37. Margot
MARGOT
I t’s Aunt Edie’s birthday today.
I wake up to the smell of cinnamon and the sound of humming downstairs. For a second, I forget the ache. The room feels warmer than usual, like the walls know it’s a special day and are trying to convince me to act like it.
I sit up in bed and try to shake off the fog that’s been sitting heavy on me these past few weeks.
I don’t want to ruin anyone’s fun. Not today. Not when the woman who gave so much of herself and helped raise us with grace and grit is turning another year older. Aunt Edie deserves the world.
So I get up. I brush my hair. I even put on mascara, which feels like a feat. I head downstairs to find the inn looking like something out of a Hallmark movie.
The first thing I admire are the pictures on the wall. The ones I found in the forgotten album in the basement. Despite the slump I’ve been in, I found time to clean and frame them. My mom and Aunt Edie had tears in their eyes when they saw it. I do too, whenever I walk past it.
Fairy lights are everywhere. Scented candles burning. A playlist of Edie-approved jazz standards humming low from the Bluetooth speaker. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree in the middle of August, and it somehow works.
Hazel is in the dining room, on a step stool, stringing paper garlands she designed herself. “If this thing falls on my head,” she mutters, “I’m suing the ladder company.”
“Want a hand?” I ask.
She whips her head around. “Margot.”
The excited way she calls my name hits me square in the chest. She hops down and pulls me into a hug.
“You’re up early,” she says gently, studying me. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m trying.”
Hazel gives a small smile. “Well, Aunt Edie will love seeing you today. And Mom made a cake. Like, an actual multi-layer situation. With lemon curd.”
Of course she did.
I glance around again. Even the teapots on the mantle have fresh daisies tucked inside them. This place—our inn—is breathing again.
I want to be part of it. I want to show up today. Even if my heart still feels like it’s splintering quietly beneath the surface. I take a breath, square my shoulders, and start folding napkins beside Hazel.
Aunt Edie deserves joy.
Thea—surprisingly— is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, manning the waffle iron like her life depends on it. Every few minutes, I hear a triumphant ding followed by the scrape of a spatula and a proud, “Next!”
Waffles is causing absolute mayhem. He’s darting between people’s legs, trailing a pink ribbon someone tied around his neck, and trying to snag one of Thea’s golden-brown masterpieces off the counter.
“Waffles, no!” Mom shrieks, lunging forward just in time to stop a clean theft. “That one’s for the guests!”
He barks, as if to say, I am also a guest , then bolts toward the parlor, tail wagging like he’s just pulled off a heist.
Some of the guests staying at the inn are already up and helping. Mr. Honeysett is arranging flowers into mason jars—his idea—and telling everyone within earshot that he used to do stage design for Broadway. Whether that’s true or not, I don’t even care. The jars look amazing.
Clara and Imani are hanging streamers across the hallway and arguing about whether Edie would prefer peonies or sunflowers. Aunt Edie will prefer neither, but who cares?
Mom is also in the kitchen with Thea, insisting on making her “famous” hot pepper deviled eggs even though nobody asked her to. She’s wearing an apron that says Thank the Cook and singing Stevie Wonder off-key.
I pause in the living room and just… take it in.
This house. These people. This messy, warm, wonderful life.
I’ve spent so long trying to hold everything together that I forgot what it feels like to let myself be held by it. The weight in my chest doesn’t vanish, but it loosens—just a bit. Enough for me to smile as Hazel tosses me a roll of ribbon.
Nobody questions why I’ve been AWOL. They just hand me a cup of coffee, ask me to tie ribbons, and tell me to move faster. Somehow, it’s exactly what I need. I’m starting to smile.
Then, suddenly, the room erupts into applause.
I turn toward the stairs, confused at first—until I see her.
Aunt Edie is standing halfway down the staircase in her housecoat and slippers, one hand on the railing, the other pressed to her heart like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.
Her eyes are wide and shiny. Her mouth opens in that breathy little laugh of hers, the one that always makes me tear up.
She’s completely stunned.
And then everyone—family, guests, Waffles included—launches into a chaotic, loud, and terribly off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
Somebody hits the wrong key. Mom is two full lines ahead of everyone else. Amee and Darryl are harmonizing like they’re auditioning for “The Voice.”
