“You’re welcome. And if you need anything, call someone else,” she joked, feeling suddenly vulnerable in front of the woman she’d once known better than anyone.
“Yeah,” Melanie said.
Then Melanie reached out and gave her a quick squeeze. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched Tennyson, outside of zipping her up in the dressing room weeks ago. Tennyson closed her eyes briefly against the wave of emotion that engulfed her.
Then her old friend released her and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Tennyson with a full bottle of wine, half a bag of Tostitos, and a small sprig of hope uncurling in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Almost nine weeks later
Melanie studied the basil planted in the galvanized bucket and tried to remember if Hillary had said to pinch off the blooms or let it go ahead and seed. Hillary had always helped her plant the herbs in her kitchen garden every early March. Her sister had been brilliant when it came to gardening and using herbs in cooking. She always knew what a pinch of rosemary or a dash of oregano could do for a dish. Sad thing was, her sister hadn’t been able to overcome her own roadblocks to use the homegrown tomatoes for a savory red sauce or batter the eggplants for crispy chips. And now her sister was dead. And had been for eight weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and a few minutes. Not that she was keeping track.
“Mom?” Emma called from the kitchen.
Melanie shoved the trowel into the rich loam and made sure her pack of cigarettes was tucked into Jerry the frog’s butt. She wasn’t sure why she was still hiding her habit other than she didn’t want to deal with exposing it days before the wedding. Besides, she didn’t light one up often. She usually smoked maybe a single pack in three or four months. Of course, since Hillary died, she’d smoked a pack every two weeks. The only time she felt peace come was when she sat alone in the garden, taking a drag on a cigarette, pretending everything would be okay.
Of course, relying on something that gave people cancer to feel better was dangerous, ridiculous, and selfish on her part. Her sister had died because she’d refused to deal with her feelings. Hillary ate them and then vomited them up. Melanie knew she, too, was using something unhealthy as a coping mechanism. She should join Pure Barre with Emma. Or do Jazzercise or Zumba. Those activities should be her coping mechanisms, not sucking in tar, nicotine, and whatever else they used to make the addictive little devils these days.
“Out here,” she called to her daughter, spraying a little bug spray into the air.
“Hey,” Emma said from the open door. “Wow, it’s hot out here. Why are you gardening in the heat of the day?”
“I guess it’s not the best time, but I saw the blooms on this basil and couldn’t remember if Hillary told me to wait and let it seed or pinch it off and dry it. I just couldn’t remember.”
Emma gave her a soft smile. “Why don’t you leave it? We can look up how best to regrow basil on the internet. Besides, I have some things to go over with you if you have the time.”
Melanie brushed her hands on her old shorts and walked into the blessedly cool kitchen. “I need to get ready for the lingerie shower, though I’m not sure if I will ever be ready for that.”
Emma chuckled. “Um, I’m not sure I will be, either. My friends have promised to keep it rated R and not rated X. I reminded Julianna that you and Tennyson would be there. Of course, who knows what Tennyson might bring. She’s very big on sexual empowerment. Those were her exact words, so I’m a bit frightened to open her gift.”
Melanie had bought her daughter some soft PJ Harlow camisoles and matching satin boxers. They were pretty and functional. She was certain that Emma would love them because she’d been wanting some since she’d spied them at a local boutique. Melanie knew people would think her gift was boring, but sometimes a girl needed a bit of practicality. “I heard her saying something about a dildo collection, so . . .”
Emma nearly dropped her teacup. “Oh my God. You’re not serious?”
“Just kidding.”
“Mom,” Emma said, her eyes all googly. “You didn’t just make that joke.”
Melanie started to apologize, but then realized she didn’t need to. She