Micah and I follow Daria through the house until we reach the door to the backyard, where there’s a large pool that overlooks a beautiful mountain backdrop. In the pool, three people follow the instructions of a man in navy-blue swim trunks standing on the grass nearby. Theirbacks are to us, but I assume the man in the pool is older given his short white curly hair. Daria doesn’t open the door, she just leans against it and watches them adoringly.
“My parents live here with me.” She points between White Hair and one of the women in the pool as they reach their hands to the sky and bring them back down repeatedly. “And so do their full-time nurses. My dad has Parkinson’s, and my mom has Alzheimer’s, so they need more help than I can give them. Tanya was the only person who didn’t make me feel crazy when I said I was moving them all in. She understood the pain of watching someone you love deteriorate before your very eyes, and why as heavy as the weight of that is, I couldn’t hand it off to someone else.” She wipes the back of her hand against her nose to hide a sniffle. “My dad is losing control of his body while my mom is losing control of her mind, and there’s nothing I can do but watch and make them as comfortable as possible while it happens. I appreciate Tanya for not making me watch her circle the drain too.”
I’ve wondered countless times whether I would be handling Tanya’s death better if I had seen it coming. Part of me acknowledges my tendency to spiral would’ve only made it worse. The version of me that she’s left behind, however, is still screaming for some kind of rewind button. I admire Daria’s surety.
In all the time I’ve known her, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation that didn’t revolve around work. Sure, we’ve shared funny stories about our pasts, but even those had the underlying pretense of our professional future—me sharing my experimentation with cutting my own bangs for picture day in middle school to try to stand out, her telling me about sewing her first dress with her mom and accidentally sewing it to her pants, and so on. Never once have we shared anything deeply personal with each other, and yet, here I am standing in her house for the first time, staring at her greatest source of pain and joy.
All because of Tanya. Or rather, her absence.
I wish it hadn’t come to this.
I bite my tongue to keep the obligatoryI’m sorryfrom slipping from my lips. Instead, I offer her the only thing that makes sense to me: reassurance. “You deserve that relief.”
She looks to me with misty eyes. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t take us outside to meet her parents, explaining that her mom is having a good day and Daria wants her to enjoy that time with her dad, uninterrupted. As she leads us toward her office, I ask her a question that’s been eating at me. “Do you mind if I ask how you knew Tanya?”
To my knowledge, Daria was born in Ohio and lived in New York and London before settling in California, but never in Baltimore. They both traveled a lot, so it’s not implausible that they would’ve met elsewhere, but I guess I’m curious why I didn’t know about it, especially given Tanya’s proclivity for arranging playdates for the adults in her life.
Daria hums. “We met years ago at this show at the West End. She was there to see one of her mentees and I was there to see a friend. But we left together after the two of them—who were apparently dating—had a nasty breakup backstage. And then, her mentee threw her tea in my face because she thought I was a side chick.”
Beside me, Micah barks out a laugh. He holds his hand out in apology. “Sorry, sorry. That caught me off guard.”
Daria smirks in return. “No, it’s okay. It’s funny now, but back then I almost killed her. Tanya stopped me, and my so-called friend barely threw a napkin in my direction as he ran after her.”
“Was the tea hot?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Room temp. Which is probably the only reason I let Tanya hold me back.”
“You couldn’t break free of her hold, could you?” Micah jests.
She chuckles. “I really couldn’t. She had a strong ass grip. Anyway, after that we stayed in touch. You know, she had this way about her that just made her impossible to forget. One day, we’re sending each other the occasional ‘hope you’re well, hope you haven’t gotten any more drinksthrown in your face’ message. And the next, we’re visiting each other’s homes and I’m naming my cat after her.”
As if on cue, her black tabby, aptly named Holden, sashays through the room, rubbing against each of our legs, escaping just as Daria bends over to pick him up. She sucks her teeth and swipes her hand in the direction he went.
“Asshole.” She turns back to us. “He and Tanya were kindred spirits. And then, a few months ago she came to see me and requested I make you a dress and Micah a suit. Funny enough, I didn’t even know you knew each other until then.”
“She did that?” As I ask, Daria opens the door to her office and shines a light on the dress and suit in question. I’m stunned by the garments on display.
As a brand, Magnolia is a flawless depiction of Daria herself. It’s elegant with a bite to it. You could wear the clothes to a high-profile dinner and then turn around and wear the same outfit to an underground concert.
The bodice and train of the dress are a beautiful soft pink, elegant in a classic way, but the rest of the dress is both risqué and artistic. The right side is sleeveless while the left side has a long sheer sleeve covered in fabric flowers so detailed they look as if they’ve been plucked from a garden. The flowers continue down the side and over the thigh. The bottom of the dress is also sheer, giving the illusion of flowers floating down a river.
Most of Micah’s suit is the same soft pink as my dress, but the right side of his blazer matches the floral effect. Together, we’ll make a beautiful landscape.
“Daria, these are … these are stunning. I don’t even know what to say,” I praise.
She does a small curtsy, puffing her chest out as she stands straight again. “I do. You could tell me what I made these for. All she said was that you would need them, and you’d reach out directly when you were ready to come get them.”
We tell her about the gala Tanya requested in her will as well as how we figured out we needed to come see her.
“Damn, she’s brilliant,” Daria says in awe. “There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?” Micah asks.
“Am I supposed to know where your next clue is? Because I don’t.”
I’ve been too busy trying to find out everything there is to know about Tanya and Daria’s bond that I haven’t even thought about what comes next. I step toward the garments, carefully brushing the material between my fingertips. There’s nothing on either the dress or the suit that looks like a clue. And how could there be? Tanya never even saw the finished products. Daria said the only direction Tanya gave her when she requested them was that they be fitting for a formal event and to trust her instinct. She gave no opinions on color, theme, or design.
