I pull out a long black velvet box. It bears no logo. Inside are creamy pearls so lustrous they seem to glow from the inside. Studs, a necklace and a bracelet lie on the soft satin bed. My first instinct is to drop it like a hot potato, but I manage to place it gently on the table. “Thank you, but I can’t possibly accept these. They’re too valuable.”
“Nonsense. They’re for my daughter-in-law.”
“But—”
“I gave a set to Lareina, too.”
I’m not your real daughter-in-law. The words get stuck in my throat. The air in my lungs grows thin, and I bite my lower lip. “I…I don’t think I should. I mean, Bryce and I—” I abruptly stop. What can I say to her about Bryce and me? The whole complicated and sordid truth? How it was supposed to be about two million and my paying it off with my body? Or that it’ll end in two years and there won’t be anything between us?
Embarrassment heats my face. The need to hide the real reason for rejecting the gift pulses hard in my skull. At the same time, I can’t acceptsomething I don’t deserve. I don’t want to deceive Akiko when she’s been nothing but kind to me. “We’re…complicated,” I say finally.
Akiko laughs softly. “Fiona, every relationship’s complicated. I suspect yours is even more so, with all the history between you.”
I freeze for a moment. “Did…Bryce tell you?”
“He didn’t have to say anything. I just knew when he told me your name.” Akiko sips her tea. “He didn’t come home for break his junior year. Josh told me he was busy, but I knew that was a lie. Bryce opted to spend the summer in Japan with his grandmother, and then he came home, looking more haggard than ever. And it wasn’t because my mother fed him too little food. He just didn’t eat. Then later, when he bought the house he lives in now and redid the backyard, he picked those shrub roses. I’m sure you saw.”
I nod.
“When he chose them, I told him they wouldn’t look as nice with the other trees and shrubs he had. I recommended calla lilies, hyacinths, daffodils and yellow chrysanthemums.”
Her recommendations are on point. They would look prettier in the backyard, more prominent and noticeable.
“But he said he didn’t want anything else. Do you know what that particular breed of rose is called?”
I shake my head.
“Fiona. They’re called Fionas.”
The revelation hits me like a hammer. I’m so dazed, I can’t even blink as I try to process. Why did he want anything that would remind him of me in his backyard, which he could see every day from the living room? When I went to Wisconsin, I left everything that would remind me of my past in L.A. and did my best to never look back. If Zachary hadn’t died the way he did or Aaron hadn’t owed so much to the damn loan sharks, I wouldn’t have contacted Bryce again.
“Did he know? About the roses?” My voice is hoarse.
“Yes. The landscaper told him before he finalized the order.”
What on earth went through his mind when he made that decision?“Our breakup wasn’t pretty.” The understatement of the century.
“But he chose to have those roses. Don’t you think that might mean your marriage to Bryce might not be as shallow as you imagine?”
I stare at her. “How do you know?”
She smiles warmly. “You didn’t want to accept the pearls and said things are ‘complicated.’ You were so nervous that you were shaking at the dinner. You weren’t just anxious about meeting his family, but about the entire marriage itself, right?”
I nod numbly.
“Fiona, if you believe it won’t work out, it won’t. Your thoughts and beliefs are seeds that sprout. They grow and bear the fruit you imagine them to bear.”
The air in my lungs freezes. I’ve always thought that good things don’t last. My life experiences have shown that over and over again since I was little. Not many kids get adopted only to be dumped. Or adopted again only to be told they’re a tool so that somebody else can accumulate good karma for a dead girl. Every good thing comes with something equally bad—actually worse, because I’ve already tasted the sweetness.
But did I add to the problem by bracing for a bad ending? Could I have changed anything in my past by not being so fatalistic?
The notion is frustrating and scary. How can I ever be good enough to be worthy? It’s a question I’ve struggled with for so long. It’s disconcerting to hear that I should justbelieveI’m worthy.
My expression must alarm her a bit—she deftly turns the topic to what I’d been doing before I reunited with Bryce. She oohs and aahs over my job at the cheese company, saying how much she loves cheese. Her knowledge of various cheeses and how they’re made is pretty impressive. She could easily work at my old company.
When I tell her so, she laughs. “No. I’m just happy being a housewife. It brings me joy to beautify our home, invent new recipes and invite the family over for dinner. I love it when they’re well received, and every plate is polished off.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that her sons would be licking the plates for the last drop of sauce out of hunger if it weren’t considered rude. Besides, her cooking is amazing. Bryce finished every bite even after devouring half a pizza.