But it’s perfect.
It’s chaotic and beautiful and hers.
And as I watch Aunt Edie wipe a tear from her cheek and laugh at the madness, I feel something in me crack open again. Not in a bad way. In the way spring splits winter apart.
I didn’t realize how much I missed this.
“Happy birthday, Aunt Edie!”
Aunt Edie clasps her hands to her chest and laughs through happy tears. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says, looking around at the room full of love. Then she adds, with a sly twinkle in her eye, “And happy birthday to you too,” making everyone burst out laughing.
Mom throws her hands up like of course Edie would turn her own birthday into someone else’s party too.
Hazel shakes her head and mutters something.
Even the guests join in on the laughter, and Waffles lets out a celebratory bark before pouncing on a balloon and popping it with a triumphant tail wag.
People start moving again—topping off drinks, lighting candles, adjusting flowers, bickering about cake placement. I start to tie a ribbon around the last stack of napkins, back to blending in, heart settling.
Then I feel a familiar presence behind me. I look up just as my mom’s hand lands gently on my shoulder.
“Come with me, Margot.”
I glance around, heart thudding suddenly for reasons I can’t name. Hazel shrugs as if to say she doesn’t know what this is about. Mom is already walking away. So I drop the ribbon and follow.
Mom leads me quietly through the side door and into the garden, where the fairy lights Aunt Edie insisted on last summer are still strung along the fence, softly glowing. The sounds of the party fade behind us, replaced by the hum of crickets and the distant giggle of Hazel chasing Waffles inside.
She stops under the big oak tree and turns to face me, her expression gentle but firm.
“I’m really glad you came out of your shell today to celebrate Edie,” she says. “She needed that. We all needed that. But Margot…” Her voice lowers. “I don’t want you to crawl back into it tomorrow.”
I blink quickly, trying to hold myself together.
“We miss you,” she continues. “Your sisters miss you. I miss you. We want to see you smile again.”
I roll my eyes, blinking harder. “Don’t make me cry, Mom.”
She laughs softly and tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear. “All right, all right. No tears. Just tell me how you’re doing.”
I stare at the garden lights for a beat. Then I say, quietly, “I’m in love with Cal.”
She doesn’t interrupt. She just waits.
“I just don’t think I’m cut out for his life,” I finally admit. “It’s all cameras and chaos and… I don’t know. He’s everywhere. I run a bed and breakfast, Mom. I don’t even like when guests recognize me from town.”
She smiles, warm and understanding. “Honey… love doesn’t care what you’re cut out for. It cares what you’re willing to grow into.”
I exhale, unsure if I’m comforted or more overwhelmed.
“All I’m saying,” she continues, “is give the man a chance to prove himself. You don’t have to figure everything out today. But if you love him… let that count for something.”
I nod slowly. “I’ll think about it.”
Mom pats my arm. “That’s all I ask.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
She squeezes my hand and smiles like she knows something I don’t.
“We’re bringing in a surprise guest today,” she says, her voice light, but her eyes full of meaning. “Thought it might cheer you up a little.”
My heart skips.
I try to play it cool, but hope flares in my chest so fast it almost knocks the wind out of me. I don’t say anything, just nod and follow her back toward the house—my mind racing, silently begging the universe to let it be him.
Please, let it be Cal.
Two hours later, the party is in full swing. There’s music playing, plates clinking, laughter bouncing off the walls of the inn. I’m in the kitchen with a dish towel slung over my shoulder, trying to arrange pastries on a tray without eating half of them, when I hear a car pull into the driveway.
I freeze.
My heart jumps to my throat.
This is it. The surprise guest.
I rush to the window, hands shaking slightly, praying, Please let it be Cal. Please, please ? —
It’s not. It’s Juniper. Back from college.
What ?
A startled laugh bubbles out of me—half giddy, half relieved, and maybe just a tiny bit disappointed. But mostly giddy.
I toss the towel on the counter and fly out of the house.
“JUNI!”
Hazel and Thea are already racing ahead of me, and by the time I reach them, all four of us are tangled in a tight, chaotic group hug—laughing, squealing, spinning like kids.
Juniper smells like coffee and vanilla and the same shampoo she’s used since she was fifteen. I bury my face into her shoulder and grin so wide my cheeks hurt.
