Room to Breathe - Liz Talley Page 0,129

Gage made her feel that way—irritated, turned on, treasured, independent. In other words, he gave her exactly what she’d needed. Not to mention she’d learned very quickly what good sex was. Whether they would last, she wasn’t sure, but that was okay. She was done with planning her life to a T.

Her mother flipped through the designs. “You made all these in a few months’ time? They’re really good, sweetheart. Creative, bold, but wearable.”

“I had time on my hands while I searched for a job. Gage encouraged me to do something productive, and he’s so good at computer stuff. He built the site, and I bought a used sewing machine with the money I had from selling my furniture.”

Daphne’s eyes shone with pride. “I’m so proud of you.”

“What’s really cool is that I’m proud of me. I took a chance, and I don’t know what is around the corner, but I’m doing it on my terms. The way you showed me.”

Daphne set the phone on the countertop. “You amaze me.”

“I’m happy, Mama. I’m really, truly happy . . . well, most days. I sling coffee and work hard, but I love it.” Ellery pocketed her phone. “I think you probably need to go, right? The luncheon starts at eleven thirty. It’s nearly eleven now.”

“Are you coming? I mean, you said—”

“Can I be your plus-one?”

Her mother squeezed her so tight. “You’re always my plus-one, and I don’t care if I’m getting an award from the president of the United States, you’re ten times more important.”

“The award is from the president?” Ellery asked, hugging her mom back.

“No, the Shreveport Ladies Auxiliary Guild for Woman of the Year,” her mother said, stepping back.

“Whew,” Ellery said, pretending to wipe her brow. “I have a dress in the car, but it’s not presidential. I’ll be quick.”

Daphne grabbed her hand before she escaped out the back door. “So we’re good?”

“I brought you a cake, didn’t I? I had to bake two of them. I burned the first one.”

“I love you, Elle. You’re the best thing that I ever did.”

Ellery felt all the twisted pieces left inside her turn and click into place. “I love you, too, Mom, and thank you for doing so much for me. I see you now. You’re not just my mom. You’re you.”

With that, she turned and slipped out the door, tipping her head up to the sky, breathing deeply of the early spring morning air. For the first time in a long time, she felt totally at peace. Her life in Seattle had been hard to adjust to at first. She’d cried when she sold her car, but when she’d paid off her secret credit card, cut up the card, and mailed her father a payment on the ones he had been paying, she’d felt a wave of pride in herself. Gage had taught her how to budget and how life could be good without carrying a Birkin bag and getting her nails done every two weeks. He even made a sexy game out of pedicures. And she’d worked hard, so hard that if she’d had those fingernails done, it would have been a waste. Busing tables ain’t so glamorous.

But she’d done it, and she loved the inspiration she got at the vintage-clothing store. Design school was one thing, but repurposing vintage haute couture and being inspired by 1970s Halston, 1980s Bob Mackie, and the Coco Chanel sailor dress she found a few weeks back had given her real-world experience with iconic clothing. The owner of the store, after seeing her window display, had given her free rein in organizing and showcasing classic finds. Ellery often wore the dresses she discovered and sold them right off her body.

She’d busted her world wide open, but the thought of things left unsaid between her and her mother had left a hole. For a while, she’d held on to her anger. She figured her mother owed her the apology. After all, she’d slept with Clay. Yet, as the days wore on, the harder Ellery had worked, the more sacrifices she made to pay her bills and help Gage with rent and groceries, the more she realized how she’d behaved and what she’d expected from her mother.

Then she’d seen a funny dish towel about lemons and making lemon-drop martinis and started thinking about her whole philosophy when she’d gone home to Shreveport after college. Which led her to thinking about her mother. Perhaps it was a sort of epiphany when she realized that she was modeling her mother. She’d taken a chance, not settled, and rolled up her sleeves.

For the first time in her life, she’d realized her mother wasn’t just her mother.

She was Daphne. She was Dee Dee O’Hara. She was a person.

When Tippy Lou had called her to tell her the house had sold, and then mentioned that her mother was getting an award, Ellery had sold her Lanvin bag and bought a plane ticket.

It was time to mend what was between them . . . and she had.

When she reached her rental sitting in the drive, she slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out her phone. Scrolling back several months, she found the email she’d been looking for—the last email Evan had sent her thanking her for confirming her mother’s appearance at Poppy’s school. She hit REPLY and changed the subject to A Final Message.

Dear Evan,

I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me after so much time, but I need to apologize to you a second time. I once told you that I stood by the words that my mother was a whore. I was wrong. Very wrong. My mother is a person. Both she and I have made some mistakes, but there is one thing that was no mistake—you. If I had not corresponded with you, I never would have met Gage, and my mother never would have met you. My mistake turned into something good for both of us. You once told me your philosophy—that when you grow your grapes, there are things you can’t control, like the weather or temperatures, but in the end, you still have something worthwhile. But you forgot the most important element. Someone has to plant the vines, someone has to pick the fruit, and someone has to make the grapes into wine. There are things we can’t control, but if we do nothing, we get nothing. Thank you for that lesson.

Ellery

PS Be good to my mom. Be deserving. She’s worth the effort.