Tallulah
Imight have overreacted.
Though I was still fuming, I was thinking more clearly as Blossom and I sat in the back of the Lyft.
Perhaps I could have tempered my words a little, but it was difficult when someone was taking jabs at my kid. Jamison Harris had to be the most aggravating man I had ever met. That's really saying something, considering I was married to Karl Nabors, the previous reigning Champ of Aggravating Men.
I should have kept my cool, but the minute he made loaded comments about money, all I saw was red as I went back in time to life with Blossom's father. A man who tossed around the words "frugal" and "prudent" but was really a cheapskate and a tightwad, as tightly wound as a watch spring.
He loved rubbing it in my face that he was able to pay for Blossom's college education because he'd planned and saved, as if I hadn't contributed at all to her life or education. His condescension burned. And hurt. Like when we were married, and he belittled my contributions to the household as a mother and homemaker. Then, when Blossom started school, I got a part-time job, and he referred to it as my "little gig." Though hissnark dampened my spirits, I was proud of myself and happy I no longer had to go to him for money.
"Are you going to stay mad at me all night?" I whispered so the driver couldn't hear.
Blossom sat with her arms crossed over her chest, staring straight ahead. Her emotions had gone from sad to angry, and as a result, she hadn't said two words to me since we climbed into the back seat of this car.
I sighed loudly. "I'm sorry."
"I asked you to do meonefavor, and you couldn't. The entire night was ruined! Why do you have to be so dramatic about everything?" Blossom demanded.
Her words hurt. "The night wasn't ruined by me," I said defensively.
"Manuel's father hates us now, and he probably won't let him marry me."
Now who's being dramatic?I thought. "I seriously doubt that will happen."
She twisted sideways in the seat, her eyes boring into mine. "Manuel respects his father's opinion." With a jerky movement, she turned to stare straight ahead again.
I didn't want her to be upset, but calling off the wedding might not be a bad idea. At least postponing it for a while. Jamison and I agreed on one thing—the kids might be rushing—though we had different reasons for our beliefs.
After meeting Jamison, I wasn't so sure I liked the idea of my daughter having him as a father-in-law. It wasn't her fault she was struggling to find work. I could practically see the judgment leaking out of that man's pores, but she had sent out at least two dozen resumes and had applied for positions she was clearly overqualified for. Sadly, she'd had a few interviews but no callbacks.
We didn't talk anymore on the ride home. When we arrived at the house, we silently walked up the steps to the covered front porch, and the lights automatically came on.
Inside, Blossom went in the direction of her bedroom.
Our home was a modest three-bedroom, two-bath house, decorated in an eclectic style that made it feel warm and cozy. Soft, woven throws were tossed over the backs of chairs, and rugs in bright colors adorned the hardwood floors.
I never met a decorative pillow I didn't like, and there were plenty in varying fabrics on the furniture, with a group of large ones stacked high on the floor, corralled by an oversized woven basket. On nights when the house was filled with guests, they doubled as floor seating, turning the living room into a casual gathering space.
My furniture was a mix of old and new, far from pristine or high-end. The color palette included warm creams and sandy beiges accented by terracotta, deep olive, and the occasional burst of turquoise. During the day, light poured in through the huge windows, dousing my plants with much-needed sunshine.
As I strolled into the kitchen, I remembered why I fell in love with this house. It was a Craftsman bungalow and reminded me of similar houses popular in certain neighborhoods in Atlanta. It wasn't 'cookie-cutter' like so many of the homes Karl and I had looked at when we were house-hunting. It had history and character.
My ex-husband liked it because it was a foreclosure, so we got it for a steal. Well, he got it for a steal. I was pregnant and not working then. I would have followed him anywhere, and did, leaving my job and the comfort of my extended family in Georgia to move to the Midwest with him, where his family was located.
Not long after we divorced, he returned to Georgia with his new wife to be near her aging parents, leaving me and Blossom behind. His family... well, they weren't so helpful once he wasgone. They loved Blossom but tolerated me and had always referred to me as "weird."
I was used to it, but the way they distanced themselves from my daughter after his departure had been painfully disappointing. I considered moving back to Georgia but hadn't wanted to disrupt Blossom's schooling and take her away from her friends.
So we stayed. Then my business took off, and moving became less attractive.
I took a wellness shot from the refrigerator and tossed it back, grimacing as the ginger burned the back of my throat. In the pantry, I removed a mason jar filled with my homemade granola and popped a handful in my mouth.
Blossom and I needed to talk. The energy in the house was off, making the air tight and unsettled because she was upset with me. I couldn't bring myself to go to bed without smoothing things over, something Karl and I should have done more often. Maybe if we had faced our problems instead of letting them harden into silence, we would still be married. Instead, he had dismissed my beliefs about energy and intention, and eventually, I had stopped sharing them.
Taking my snack with me, I went down the hall to Blossom's bedroom and knocked on the door.
"Yes?" she answered.
