For her own wedding? Shannon tried not to show her surprise. How had her mom—
She held in a groan as she told herself Cindy was speaking generally rather than specifically. As for her flowers, she just wasn’t sure. She hadn’t gotten beyond the concept of something simple and kept coming back to the idea of the park overlooking the ocean.
“I could go either way,” she said. “Mom, it’s what you want. Okay, there’s a third option that’s a little unexpected, so it’s fine if you hate it.”
Cindy grabbed her hand and squeezed her fingers. “I could never hate anything you do. You’re amazing.”
Shannon tried to smile. “Thanks. So I was at the craft store and I saw these small metal buckets. Given that you’re having a garden wedding, I thought maybe a more casual style. For this one, I added roses to contrast with the container.” She set the arrangement on the conference table.
She’d tied raffia around the handle and let the ends of the bows trail down. Some of the greenery spilled over. The soft colors, pinks and corals, reminded her of a sunset.
Cindy pressed a hand to her heart. “I love it,” she breathed. “I would never have thought of little buckets, but this is perfect. Elegant and casual at the same time. Unusual.” Tears filled her eyes. “If I get that dress, it has a silver cast to it. Silver can be our accent color. Oh, Shannon, you’re amazing.”
She sank into the chair next to her mom’s. “I’m glad you like it. You don’t have to decide today or pick any of these, but at least you’ll have ideas.”
“I want the bucket,” Cindy told her. “You’re so talented.”
Shannon shook her head. “Mom, I’m not, and I need to tell you something.” She drew in a breath and then blurted out theugly truth. “I failed again. Saturday I went to a cinematography seminar thinking I could learn something about videos or whatever, but it wasn’t like that. Everyone was an aspiring filmmaker. They all had camera equipment, and they’d made short movies. I didn’t know what they were talking about.”
Her mother stared at her in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re interested in cinematography?”
“No, I’m not, and that’s part of the problem.” She hesitated, not wanting to upset her mom. “Ava called me a couple of weeks ago. I guess when we had lunch I mentioned something about photography. She thought that translated into me wanting to learn about cinematography. She mentioned a seminar and somehow I agreed. It was a huge mistake.”
Cindy’s expression turned wounded. “You’re just now telling me this?”
Shannon felt herself flush. “I told you about the lunch. As for the rest of it, I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I think it’s because I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t know how to tell her that.”
Her mother leaned toward her. “Oh no. So you felt obligated, and then it was a bad experience. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not surebad experienceadequately describes it. I was humiliated, and it’s my own fault. I couldn’t even get through the assigned movies.” She sucked in a breath. “What’s wrong with me? Why am I so spineless? Why can’t I figure out what I want to do with my life?”
“You’ll get there.” Her mother’s tone was soothing. “Sometimes having a lot of choices can complicate the process.” She waved at the arrangements. “You’re very creative, you always have been. I’m not sure the business world is for you. You’re great at it, but it doesn’t make you excited. I wonder if there’s a way to combine working with flowers in some way. I’m not sure about a flower shop, but maybe—”
“Stop,” Shannon told her, careful to keep her voice light. “Mom, stop.”
“I’m just brainstorming, darling. It would be interesting if there was a business degree that had some kind of creative angle. Like art and business. We could do some research. You have so much potential.”
Shannon remembered Victoria telling her that improvement was Ava’s love language. Cindy’s was to be supportive and assure her daughter she could do anything. Only she couldn’t.
“Mom, please. You have to stop. I know I asked a question. That’s on me because I wasn’t expecting you to answer it. Or maybe I was, but I have to stop doing that. I have to be the one to figure it out. This is my life, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone as much as it matters to me.”
“But I love you and want to help.”
“I know and that makes you amazing. But come on. Admit it. Sometimes don’t you want to slap me and tell me to snap out of it? Don’t you ever want to tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself and listing all the reasons I can’t?”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “I’d never say that or think it. I want you to be happy and for all your dreams to come true.”
“You’re more generous than I deserve.”
“I’m your mother.”
The woman who would do anything for her, she thought with both gratitude and exasperation.
“I’m the only one who can make those dreams come true,” she said, knowing she was telling the truth. “It’s up to me.” And only her. No one else had the answers, and maybe it was time to stop pretending they did.
“I never liked the name Margarite,” Freddy said, staring at his laptop. “It’s French.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Ollie looked at Victoria who was trying not to squirm in her seat. While she appreciated getting feedback—anything to help unstick herself in her work—she hated the process. Okay, mostly she loved the process, but when the writing wasn’t going well, she felt vulnerable, andthatwas when she hated the process.
