“You kept it from me because you knew I wouldn’t be happy.” I pause, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “You could have given me the chance to see your perspective. Like on that streetcar ride, you got me to see the city through your eyes.”
He looks at me for a long time. Finally, he sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to say anything. Goodbye, Miles.”
He nods, then heads down the alley, and I hear him climb the wood stairs up to my back balcony. Blinking away a tear, I go up into my apartment from the front door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXAVOCADO TOAST TO THE RESCUE
The flowers are delivered early, so Mom and I get started on the flower heart on Friday morning right after breakfast. We’re working in the back room of the flower shop—where Mom does most of her bigger arrangements—but it’s cramped. The size of this room is why she always tries to do wedding work on-site if possible. To make the heart, we first squeezed moss and floral foam into the frame. Then, starting with the biggest blooms, which are sunflowers, we fill in the heart with flowers.
We work quietly. I haven’t told Mom that I went to see Dad yesterday, because I don’t think she’d approve. Working with her in this tight back room emphasizes her point—Momneedsa bigger space if her business is going to focus on special events more than walk-ins. But I still feel so betrayed. Why did they do this behind my back? Like I said to Miles last night, maybe if everyone had trusted me enough totellme what was going on, I could have had time to warm up to the idea.
I also don’t want to talk to Mom about the other thing I confronted Dad about yesterday—him cheating on her. I have no idea if Dad will ever tell Mom that I know. I don’t blame her for not telling me—she was the one wronged. And she’s been the one who’s been an active parent to me.She may be distant, but she’s beenhere. Which is more than I can say for Dad.
“This is going to be stunning,” I say, standing back to look at the enormous flower heart after we’d affixed about half the flowers.
Mom nods. “I am, of course, partial to flowers, but I think this is so much better than the metal sculpture you wanted. And I love that we decided on a full rainbow of colors instead of just red and pink. It’s going to be fantastic.” Mom suddenly checks her watch. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late. We should change—I made us lunch reservations at Fiona’s.”
Fiona’s Garden is one of my favorite restaurants in the city. Mom usually only takes me for my birthday because it’s a bit pricy. “Why are we going for lunch?”
Mom wipes her hands on her overalls and pulls out the scrunchie holding her hair on the top of her head. “Since Asha is in the shop today, I wanted to treat you… to thank you for being so understanding.”
I raise a brow. Asha is Mom’s occasional employee—she doesn’t work very often, but Mom has her in all weekend to help with the festival. But this still sounds suspicious. I’m wondering if she’s going to try to convince me to live at my grandparents’ with her by feeding me my favorite food. I’m not about to say no to lunch at Fiona’s, though.
After I change into a floral dress and add a bit of makeup, Mom and I walk to the restaurant since it’s only about fifteen minutes away. Mom talks constantly along the way about the festival tomorrow and the smaller arrangements she’s made for her booth. She sounds nervous.
When we get to the restaurant, I almost turn aroundand walk right out again. Because my father is here. Sitting alone at a four-seat table near the window.
“No,” I say. “I’m not eating with him.”
Mom puts her hand on my arm. “Sana, hear him out. He called me last night; he was very upset about your conversation. I think it’s long past time for the three of us to have a talk.”
I look at Mom. She seems… sad. But also determined. Determined to air out all the crap this family has been burying for so long.
I take a breath. This is what I always wanted. For my family to actually talk to me. But now that we’re here… I’m scared. I’m not ready for another emotional conversation, and I’m afraid talking to my dad will only make me as angry as I was yesterday.
I frown, then silently sit at the table with my father. I know I’m pouting like a petulant child, but I don’t care. Mom sits next to me.
“We should have done this before now,” Mom says.
I glare at them both. “Like you two would havewantedto have a meal together.”
My dad sighs. “We don’t hate each other, Sana.”
The waitress comes by then, and I order a mango pineapple dragon fruit smoothie. Dad orders a coffee and Mom, a water. Mom says we need a few minutes to decide what we want to eat.
When the waitress leaves the table, my dad says, “I called your mother when you left my office.”
“It’s clear that all three of us should have been talking about this real estate deal,” Mom says, “because it’s affectingus all. This family has a lot of communication to catch up on.”
“We’renota family anymore.”
Mom shakes her head. “The moment we had you, we became connected for life.” She sighs. “We’ve been doing a terrible job of it, though. So we want to talk. Openly. About everything.”
The waitress comes back to take our order. I already know what I want—smashed avocado and roasted veggies on sourdough with a fattoush salad. Mom orders a grain bowl. Dad stares at the vegan menu, like if he looks at it long enough, a steak will appear on it. “Um.”
I roll my eyes. This place totally isn’t Dad’s vibe. “The kale pesto pasta is really good. You can’t taste the kale at all. And there’s a lot of basil.” I know my dad loves basil.
