Ivy had forgotten that there was a nearly identical scene in the movie. She laughed, warmth flowing through her body. Sophie and Lily hurried in from the back room to see what was so funny. But because Sophie had never known her grandfather, she found it difficult to picture him.
“I’ll have to tell you some stories about Grandpa,” Lily said knowingly. She and Tyler were the experts on their grandfather, the only Harper grandchildren who’d been around to know him.
When Sophie and Lily disappeared to decorate the sunroom, Celia sidled up to Ivy and said, “Our girls are sweet together. I think they’re more alike than they know.”
“You think?” Ivy hadn’t spent much time with Sophie and wasn’t yet sure about Sophie’s personality. She’d gotten the impression that Sophie didn’t like her. Maybe it was in her head.
“They’re both obsessed with the same kinds of things. They can recite more environmental laws than I can at this point,” Celia said. “I think they’re going to change the world one day. It’s incredible to see.”
Ivy rubbed her chest, suddenly discomfited. Ivy wondered whether Celia had spoken to Lily more about going to college. Ivy had half assumed that Tyler’s near arrest had forced Lily to reckon with how much she was needed at home. How much Ivy needed her.
“Maybe so,” Ivy said. “Your daughter’s certainly doing impressive things.”
“Yours is, too,” Celia said. “Seeing her at work is something else. I used to hate working the front desk at the inn. But Lily’s a social butterfly, more than we ever were. Wherever she ends up, she’ll make waves.” She gave Ivy a knowing look.
But then, Juliet called for Celia’s help upstairs, and Celia skedaddled off, leaving Ivy in the front room. Wren took a breath, as though she wanted to say something.
But it was then that the front door screamed open, bringing in Tyler, his cheeks sunken but his eyes searching. When he asked if they were planning to bake any cookies soon, Lily hurried from the back room and set to work, pulling flour, sugar, and eggs out onto the counter. Ivy joined her kids in the kitchen, arms crossed as they laughed about an inside joke she would never understand.
She tried to get Celia’s words out of her head.
“Are you going to help, Mom?” Lily teased. “Or are you just going to stand there?”
“Hey!” Ivy pushed herself to laugh and stepped up to the counter, where she cracked eggs and sliced butter. She wondered what Daniel would have done if he were here, how he would have connected with them. There was a chance that this would have been his “golden age” of parenting—his time of laughter and silliness, after the really hard work was through.
For a little while, as they stirred, mixed, rolled, and baked, Ivy felt as though she belonged to a beautiful family again. She forgot about the flower shop. She forgot about all her failures.
But as Lily slid another tray of cookies into the oven, Celia appeared in the kitchen and bent her head to ask, “Ivy? Sorry, we got cut off earlier. I had a few more things to say. Can I talk to you for a second?”
Ivy’s arms and legs were frigid with fear. When she looked up at Lily, Lily’s eyes remained downcast Ivy had a terrible feeling all of this had been prearranged.
But Ivy wiped off her hands and followed Celia to the back of the eco-lodge, where the sunroom stretched directly beside the back porch. Through the window, they could see the jagged cliffs where, just last summer, the Smith family had planned the grand opening of their luxury hotel.
Celia cupped her hands against her stomach and gave Ivy a look that meant trouble.
“What’s going on?” Ivy asked, her voice harder than she’d planned for.
“I don’t know how to say this,” Celia said.
Ivy’s mind went a thousand different directions at once. She thought of all the possible ways life could crush you. She thought of cancer. She thought of Celia, moving away before their relationship could really find a way forward.
She panicked until Celia continued.
“Lily’s asked me to tell you that she’s going to college this next semester,” Celia said. “I know it’s strange to hear it from me. But she’s afraid of hurting you.” Celia’s eyes were the size of saucers. “She wants this week together to go well. She wants you to know that it’s one of your last, you know, before she goes. But she’s still a girl. She can’t handle disappointing you.”
Ivy felt as though she was moving in slow motion. She opened her lips to speak, then closed them again and took a breath. In a sense, what Celia told her clicked everything into place. Lily had been especially secretive lately, hardly telling Ivy anything about her days or her dreams. She’d gone to work at the eco-lodge and often eaten and hung out there, all while Ivy pretended to manage the flower shop. She’d gotten so good at pretending to manage the flower shop that she’d created her own stress about managing the flower shop. She often caught herself saying, "Christmas is one of our busiest times!" It had been true in the past.
“You should talk to her about it,” Celia urged. “She’s sick to her stomach. She knows you want her to stay here. She feels all this pressure on her shoulders. But the truth is, she’s seen us through this transition. She’s done what she set out to do. And she’s not afraid of this next step. We have to help her along.”
Ivy bowed her head and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe that her older sister, the sister who’d abandoned her, was standing here, telling her what to do about her daughter. She couldn’t believe she had the nerve. Slowly, she turned around, walked down the hallway, and appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, where she watched Lily and Tyler smearing frosting over Christmas cookies. Lily stopped speaking abruptly when she spotted her mother.
“Mom,” Lily said, her smile falling. She knew that Ivy knew, now.
Ivy thought she was going to collapse. Her knees clacked against one another.
“I’m heading home,” Ivy said. She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg. But she knew that none of it would force Lily to stay in Bluebell. She knew that none of it would turn back time. She walked to the lobby, where she put on her coat, left, and trudged through the snow. When she reached her own living room, she sat on the same sofa where, a thousand years ago, Daniel used to sleep, with his fishy smell, and wake up when she turned on the channel. She didn’t take off her coat. Instead, she rolled into a ball and felt sorry for herself. Northeastern winds thrashed against her windows, threatening to tear the house from its foundation.
The front door suddenly burst open and brought in Tyler, of all people. His cheeks were red from the cold, and he hadn’t bothered to put on his coat during his walk between the inn and the house. He took off his shoes and sat on the sofa, on the other side of her feet. He talked down to his shoes. “She needs this, Mom,” he said. “She’s done enough for us. She’s going to suffocate.”
