EIGHTEEN
well-behaved women
ansley
Mom called the boys to tell them about her cancer. Scott was reporting on a crisis in Venezuela, and despite the major flooding there, he promised he would be on the first flight back to the US. John was at work just an hour and a half away. He didn’t promise to come, didn’t even mention it, in fact.
Carter was a terrific judge of character, and it used to bother me that he didn’t like John. He never said as much, of course, but I could tell. He was usually so warm and open, but around John, he closed up. I’m not saying John is a bad person, necessarily, but I see now that Carter’s assessment of my brother was correct.
John and I have been distant for a long time. I always believed we would evolve past that, but when Grandmother left me the Peachtree Bluff house, I realized John and I would never have what Scott and I had. Because, at our core, we are fundamentally different people. Who would abandon his own sister and practically never speak to her again over a house?
All of that came rushing back to me when I got a text from him that morning: Let me know when Mom gets really bad off so I can come.
I texted back: She’s dying of cancer, John. I’d say time is of the essence.
I could feel the chill through the phone. His lack of response didn’t surprise me, but it would have been nice to be able to tell my mother that her son was coming.
Just like that, she appeared in her robe, fresh from a shower. I was sitting at the dining room table, sipping my first cup of coffee of the morning and sketching a room—something I hadn’t done in quite some time. Over the past several years, I had created mood boards for my clients so they could see exactly what furniture, fixtures, and fabric I was contemplating for their rooms. But I knew already that Jack would let me have free rein, and sketching the rooms I was designing was how I best dreamed them. I liked to think I was drawing them into life. Plus, the sketches were beautiful and would make a terrific thanks-for-letting-me-decorate-your-house gift.
Mom’s cane was tapping rhythmically on the floor as she walked into the kitchen. “Don’t you need to get to your store, darling?”
I needed to go to my store very, very much, but I had seemed unable to pry myself away from my mother’s side since she told me the news. The store would still be there when she was gone.
“I can work on these sketches right here,” I said, standing up. “Let me get your breakfast. I made bacon and eggs for the kids, so I kept some warm for you.”
She touched my hand gently. “Please let me do it while I’m still able.”
I didn’t want to let her. I wanted to take care of her, to make this go away, to have her for years and years more. But that wasn’t the hand we had been dealt.
“I’d like to go with you to the store after breakfast,” she said.
“Are you feeling up to that?”
She glared at me.
Note to self: don’t ask Mom if she’s feeling up to it.
“Great,” I said. “I’d love that. I know Leah would love it too. You can be our design assistant today.”
She shook her head. “You design. I’ll wait on customers. I’ve always wanted to run a cash register.”
I doubted she realized the “cash register” was now an iPad with a Square reader attached. But there was still that drawer that popped open and made the satisfying “ding.”
“What else, Mom?”
“What else what?” she called from the other side of the wall.
“What else have you always wanted to do?”
She peeked her head around the doorway. “Oh, let’s not do that. I don’t want to be one of those dying women.”
I laughed. “You won’t. But if there are things you want to do, let’s do them. Why not? We have time.”
She smiled at me and disappeared again. “I have traveled the world,” she called. “I have no desire to jump out of any airplanes, but I would like to ring a cash register.”
I couldn’t imagine a dying woman’s request being any simpler than that. I heard the clang of the plates through the wall and could picture my mother serving eggs and bacon—for what could be one of the last times. How many times had she made bacon and eggs for me? How many times had I watched her, always perfectly dressed, scrambling eggs, and avoiding grease pops from the bacon? And now she was going to be gone.
I wiped my eyes just as she reappeared. “I’m going up to get dressed and then I’ll drive you down to the store.”
She crunched her bacon and said, “Ansley, my abilities have not completely deteriorated since I told you about the cancer yesterday. I am perfectly able to walk one block to your store.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, MOM was perched on a bar stool behind the counter of my store, Leah was teaching her how to use our point-of-sale system, and, despite my excitement over designing a pair of custom chaise lounges for Jack’s house, I could feel my eyelids starting to get heavy. As if he sensed my exhaustion from several blocks away, Coffee Kyle appeared.
“Oh,” I said, practically running to meet him. “Bless you!”
