunication," Paisley says hopefully.
"I don't know how it could be." The whole thing is so embarrassing. Pointing at her doll, I ask, "Who is that?"
"Some asshole I saw litter yesterday. Not just a gum wrapper, either. A bag of fast food tossed from his car window." Paloma swipes my needle off the table, thread dangling, and stabs it into her doll's hand.
"Ow," Paisley yells.
Paloma laughs. "Anyway. You need to talk to Dom before this road trip. You need to clear the air before you're sharing the same air for three weeks."
"What if he doesn't have an explanation?
" The real reason I haven't forced the conversation over the past few days finally surfaces.
I'm afraid. I know what I heard, but I fear having it confirmed.
The way he spoke through our text message exchange setting up the date, the way he acted at Obstinate Daughter before the phone call, and the way he conducted himself all weekend and today at my grandma's house does not match up with the man on the phone in the hallway.
But I know what I heard. I'd put my hand on a Bible in a court of law.
Paisley asks, "Do you want to spend three weeks in close proximity to him, not knowing?"
"No." I shake my head as I say it. The mature thing to do is to have the conversation, even if it's unpleasant.
Paisley sits back, her doll complete. It's Klein, but she's decorated it with cut out lips all over the body.
Paloma surveys Paisley's work, pointing a long nail at the center of the doll. "You forgot one right—"
Paisley flicks Paloma's fingertip. "That's enough out of you."
Paloma peers at my doll as Paisley pulls her phone from her purse. "You really captured the essence of Dom," she says, grinning at the misshapen shirt, the hair that looks more like a bad toupee. His eyes are two different size buttons. "What's his name?"
Considering the small x's I've sewn for his mouth, I say, "Malibu Dom."
"Hah," Paloma says loudly. "Put some flowers on his shorts and take him to the beach."
Paisley taps her phone screen and says, "Klein says he and Dom are headed to see Dom's parents."
Dom's parents? Hmm. Dom implied his childhood was bland, but at the pool he let it slip he didn't want to spend all day with them. That doesn't have to mean anything, it could be as simple as needing a break from them, but I'm curious anyway.
Paisley slides the phone back into her purse and turns to me. "Your family thinks you're really married to Dom, correct?"
I nod. "Only my sister knows the truth. My dad thinks Dom married me for my family money."
Paisley and Paloma wear matching expressions of confusion. "Do you have money?"
"My family does." I look at Paisley. "You know what I make."
She pulls an injured frown. "I'm very careful to pay you a competitive salary, plus good healthcare and an annual bonus," she defends.
"I'm not complaining," I blurt. "I'm pointing out I'm not rich. Especially not compared to the Hamptons. My dad and brother run the boutique hotel brand."
"What?" Paloma squawks. "Hampton as in 'You're home when you're in a Hampton'."
"That's the old tagline. But yes."
Paloma frowns. "Why do I feel like I'm just getting to know you even though we've worked together for almost two years?"
Paisley taps the top of Paloma's hand. "I told you she'd share when she was ready."
They've had a conversation about me? Am I really that closed-off? I don't mean to be, but if I think about it, I guess I don't make it a point to share.
I'm not sure what to say now, but Paisley's hand slides across the table, covering mine.
"Some people share. Some people don't think of sharing.
And some people share way, way too much.
Like my mother, who makes sure I know her new husband is the Energizer Bunny.
Don't be like Robyn Royce-Patel." The way she says it, solemn and nodding her head, makes me laugh.
"I promise to never, ever share the details of my sex life with you."
Paloma waves a hand. "Whoa there. Don't get the wrong idea. Unless you're morally opposed, we love a good sex story."
"I get that Paisley is your best friend"—I look at Paisley, then swing my gaze back to Paloma—"but she's my boss. I can't go around slinging stories."
Paisley's hand is still on mine, and she squeezes. "You don't have to, but you can. I consider you a good friend, Cecily. More than that, really. You were a big part of helping me and Klein get together."
"I only ran his social media," I argue.
She shakes her head, arguing right back. "You had him taking pictures of me. Presenting our relationship. Seeing it differently. I'm grateful to you, and I'm happy you're my friend. Every day when I walk into the office I'm thankful I get to work with you two."
Her smile is so sweet it nearly brings tears to my eyes.
Paloma huffs an annoyed breath. Emotions tend to make her uncomfortable. That might be a part of why I've not been gung ho to confide much of anything having to do with Dom. That, and the formidable feeling that is embarrassment.
Paisley smiles sweetly at Paloma, and then Paloma gasps. "Ouch." She reaches down to rub her leg. "Did you kick me?"
"No," Paisley answers innocently. "Someone somewhere must have a Paloma doll."
Paloma sticks out her tongue, and Paisley pointedly ignores it. To me, she says, "Here's the summary: I kinda love you, you're sorta stuck with me, and I'm a fantastic listener if you ever need an ear."
"Me too," Paloma says, pressing her chest against the table and leaning closer. "Everything she said."
"I appreciate that." I lift Malibu Dom in the air, shaking him gently. "Don't be surprised if there comes a point on this ill-fated road trip that you receive an SOS. My dysfunctional family and the man I loathe all crammed into one RV. What could possibly go wrong?"
Then I pinch Malibu Dom's head and give it a twist.