Okay, maybe it’s not Cal. But for now, this is perfect!
We all tumble back into the house, laughter still ringing in our ears. Juniper is instantly swept into the chaos of the party, even though half the guests don’t know who she is. But the townspeople do.
Clara shrieks and throws her arms around her. “June! Look at you!”
Imani and Daryl are right behind her, wrapping Juniper in the kind of hugs that make you feel like you never left.
Miss Delia clutches her chest. “Good heavens, child, you haven’t aged a day.”
“Not even a wrinkle,” adds Mr. Claremont, who grins and tugs her into a hug.
Juniper laughs and hugs them back, cheeks flushed. It’s true—she still looks sixteen, fresh-faced and impossibly youthful. While Hazel, Thea, and I take after Mom—with our heart-shaped faces and expressive eyes—Juniper is all Dad. Same smile, same chin, same quiet strength.
Our family slips into the kitchen for a bit of privacy while the party hums on outside—laughter spilling in through the windows, music floating in the background.
Mom and Dad pull Juniper into a hug so tight she squeaks.
“We’ve missed our baby,” Mom says, voice thick with emotion.
Juniper laughs and playfully rolls her eyes. “We do video calls every day. Especially you, Dad.”
Dad doesn’t miss a beat. “And do video calls let me hug you like this?” He tightens his arms around her, grinning like a child.
We all laugh as Juniper groans dramatically. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m missed.”
Hazel reaches over and tugs at her curls. “Look at you, little college girl. Bet you’ve forgotten all about us.”
“Never,” Juniper says, beaming. “Who else would I call to complain about cafeteria food and annoying professors?”
Thea is already pulling out the chocolate cookies she baked earlier. “You deserve a treat for surviving finals.”
We fall into easy chatter and gentle teasing, bumping shoulders and sharing snacks like we used to—before life got complicated. For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. For a moment, we’re whole again.
“Look at everyone so happy. I always have the best birthdays,” Aunt Edie declares proudly, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a napkin like royalty.
Hazel immediately groans. “Excuse me? I had a birthday parade when I turned ten. A parade, Aunt Edie.”
“Exactly,” Mom cuts in. “You turned ten. Edie had a mariachi band at forty. That tops everything.”
Juniper raises a brow. “I once got a surprise flash mob at the inn at thirteen. Who do you think organized that?”
Thea, ever the quiet instigator, chimes in from her seat. “I still think my glow-in-the-dark scavenger hunt was unbeatable.”
The debate spirals fast—everyone tossing in memories, voices overlapping, hands gesturing like it’s a courtroom trial for the “Best Birthday Ever” award.
I don’t join in. I just sit back, grinning like a thief, and quietly steal another slice of cake off the platter while they argue. Chocolate fudge this time. Totally worth it.
Nobody notices. Or maybe they do and let me get away with it. Either way, I’m not complaining.
Suddenly, Aunt Edie turns to me with that familiar glint in her eye. “Margot, go up to your room and get me your blue sweater. I’m cold, and it’s the only thing that’ll match my dress.”
I blink. “Aunt Edie, you have tons of blue sweaters.”
“None of which are soft cashmere like yours.”
“You have thousands of soft cashmere sweaters.”
“None of which are blue! Margot!”
I huff, dramatic as ever. “Fine, fine.”
I steal another piece of cake—vanilla this time, for balance—and dash out of the kitchen. I almost collide with a blur of fur and energy.
“Waffles!”
He barks at me like I’m the one in the way, then nudges my ankle with his cold nose before bolting off toward the garden.
I laugh, shaking my head. It might as well be his birthday with how much fun he’s having—darting between guests, stealing bites of food, being the center of attention like only a beloved dog can.
I hurry up the stairs, eager to get back downstairs to my family. But when I push open my bedroom door and step inside, I stop dead in my tracks.
Cal is there.
Standing by the window, hands in his pockets, like he’s always been waiting. I freeze.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
Cal is here! He’s here!
I try to calm my heart, but it’s raging inside my chest, threatening to burst out. I don’t know how he got here, but everything in me is screaming to hear him out. To listen.
Maybe we can come to a compromise. Maybe… just maybe… my happiness is possible.