Chapter 21 - Lila
LILA
On the last Saturday morning in August, sunlight filtered through the kitchen windows as I sat at the island watching Vance make our coffee.
I stretched, smiling to myself, thinking about the day ahead.
We were going to the beach for one last hurrah before school started.
I’d turned down the job three days ago, and, every morning since, I’d woken up with the same feeling: peace.
Vance poured coffee into the mug Mia had painted in third grade for my Christmas present. I Love Mom. The bagels from the bakery sat on a plate, still warm, filling the kitchen with the smell of salt and caraway seeds.
“I don’t want summer to end,” I said, wrapping my hands around the mug. “This is so nice. Saturday morning with nowhere we have to be. No cameras. No schedule.”
He smiled, leaning across the island to kiss me. “No regrets?”
“Not a one.”
The girls were drawing at the coffee table, still in their pajamas, chatting about school.
Mia was in the middle of telling Margot all about the woman who would be Margot’s fourth grade teacher.
I’d been pleased when the class assignments had come in.
Mrs. Burns was a wonderful teacher and someone who I could talk to openly about the challenges Margot had faced.
Vance put a soft jazz record on the stereo and came back to join me at the island, spreading cream cheese on a bagel just how I liked it. This man noticed all the small details that made my life easier or brought joy.
How different this felt from just a few weeks ago. How frantic everything had been. How exhausted I’d felt, constantly. I drew in a deep breath, grateful to be at peace.
“Mom?” Mia called from behind the couch. “Will you get down my scrapbook? Margot wants to see my fourth grade photo.”
I set down my coffee. “Yes, sure.”
“I’ll get it,” Vance said. “Mia, show me which one.”
“It’s the pink one,” Mia said, pointing to the top shelf of our built in cabinets. Vance retrieved the memory book I’d been making for Mia since she was born.
Mia brought it over to the coffee table. We all sat together to look.
Margot ran her fingers over the cover. “It’s so pretty.”
“Okay, it starts with me as a fetus.” Mia pointed to the ultrasound photos, grainy black and white images of Mia before she’d even entered the world.
“That’s you?” Margot’s voice was soft with wonder as she traced a finger over the first page.
“I know. Weird, right?” Mia said, leaning in. “Mom kept everything. Even the hospital bracelet.”
“I kept everything. I wanted to remember all of it.” I sighed. “It all went so fast.”
Margot turned the page carefully, reverently, pausing to look at each photo. Photos of Mia as a newborn, red-faced and tiny. Me holding her in the hospital, exhausted and radiant. First bath. First smile.
More pages. First steps. Birthday parties with lopsided homemade cakes.
Halloween costumes. Christmas mornings. School pictures through the years, Mia’s gap-toothed grin gradually transforming into the beautiful girl sitting beside us now.
Photos of her and the other six kids at the beach, visiting Santa, standing in front of the movie theatre to see one of the Marvel movies.
“I wish I had one of these.” Margot turned another page, her fingers lingering on a photo of Mia blowing out birthday candles. “My mom wouldn’t have made one though.”
My chest ached. Would Margot ever get over the rejection from her own mother? I had to love her. Hard.
“I have a whole bunch of photos of you,” Vance said mildly. But I knew better. It ripped out his heart to hear the hurt in her voice. “And a bunch of your baby things. I have them in storage but I’ll get them out.”
“And I’ll make a scrapbook for you,” I said. “Just like this one.”
“But what about when we were apart?” Margot asked. “Times no one took pictures because no one was paying attention.”
I pulled her close, wrapping my arm around her small shoulders.
“We won’t have those but we’ll make sure we have tons of photos from here on out.
For example, your first day of fourth grade is coming up.
” I turned back to find Mia’s first day of fourth grade photo.
I’d taken it on the front steps right before the school bus came.
She held a sign that said, First Day of 4th Grade. “Just like this one.”
She looked up at me, hope flickering in her expression. “Really?”
“For sure,” I said. “ I’ll take all the photos Papa has and put them together for you in a book just like this one. The ones from when you were tiny. And we’ll keep adding new ones. From your life here with us. Today at the beach, for example. All the moments we’re building together.”
“There will still be empty years,” Margot said. “Do we leave the pages blank for those?”
Vance and I exchanged a pained look.
“I have an idea,” Vance said. “How about you draw or paint some of your memories from those years and we’ll put them in there.”
