“I know there was money,” she said slowly, trying to remember what she’d been told. “Mom mentioned going to an all-girls private school, which sounds very depressing. Although studies show that girls do better academically in that kind of environment.” She looked at her father. “Which isn’t what you wanted to talk about.”
“No. Her mother died in childbirth. Ava’s father had difficulty coping with the loss so she was mostly raised by a series of nannies. She went to exclusive private schools, and in high school she was sent away to finishing school. They called it a boarding school, but it was more about doing well in society than studying the classics.”
“Seriously? People still do that? Mom was born in the 1970s. What happened to women’s lib and equality and all that?”
“It hadn’t reached Beverly Hills, I suppose. Ava knew her father was cold and distant, but she could never figure out why. She tried to please him by getting good grades and avoiding getting into trouble, but nothing seemed to make him happy. When she was home for Christmas her senior year of high school, she finally gathered the courage to ask him why he didn’t like her.”
Victoria involuntarily flinched. She’d never met her maternal grandfather, so she couldn’t imagine the scene, but she knew her mom well enough to picture Ava standing bravely alone and speaking the unspeakable.
“What did he say?”
“He told her he’d never been able to forgive her for killing the love of his life. He said that when she’d been born, he’d begged the doctors to do what they could to save her, but in that moment when a choice had to be made, they’d chosen her life over her mother’s, and he couldn’t let that go. He said he’d always tried to do the right thing when it came to her, but he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her.”
Victoria instantly felt sick. “That’s cruel and awful. She wasn’t responsible.” But that wasn’t the worst of it, she thought grimly. The real pain had come from confirming that not only had her father never loved her, he wished she’d never been born. It was the ultimate rejection—the kind of wound that never healed.
“I’m going to throw up,” she murmured. “You brought me to breakfast to make me throw up.”
She thought her father might chide her for being dramatic, but instead he nodded.
“That’s how I feel when I think about what she went through. A few days later, she asked her father to change her trust so that she could get access to the money when she turned eighteen. She told him if he did that, she would move out when she graduated from high school. He agreed. She left his house and neverreturned. She managed college and everything else on her own. They never spoke again.”
He raised one shoulder. “He died a few years later, leaving her his considerable fortune. You know the rest.”
“I’m pretty sure Mom would rather have had a father.” She pressed a hand to her belly, trying to erase the tension there. “Why did I have to know this?”
“Context matters, Victoria. Your mother has made mistakes, but then we all have. I think you’re old enough now to know the truth and maybe give her a little grace.”
Monday morning Shannon carried in a large box with three separate centerpiece arrangements. She’d gotten up early Sunday to go to a local farmer’s market and peruse the flowers. After buying both individual flowers as well as bouquets, she’d spent a couple of hours putting together several ideas she had for her mom’s wedding.
While Cindy hadn’t chosen an exact theme for her wedding, she’d reserved the venue. The garden setting would influence all the other decisions as far as color, formality and style. Shannon already knew her mother’s favorite colors and had a few ideas for the centerpieces. She’d created two that were more traditional and one that was unexpected.
While she’d enjoyed working on the project, she knew that part of her enthusiasm came from an uncomfortable combination of guilt and shame. Given what had happened Saturday at the seminar, it didn’t take a degree in psychology to understand why she’d wanted to do something nice for her mom. Being proactive about the centerpieces was a whole lot better than spending the day feeling like a big ol’ loser.
Cindy saw her and smiled. “What have you got there? You brought me flowers! That’s so wonderful. Thank you.”
“Not flowers, Mom. Arrangements. I know you’re talkingto florists, but I think I’d do a better job on the centerpieces. If you don’t agree, I won’t mention it again.”
She set down the box, but before she could start describing them, her mother threw her arms around her.
“You’re the best daughter ever. What a sweet thing to do.”
“I had fun. I hope you like them, but it’s okay if you don’t. Now take a seat, and let me explain what I was going for.”
Cindy dutifully sat at the small conference table in the corner, her expression expectant. “This is so fun. The wedding’s getting real. Oh, when we’re done here, I want us to coordinate a visit to the bridal shop. You have to see that dress in person. I think it might be the one.”
“It sure seemed like it in the pictures you texted.” Shannon set the first arrangement in front of her mom. It was conventional—a low round vase with flowers spilling out.
“I went traditional with the flowers,” she said. “Mostly dahlias and ranunculus. Once you pick a dress and a color theme, we can play with more exotic flowers, if you’d like. These have the advantage of lasting well. There are also lots of colors to choose from, and they’re beautiful to look at.”
“It’s lovely,” Cindy told her. “The size seems good for a table for eight, and it’s low so people can see each other over it. I like it.”
“Good. Now option number two.”
Shannon unloaded a half dozen smaller vases. While they were all clear glass, some were square while others were round. She’d added two taller ones for visual interest. She’d also brought a couple of pillar candles.
“The advantage to this kind of an arrangement is the white space,” she said. “Rather than a dense arrangement in a traditional vase, this one will be more scattered on the table. It’s both casual and sophisticated.”
Her mother nodded enthusiastically. “I get it, and this is really nice. They’re so different. I don’t know, sweetie. Which would you pick?”
