“A baby?” Melanie whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. She pressed a hand against her mouth. “You’re having a baby?”
Emma looked up, her own eyes glistening with emotion. “End of January.”
“Oh my God,” Melanie said, wiping away the tears splashing on her cheeks. “Do you know if it’s a boy or girl yet?”
Emma shook her head. “Not yet. We can find out next month.”
Melanie reached out a hand and laid it on her daughter’s stomach. Emma was still so thin, but there was a definite bump. “Who else knows?”
“You and Andrew. And my doctor, of course.”
“You told me first?” Melanie asked.
“You’re my mama.”
“I can’t believe this. I’m going to be a grandmother. Oh my God.” She laughed.
“I know you’re a little young for it, but you’ll be a terrific one.” Emma reached over and grabbed a napkin from the lazy Susan holding the spices and handed it to Melanie.
She swiped at her face, still trying to come to terms with this new surprise. There were almost too many changes to comprehend. But . . . a baby.
Lord.
“So, Mom, that’s one of the reasons I really hoped you and Tennyson would, I don’t know, figure out a way to coexist, because it’s not just about me and Andrew. It’s about this baby. You both will be the grandmothers, and, I’m sorry, but we can’t have you two throwing cake at one another or trying to strangle each other. You have bad blood between you, but you need to find a way to take this new blood”—Emma cupped her stomach—“and let it heal you.”
Melanie picked up her coffee with trembling hands. “I don’t know if I can truly forgive her for what she did to me . . . to my family.”
Emma rose, scooting the stool back. She wrapped her arms around Melanie and gave her a squeeze. “I guess that’s up to you, Mama. You have the power to forgive and to make amends so that we can build a new, better future for this baby. Tennyson wasn’t trying to hurt you, and, yeah, I get it—she’s a pill sometimes, but she’s not all bad. You want to know what I really think?”
Melanie pulled back and looked up at her daughter. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“I think Tennyson misses you. And I think she’s trying really hard to make amends. I also think you want to forgive her, because there are these flashes where I can see you are better versions of yourselves when you’re together. That probably sounds crazy, but I would swear that you fit each other.”
Melanie made a face. “Fit each other?”
“Like a balancing scale. You give her a place to land, but she gives you wings.” Emma walked to the sink and dumped the remainder of her tea. “I have to go. I have a lot to do today. I’ll see you at the church tonight.”
Melanie sat staring at her cup, thinking over her daughter’s last words. They reminded her of other images—pinkie swears, matching sweatshirts, an old necklace she should have thrown away years ago. Fitting together.
Emma kissed her on the head. “Bye, Mama.”
Then she was gone, leaving Melanie without many words but with a great deal to think about.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Tennyson stared at her phone and the message Melanie had sent her ten minutes before.
Code Hot Pink.
What did that mean?
Back in the day, it meant an emergency. Come right away with no delay. But these days it could mean that Melanie wanted to whale on her some more. Tennyson already sported a nice shiner on her left cheekbone. Thank God she had booked an appointment with a hairstylist and makeup artist for both the rehearsal and the wedding. She’d need a lot of concealer and luminescent highlighter to disguise the dark circle beneath her eye. Her family had been arriving in waves, thankfully, all wanting to catch up with old friends that day rather than pester Tennyson with lots of questions and demands, so she hadn’t had to address the shiner. Yet.
Code Hot Pink.
Well, she had exactly two hours until she had to be at the salon. This would have to be dealt with.
She tapped back, What time?
Now?
Give me ten minutes.
She hurried to her room, pulling on a pair of flat sandals. She would have to drive to her old neighborhood and allot for time to figure out how to get back to their meeting spot. Thankfully, she wore a button-down shirt so she could go directly from their meeting spot to the salon if she needed to. She picked up her purse, and then as she passed her dresser, she paused.
When they were young, they always had worn their best-friends necklace when a Code Hot Pink was called. When they arrived, they would press the two halves of the heart together, like they were the Wonder Twins and the uniting of the heart gave them superpowers. It was hokey, stupid, and . . . Tennyson opened her jewelry box and reached past the Cartier Love Bracelets, David Yurman pieces, and baubles from Tiffany to the oxidized pendant coiled beneath. She pulled out the old necklace, wincing as it blackened her hands.
Would Melanie bring hers?
Probably not. She’d probably thrown the cheap necklace out long ago. Because why would she keep it?
Gone was that whimsical girl who made monkeys of clouds and mud pies from the clay bank. In her place was a logical, responsible, somewhat boring woman. Once upon a time, Melanie had been interesting, full of dreams, and now . . . well, now she was someone Tennyson didn’t know and really didn’t want to rediscover. Still, there were glimpses. Like when Melanie had thrown the cake and then laughed when Tennyson had smashed another piece in her face. Or in the dressing room. Or smoking the joint and scarfing down Tostitos. At those moments, Tennyson had felt hope.
She slipped the necklace into the pocket of her shorts.
Ten minutes later she pulled up in front of her old house. The place had gone downhill, the paint faded and peeling, a shutter missing, and the yard her father had once taken such pride in had gone to weed. The window boxes were full of dead petunias, and the driveway had cracked. She shut off the engine and climbed out. There was a power company access three houses down. She should have parked there and walked back, but her car had a mind of its own, obviously.
She walked down the sidewalk, trying to recall her former neighbors’ names. The Taylors lived in the blue house. They had two girls who were younger than she was. The Hendersons were in the redbrick ranch with the big picture window. Her brother had hit a baseball through that window once. She cut back through the path the energy company kept trimmed so the transformers could be reached and walked along the edge of the culvert. They’d done some drainage work, but in the distance she could see the old weeping willow tree. Beneath it was a bench. Sitting on that bench was Melanie.
Tennyson stopped a few feet from the bench.
Melanie wore an old T-shirt and capri leggings, and her hair was in a ponytail. Her old friend looked tired, even defeated. Melanie bit her lip and looked up. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure. So what’s the deal?”
“You want to sit down?” Melanie asked, moving over to make room for Tennyson.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to sit down. Melanie wasn’t showing much emotion, and while she was fairly sure the woman wasn’t going to bodily assault her again, she wasn’t sure how close she wanted to be to her former friend.