Chapter 67
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Cordelia
Mills rolls the car to a stop in front of the arcade. It’s a large, square building with a giant neon sign on the front.
Mom humphs. “They’re having a party here? At this dreadfully boring place?”
“It’s not boring,” Gordie argues. “It’s fun.”
“Fun? Darling, you haven’t seen fun until you’re off the coast of Saint Tropez, watching those blue, blue waters while you sip on—”
“Mom,” I scold. “Not everyone can afford to throw a party on the family yacht.”
“These are Gordie’s friends. If they’d just asked, I would have lent them the yacht,” Mom mumbles.
Gordie watches us with wide eyes. Seeing her expression, I realize the world of yachts, private jets, and private islands is a far cry from her normal upbringing. Honestly, that glittery world feels so foreign to me now, as well.
I’m grateful for all the privileges I had growing up, but I also felt like the Davenport money was alienating. Living in Lucky Falls, moving around as nothing but the rookie mechanic at The Pink Garage, I got to experience real life and real friendships.
I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
“I’ll unpack the gifts,” Mills says, cracking the door open.
Mom scrambles after him. “Oh, Mills. Be careful with the Le Bublier I got for the birthday girl’s mother. It’s glass, so it’ll break…”
“Come on, Gordie,” I say, reaching for the door handle. “Let’s make your grand entrance.”
“I don’t think I can,” Gordie says in a thin voice.
“What?” I face her and notice, for the first time, that she’s curled against the other door, trying to make herself as small as possible.
It’s not so easy to do. That dress has a beautifully cut but bountiful skirt. She couldn’t shrink into herself if she tried.
“Gordie, what’s wrong?” I observe her face carefully. This doesn’t seem like an episode.
For one thing, she’s talking.
And for another, her eyes don’t have a vacant look either.
“Do you not want to go to the party?” I ask.
Gordie hesitates, and then she shakes her head no.
“Okay.” I reach for the door handle again. “I’ll tell Mom. We can drive straight home and have our own private tea party. Is that okay?”
Gordie chews on her bottom lip.
Seeing that she doesn’t automatically agree to my plan, I figure that she does want to attend the party.
“What are you so afraid of?” I ask her as gently as I can.
She tugs at the sparkly skirt and lifts a shoulder.
“Is this not your style?” I glance at the tiara. “Do you feel uncomfortable?”
She shakes her head.
“Then…is it because Vinnie’s not being nice to you lately? Do you feel awkward about going to her party?”
“I don’t know.” She stretches her little hands and rubs the side of her face in a move that is decidedly like Renthrow. “My dress is too pretty. And the tiara’s pretty too. And I feel pretty.”
“Gordie, there’s nothing wrong with feeling pretty. As long as you know that the dress and your hair and the tiara aren’t what make you pretty. You were so, so pretty before all of it.”
“But now everyone will look at me.”
“And that makes you shy?”
She nods slowly.
I hold my hand out to her. She slips her little fingers in mine, and I pull her to her feet. “My sister used to be just like you. She was so scared of people watching her that she once ran straight off the stage during her pageant.”
As I speak, I wait for the knifing sensation to come, but it doesn’t. Somehow, hearing that Gwen didn’t hold bad feelings toward me, that she didn’t resent me the way I thought she did, frees me.
“I told Gwen something I’m going to tell you right now.”
Gordie stares at me with those beautiful, light brown eyes. For a moment, I see Gwen standing there instead of her, and my voice trembles as I recite, “Being pretty just means you shine in your own way.”
Gordie looks at me, soaking in my words.
I rub her hand. “You being you…that’s what makes you pretty. So you walk into that arcade with confidence. The moment you enter those doors, you’ll light up the entire room.”
Gordie’s fearful expression gives way to a smile. “Thanks, Delia.”
I adjust her tiara, careful not to mess up her fancy hairdo. “Let’s rock and roll.”
On the pavement, Mom and Mills have commandeered a shopping cart from a nearby grocery store. They’ve piled all the gifts for the birthday girl and Gordie’s other friends into it.
Gordie tightens her hold on my hand as she, Mom, and I approach the arcade.
“You look fabulous, Gordie-girl!” Mom speaks in her pageant-coach voice. “You strut into that room with your head held high and your hands on your hips like this.” Mom demonstrates the walk. “And you bounce, so your hair moves. Watch.” She points at her hair. “I’m creating my own wind.”
Gordie giggles.
“Come on,” Mom encourages. “Let’s all do it.”
Awkwardly, I plant my hand on my hip the way Mom does. Gordie does the same, and though it starts off as a joke, she really seems to gain confidence with every strut.
We burst through the arcade doors, and the entire room goes silent.
Rather than shirk back, Gordie, Mom, and I embrace the dramatic entrance. We glide to the tables decorated with balloons and filled with a bunch of six-and seven-year-olds in princess dresses and gloves.