He laughed. “And to think, my parents wanted me to be a doctor, lawyer, or missionary. There’s no way those things could have been as satisfying as this.”
He handed me a cup and I said, “Trust me, you’ll save far more innocent lives doing what you do now.”
Kyle smiled. “Now, before you take a sip, you should know you three ladies are my guinea pigs. I’m trying to switch some of my regulars on to drinks with less sugar.” He looked at me pointedly and said, “Prevent cancer, all of that.”
How did he know? I hadn’t told anyone except Sandra and Emily. But this was Peachtree Bluff. No one could keep a secret around here. Well, no one except for Jack and me.
“I want the sugar,” Mom said. “If I’m going down, I’d like to go down with a mocha Frappuccino in one hand and a Hershey’s bar in the other.”
We all laughed.
“Just hear me out,” Kyle said. “This is my new latte made with unsweetened cashew milk, raw cocoa powder, cinnamon, a dash of chocolate stevia, and a touch of matcha tea and maca powder for added health benefits.”
I was going to hate it. I knew it. Leah, Mom, and I took simultaneous sips. I was expecting a flat, thin latte with practically no flavor and that disgusting stevia aftertaste, but what I got was a cup of heaven.
“This is my new usual,” I said. “Kyle, you are a genius.”
Mom nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go down with this in one hand instead.”
“It’s so creamy,” Leah said.
I loved the authoritative air Kyle took on when talking about coffee, as if he were discussing a new species he had discovered in the Amazon. “I’ve been experimenting with homemade nut milks for a while now, and I’ve discovered that cashew takes on the perfect density for lattes. Macadamia does as well, but the flavor combination isn’t as good.”
“Oh!” Leah exclaimed. “White chocolate macadamia!”
Kyle laughed. “It’s in the works.”
Mom took another sip and said, “You know who would love this?”
“Oh, Emerson,” I chimed in.
Kyle cleared his throat, the way he tended to do when he was nervous, and I could have sworn his ears reddened the tiniest bit. Oh my gosh. He had made this for Emerson.
“I’ll have to get her to taste it when she gets back. When will the girls be back?” he asked with forced nonchalance.
“Oh, they’re back.”
He grinned. “Then I’ll take her one right away.”
I felt bad for him, but maybe it was all in my head and I just assumed every man was interested in my daughters. But maybe that wasn’t the case with Kyle. In fact, when I said, “She’s probably at Mark’s,” he didn’t even flinch.
“OK!” Mom said exuberantly. “Kyle, you need to buy something. I’ll ring you up!”
“Mom,” I scolded. I turned to Kyle. “You don’t need to buy anything.”
“Grammy, is this your first sale?”
Kyle’s hair seemed even blacker today, his arms more toned, his jawline more defined. I wasn’t sure it was possible for him to get more handsome, but it seemed he had.
“It certainly will be, darling. I’ve always wanted to work the cash register.” She scrunched her nose. “Well, not this newfangled contraption. But I suppose it will have to do.”
Kyle shook his head. “The cash register in my coffee shop is from 1962. I’d be honored if you would help me out over there for a bit.”
She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Well, if you don’t know how to make a lady’s dying wish come true, then I don’t know who does.”
“Mom,” I scolded again. “The girls don’t even know yet.”
“My lips are sealed,” Kyle said.
I looked at my mother. “We have to tell them today.”
Mom waved her hand. “Fine, fine. You’re such a bore sometimes, Ansley.”
Such a bore. I guess I was. But there wasn’t much that was exciting about dying.
Kyle carefully hoisted Mom off the stool and winked at me. “I promise I’ll take good care of her,” he said. “I’ll bring her back before lunch.”
“Mom,” I said, feeling as if I were sending one of my girls off to school again. “Behave.”
She turned and put her hand on her heart, as though she were offended. “Why, don’t I always, darling?”
I shook my head. “No. No, you never do. Which is why I have to say it.”
“Well-behaved women rarely make history,” Kyle whispered.
And then they were on their way, Mom’s arm wrapped around Kyle’s, her other hand on her cane.
For the briefest of moments, I just knew the doctors were wrong. There wasn’t one thing wrong with my mother. There couldn’t be.
And, while Kyle had always been the adorable boy who brought me my coffee, this was one of those times when I couldn’t help but see him as something more.