Margot’s lip trembled. “I’d like that.”
“That’s a great idea,” Mia said.
I felt Vance’s hand on my back, steady and warm, and I glanced up at him to see his eyes glistening with tears.
Margot set the scrapbook down carefully, then threw her arms around my neck. “Thank you helping to grow me bigger.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “Take up space, baby girl. Big as you can be.”
I held her tight, this sweet girl who’d been through so much. “We’re going to have so many happy memories.”
When she pulled back, she was smiling. “Can we start today? On my book?”
“We have the beach today, but how about tomorrow?,” I asked. “We can go to the craft store in the morning.”
“Oh, totally,” Mia said. “We’ll get stickers and fancy paper and everything.”
“And ribbon,” Margot added. “I like ribbon.”
“Then ribbon it is,” I said.
Vance and I got up from the floor to sit together on the loveseat, watching the girls flip through more pages of Mia’s scrapbook.
“You’re a wonderful mother,” Vance murmured against my hair.
“I do my best. But I’m not perfect.”
“To me, you are.” He leaned close to kiss me.
The girls made exaggerated gagging sounds that made us both laugh.
“Gross,” Mia declared.
“So gross,” Margot agreed, but she was smiling.
“Get used to it,” Vance told them. “There will be a lot of kissing in our home.”
They both dissolved into giggles.
I read recently that when people look back on their lives, it’s the small, ordinary moments that they remember most. I knew it would be true for me too.
This sweet, everyday moment would play before my eyes.
Not the TV deal. Not the money or the fame or the platform.
Just this. Just us. A lazy Saturday morning with nowhere to be and no one to perform for.
It took me another four weeks to transform Vance’s house from a construction site into a home. After the crews had left, I’d called in my regular contractor. We’d come up with an aggressive plan to finish the house by mid-October.
And now, finally, it was done.
On a crisp fall day, I stood on the sidewalk, looking at the house where we would live as a family of four. Since technically I was an interior designer only, I’d called in my favorite architectural stylist and a landscape architect I’d worked with many times before to help us with the exteriors.
They’d done a fabulous job. The exterior featured light gray cedar shingles paired with crisp white trim, giving it a timeless Cape Cod feel.
A stone walkway, lined with neatly manicured boxwood shrubs and mulch beds, led up to a spacious covered porch framed by large windows and French doors.
The porch opened into a bright interior with a view of the water beyond.
“It’s beautiful,” Margot whispered beside me.
“It really is,” Mia agreed.
Vance stood on the porch, keys in hand, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ready to see inside?”
“Yes!” both girls shouted, racing up the steps.
I followed more slowly, savoring the moment. I’d worked so hard to make it special. I truly hoped the girls found it as magical as I. Vance opened the door, and we all stepped inside.
For the entryway, I’d chosen wide plank hardwood floors in a weathered oak finish, walls painted in the softest warm white, a vintage console table I’d found at an estate sale holding a simple vase of eucalyptus. Afternoon light poured through the windows.
“Oh my gosh, Mom. This is so dope,” Mia said as we entered the living room.
Two stories of soaring ceilings with exposed white-painted beams. Windows everywhere—floor to ceiling, letting in the ocean view.
A fireplace with a simple white surround and built-in shelving on either side, filled with books and treasures that were important to Vance and me.
The furniture we’d chosen together—deep, comfortable sofas in soft grays and creams, a driftwood coffee table, coastal rugs that tied it all together.
“It’s like a magazine,” Margot said.
“Better than a magazine,” Vance said. “Because we get to live in it.”
I walked through slowly, running my hand along the sofa back, adjusting a throw pillow, moving a vase an inch to the left.
“Let’s go see the kitchen,” I said. “The heart of every home.”
“Mom, you’re not on television any longer,” Mia said. “You don’t have to say stuff like that.”
I laughed. “Come on then.”
They all followed me into the kitchen. I’d gone traditional with most of the choices.
Fads went in and out, but classic remained relevant for years and years.
Cream shaker cabinets stretched to the ceiling, glass-fronted uppers showing off simple white dishes.
Vance had asked for marble countertops, which I’d paired with beautiful brass lantern pendants over the island.
Subway tile for the backsplash. Inspired by the French countryside, a farmhouse sink was set below windows overlooking the ocean.
“Thank goodness they finally sent me the right cabinets,” I said. “That took years off my life.”