Gordie’s so sweet that the moment she gets close to her friends, she stops her catwalk and runs excitedly to Vinnie, eager to present the gift we bought.
“Vinnie, this is for you,” Gordie says, smiling wide.
“Thank you!” Vinnie shrieks when she tears the box open and sees an expensive doll inside. “It’s just what I wanted!”
“You look so pretty, Gordie!” Vinnie’s mother announces. “Let me take a picture.”
Gordie shifts to a “model” face at once and raises her chin higher as Vinnie’s mother snaps a shot. As soon as the photo’s been taken, she breaks out into her usual gum-blaring grin.
“That,” Mom whispers, “is a butterfly spreading her wings.”
Gordie looks our way, and we both wave our goodbyes.
She waves back and is promptly pulled by Vinnie to one of the arcade machines.
Vinnie is sticking especially close to Gordie now that she’s received an expensive gift.
And though I know, first-hand, that buying presents for people to like you is the number one way to make fake friends… I still love to see Gordie so happy.
My throat thickens with emotion as I watch the little girl laugh with her friends. “Thank you for your help.”
“Thank you.” Mom hesitates and then takes my hand.
I stare at our joined hands and then at her.
She gives my hand a squeeze and motions to the exits. “Can we talk for a minute?”
I follow her through the double doors and into the late evening sunshine.
Mom perches on the edge of a bench, and I sit a healthy distance away.
While I’m grateful, I still don’t feel fully comfortable around her.
We’re family, but we’re also strangers. She was much closer to Gwen than to me growing up, and now, to have her full attention, makes me awkward. I don’t really know what to say.
“I have to fly back for a meeting soon. The plane is waiting for me.”
I nod.
“I really enjoyed shopping with you girls. Gordie’s so beautiful, and I could totally see her in pageants.” Mom stammers. “I…hope you don’t think I’m trying to turn Gordie into Gwen. I respect that Gordie has her own interests.”
“About that…I overreacted that night. I lashed out at you because, well, a part of me feels guilty for what I did to Gwen. And seeing you reminds me of that.”
“Cordelia, you listen to me, and you listen well. You didn’t do anything to Gwen. Not a darn thing. There’s nothing to be guilty for. Don’t let Ray get into your head.”
My eyes widen. “You know about Ray?”
“That’s why I came looking for you,” Mom explains. “I thought being free from me was best for you, so I planned on keeping my distance. But when I learned of all the things Ray had been saying to you, I couldn’t let it be. I had to come and tell you the truth.”
I hold my breath as Mom stares right into my eyes and breathes, “I love you. And she loved you. You weren’t responsible for Gwen passing any more than I am. And she wouldn’t resent you for anything. She adored you until her last breath.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I was awful to her. We fought because of a guy.” I brush away a tear. “And I didn’t even come to her baby shower.”
Mom pats my hand. “I found a video when I was clearing out some computer files last night.” She taps on her phone and sends the video to me. “I thought you’d like to watch it.”
Mills jogs up to us. “Miss Sasha, your flight…”
“It’s a private jet, Mills. They can wait until I’m ready.”
“I know more than anyone how busy you are, Mom. You should go.”
Mom stands.
I stand with her.
“Can I…give you a hug?” Mom asks hesitantly.
I dip my head once.
Mom wraps her arms around me and rubs my back. Her perfume transports me to my childhood. Strangely, it’s not a memory of her abandoning me for Gwen. It’s of her teaching me how to ride a bicycle for the first time.
“It’s okay to fall, Delia. Don’t cry. Mommy will protect you.”
I blink, astonished that I remember a time when Mom fussed over me the way she fussed over Gwen. I’d blocked out the memories of her being nice to me, choosing instead to hold onto those of her ignoring me.
Now that I think about it, I wasn’t born as the “tough” twin. There was a time when she was the soft, gentle mother I always craved.
Mom brushes my hair behind my ear. “My words always seem to come out wrong, so I’m just going to say, I’m sorry. And that I love you. And I know I’m a bad mom. That’s why you left.” She pulls back and looks at me, her eyes filling with tears. “My darling girl. Can you forgive me?”
I meet her eyes, my own tears welling.
Before I met Gordie, it would have been a hard and certain “no.” I would have held on to my hatred for my mother and my bitterness at how she treated both me and Gwen differently.
However, I imagine that one day, Gordie will meet her mom again. And I don’t want her to be like me, to get on her bike and ride away in anger and pain. The weight of that hatred is too much for a person to carry.
Renthrow’s voice filters through my head. I’m going to show my daughter how she should be treated and how she should treat others. I’ll lead by example.
I inhale deeply. “I forgive you, Mom.”
Mom lets out a breathy laugh and kisses my cheek and then hugs me. “I love you. I’ll be back soon. And…maybe I can take you to dinner? It’ll be a seafood feast. I promise.”
“I’d like that.”