They walked into the large main bathroom with the miles ofmarble and the big mirrors. Ava retreated to the oversize closet, then returned with a box that, on the outside, looked exactly like every other one Victoria had seen over the years. She set it on the counter, between the double sinks, then stepped back.
Victoria found herself wanting to turn away. The need to see what was inside quickly blended with the need to protect herself. Because whatever was in there had the power to rip out her heart and leave her for dead. She sensed it with every fiber of her being. Yet she still wanted to know.
She slipped off the lid and looked inside. Stacked on top were pictures. So many pictures. There were a couple of ultrasounds, but most of the photos were of her mother and Cindy. They were young, and Cindy was hugely pregnant. There were shots of them laughing or mugging for the camera. They walked together along the beach, arms linked, heads bent together in quiet communication. There were shots of them dressed up or sprawled on the sofa.
Picture after picture showed two young women becoming friends. Maybe becoming family. They were happy and beautiful and looked so much like sisters.
Victoria had known that Ava had been devastated by the loss of the baby, and in her head, she’d understood that her mom had felt betrayed by Cindy, but until that moment, she’d never understood that there had been a second, almost bigger loss. The death of the friendship the two had shared. Knowing her mother as she did, she could understand that it wasn’t even so much that Cindy had changed her mind, it was that she’d cut herself off so completely. Stealing both Ava’s dreams of motherhood and the relationship she’d come to rely on.
Ava was careful about who she let into her heart. She didn’t trust easily, and when she loved, she gave fully. Victoria saw it in how her mother was devoted to her husband. It was what she hadn’t sensed those first years of her childhood.
Under the photos was a folded piece of paper. Victoria openedit and saw an artist’s rendering of her baby room. The mural was there, with a portion blown up, as if to show all the places her name would be hidden in the design.
She rubbed her finger along the page, not sure of the significance of the inclusion in the precious box. Why would her mother have put a picture of the mural in...
She stared more closely at the design and easily found her name over and over.Hername.
She looked at her mother who was watching her cautiously but didn’t speak. Victoria tried to understand, but her mind refused to accept the obvious. She returned her attention to the box and pulled out a slim journal, then flipped to a page at random.
Victoria was so active today, kicking and moving. She’s strong and healthy, and every time I think about holding her in my arms, my heart grows just a little bigger to make space for all the love.
She upended the box, sending the remaining contents sprawling across the counter. There were frilly dresses and an impossibly small white onesie withVictoriaembroidered along the front.
“It’s a family name,” her mother whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s not what you think.”
“Really, Mom? So I shouldn’t be standing here, telling myself you couldn’t even be bothered to come up with a different fucking name?”
The volume increased until she was screaming—more at herself than her mother because she was the fool who’d allowed herself to think she’d been wanted. But she hadn’t been. Not even a little. There’d been no artist repainting the mural. No do-over.
“How fortunate that my birth mother was able to hand you some kid who could slip into the world you’d already created. It saved you so much time and trouble about having to give a shit about me at all.”
She pushed the box and everything else onto the floor, turned and left. As she stood in the elevator waiting for it to deliver her to the main floor and her only means of escape, she told herself she couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t think about any of this. She had her answers, and that was all she wanted. The fact that they cut through her like glass didn’t matter at all. Truth was power and now she had hers.
“What is it?” Javiar asked, sounding doubtful.
Shannon stared at the smallish almost-watermelon on the kitchen counter. The shape was right, if she ignored the irregular bumps on the rind. And the strange yellow cast to the normal green color.
“A watermelon squash,” she told him. “At least that’s what we’re calling it.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Sure, it is. Someone planted watermelon and squash next to each other, and this is what happened.”
“But they’re separate plants. They don’t grow together. People who have a dog and a cat don’t suddenly wake up to a strange-looking hybrid one morning.”
“Plants are mysterious.” She took a large knife and cut open the flesh. As the two halves separated and rolled back onto the counter, she could see the reddish flesh of a watermelon giving way to the more dense orange of squash.
Javiar peered over her shoulder. “I’m not eating that. It looks nasty.”
She had to admit the hybrid wasn’t appealing, and she doubted it would taste very good. “It’s not poisonous. It’s just watermelon squash.”
“Still not eating any. Did you bring me more leftovers?” He sounded hopeful. “The ones from the other night were great.”
And had been gone by morning, she thought, smiling at thememory. “Sorry. I didn’t get any to go. Did you want to order something?”
He eyed the cut-up melon squash. “We need something for dinner, and that isn’t that.”
“I bet it would be delish in a stir fry,” she teased.
