“You don’t know that,” I protested, but she shushed me.
“I do. I can feel it. My body is giving in. I don’t have much time.”
I swallowed hard, trying to tamp down a rising panic. She couldn’t be dying. It was impossible. She seemed so close to her old self that I’d been trying to convince myself she was fine. Her gaze on me was compassionate and resigned.
“I need you to promise me something.” She grimaced in pain. She had demanded the lowest dose of painkillers the doctors would give her, wanting to be alert, Dad had told me. But it was costing her dearly. I looked down, trying to hold back my tears and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening.
“Anything.”
She took my hand in her own and pressed it gently, looking at me solemnly with her green eyes. The skin on the backs of her handslooked waxy, alarming—like something already dead, a lifeless thing stretched over her bones.
“Promise me you’ll hold the family together no matter what. Daphne will need you, and your father too. They can’t do it on their own. You’ll need to help keep the Eatery running. It’s our legacy and our lifeline. Promise me you’ll take care of them and the diner.”
“I promise.” What else could I do? I didn’t think about Baltimore and Rory, about my bright and shiny future hovering a few days away. I just promised. “But you’re going to pull through,” I insisted.
My mother smiled grimly. “To think that a Prius delivering an order of tikka masala will be the way I go. Well, everyone has to go somehow. I just thought I’d have more time.” We locked eyes for a moment, and in hers I saw so much. Strength and sadness and a touch of resignation. I’d never seen my mother give up on anything in my life. That scared me more than anything.
“There’s one more thing,” she said, clearing her throat. “I need to tell you my lemon meringue pie recipe.”
“Are you sure?” This was serious. More serious than her stating that her body was shutting down. The recipe had been passed down to Mom from her mother, who’d kept it a secret for decades. Only Mom knew the recipe now. She’d added a few tweaks of her own, perfected it even more, and kept the recipe a closely held secret all these years. I’d watched her make the pie dozens of times, but she’d never actually taught me how to do it.
“It’s time,” she said firmly. “Now listen closely. The first ingredient, the one that makes it so special, is Meyer lemons.”
An hour later she was confident that I could recite the entire recipe from memory, knew all the little tips and tricks, and then she swore me to secrecy. Hand-on-my-heart secrecy.
“I promise I’ll keep the recipe a secret and that I’ll take care of Dad and Daphne if anything should happen to you,” I recited the promisesshe’d asked me to give, adding, “although it won’t because it can’t. We need you too much.”
She gestured me over and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. Later I understood it for what it was, a benediction, a final blessing. “I’ve always been so proud of you, Lolly. You’re going to be just fine.”
I closed my eyes and savored her embrace, the feel of her arms around me. Somehow, although most of me was still in shock and denial, a small true part suspected that this might be the last time she would hold me.
She managed to make it through the night. Both Dad and I were there at her side through the long dark hours, but somewhere in the early morning her vitals plummeted. I got the call from Dad just as I was picking Daphne up from her sleepover at Charlotte’s house a little before seven in the morning. We’d decided to let her skip school and come say goodbye to Mom. We didn’t think Mom had much time left.
“Lolly, she’s gone,” Dad choked out. “I was holding her hand and she just... stopped breathing.”
I made a sound like the mewing of a kitten, a protest and a plea.
“What do we do now?” Dad sounded utterly bereft. My mother was a strong woman with a powerful orbit. She and my father had been, in certain ways, an unlikely pair, but they’d loved each other faithfully and worked hard side by side for more than twenty years. He would be lost without her.
“I’m coming,” I choked out, already assuming the role I’d promised her I would take on. “Hold on. I’ll be there soon.”
I watched Daphne come out of Charlotte’s house, a bounce in her step, waving goodbye, hair in a French braid and holding a Pop-Tart, unaware that her whole world had just shattered. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, falling on my hands and shirt, the steering wheel. I needed to call Rory and tell him Mom was gone. He was on his way, flying across the country as fast as he could. I was desperate to see him,to have him wrap his arms around me and tell me it would all somehow, someday be okay. I needed him here with me to face this unimaginable loss.
Mom had been the glue that held everything together. Now she was gone, and there was only me to carry on her role. I clutched the phone and felt the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. I was the glue now.
“Five large egg yolks,” I whispered, suddenly panicking. What if I couldn’t remember the recipe? What if I couldn’t keep my promises to her? What if I couldn’t hold my family together? “One cup granulated sugar. The zest from one large Meyer lemon. One leaf of lemon balm...”
Mom’s death had been ten years ago now, and still the memory made my heart crack open with sorrow. I sat in bed late at night after the disastrous hot yoga class with Daphne, wrapped in Mom’s old pink terry cloth bathrobe, tears slipping down my cheeks as I thought back to that terrible day. I buried my face in the collar of the robe. It still smelled faintly of Pond’s Cold Cream. I lay back in bed and held up the second lemon drop, the bright little candy wavering through the tears pooling in my eyes. Everything felt like it was coming apart at the seams all over again. All the things I’d worked so hard for, sacrificed for, were now in peril. Daphne’s future. The Eatery.
I popped the lemon drop into my mouth, tucking it against my cheek, willing it to work. Tonight, I was so tired of trying to hold our family together. There was only one person I wanted to see. I needed desperately to hear her voice again, feel her ample arms press me close to her heart. I needed advice and motherly understanding. I needed her to fix everything like she’d done so many times before. I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with grief and longing. “Mom,” I whispered, hoping against hope I could see her this one last time.
20
I awoke tothe gentle rhythm of the surf and a subtle waft of plumeria on the warm breeze. Blinking in the bright sunlight filtering in through a set of jalousie windows, I sat up in the soft queen-sized bed and scooped up a pair of glasses with chunky petal-pink frames sitting on a side table next to the bed. Ooh, I wish I had these in real life! I slowly took in the room done entirely in a kitschy tiki theme with wicker furniture and a calligraphy wooden sign that read:Aloha. Where was I? Hawaii? An iPhone sat on the wicker side table. I checked the time and date. Seven thirteen a.m. on Sunday, February 27. I had gone to bed last night in Seattle on Saturday, February 26. So far everything was proceeding true to form.
I rolled out of the queen-size bed and peered out the window. Palm trees, a strip of spiky grass, and a parking lot. It certainly looked like Hawaii. If I had to guess, I’d say I was on the Big Island, in Kona. Hmm, this was unexpected. Was Mom in Kona? In the mirror over the dresser I gave myself a quick once-over. To my relief, I just looked like me. Hair in a messy topknot and wearing a tiny pair of polka-dotted shorts and a tank top, but definitely my normal face and shape, the softswell of my hips and little pooch of my tummy. I’d never loved that pooch, but after the too-skinny Lolly in Brighton, I was happy to see my own shape in the mirror.
“Lolly? Rise and shine, my girl. Coffee’s ready.” I froze, heart leaping in joyful recognition at the voice calling from down the hall. The lemon drop had worked!
