“Coming!”
I practically skipped down the carpeted hallway and into a small, high-ceilinged living/dining room area decorated with more wicker and vintage Hawaiian travel posters and pillows that looked like quilted pineapples. Mom was in the kitchen, her back to me, standing at the open refrigerator. I stopped short, drinking in the sight of her. Irene Freya Blanchard. She was wearing a bright teal flower-print muumuu, which draped over her wide hips and flared into a flounce at the bottom. Her hair was threaded with silver, but still thick and straight, the rich golden hue of ripe wheat, pinned up the way she’d worn it ever since I could remember.
“Mom,” I blurted out, hearing the disbelief and longing in my voice. She turned, her face softening into a smile.
“Good morning, my girl. Did you sleep well?”
She opened her arms, and I ran into her embrace, burying my face in her shoulder and holding her so tight she puffed a breath out in surprise. She smelled like herself, a mixture of lemons and Pond’s Cold Cream.
“I missed you,” I choked out, tears welling up. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much.” I clutched her close.
“Oh goodness, I’m right here in paradise.” She hugged me, swaying slightly, as though I were still a baby and she was rocking me to sleep.
I exhaled in a long sigh, not loosening my grip. How long had I been holding my breath just a little? A decade at least. Tears prickled hot behind my eyelids, and I blinked them back, not wanting to spoilthe moment. Too soon, she pulled back, taking me by the shoulders and giving me a good once-over. Her eyes narrowed. “You look peaked. This calls for some vitamin D and a mai tai on the veranda.”
“Isn’t it a little early for a cocktail?” I asked with a choked little laugh. “It’s barely seven in the morning.”
She waved away my protest. “We’re on Hawaiian time, sweetie. It’s never too early for fruity drinks with umbrellas. Besides, mai tais don’t count. They’re just juice with a little extra kick.”
This was patently untrue. Mom’s mai tais were the stuff of legend. Mostly rum and curaçao with just a kiss of lime and fresh squeezed orange juice. They were delicious but potent. She bustled around the kitchen, cracking eggs and heating butter in a skillet while I watched.
“Go on out to the veranda.” She shooed me back the way I’d just come. “I’ll bring your breakfast out.”
Obediently, I made my way through the condo living room and out a sliding-glass door to a small veranda with a glass dining table wedged amid a riot of tropical flowers and plants. Of course Mom had a veranda stuffed with growing things. I counted more than a dozen pots of gorgeous jewel-colored flowers spilling over the railing and trailing across the floor. Beyond the veranda the beautiful ocean view was picture-perfect. My parents had always intended to retire to Hawaii, but then when Mom passed, Dad had quietly laid those plans aside. I settled down in one of the chairs with a contented sigh. Seeing my mom was sheer perfection. Seeing her in Hawaii was the icing on the cake.
Hawaii had always been our family’s favorite vacation spot. Every January we would close the diner for a week and head to “paradise” as my parents referred to it, escaping the rainy, gray Seattle winter days for the magical combination of sunshine, swimming, and family time. Those days were some of my happiest memories, watching the glorious sunsets from Hapuna Beach, Daphne toddling around in her sun hat and chunky thighs, with inflatable floaties jammed on her upper arms,slathered in Coppertone Water Babies SPF 50. Mom in a floral one-piece swimsuit with a skirt, wearing huge Audrey Hepburn–style sunglasses, sipping a double mai tai from a thermos. Dad, lean and brown, throwing himself over and over into the waves to bodysurf. And me, happy to just be with them, the people I loved most in the world, gobbling chunks of pineapple from a Tupperware container, my sunburned nose buried in one of the Baby-Sitters Club books. We’d soaked in the sunshine and the unhurried time together. Those had been halcyon days, the memory of them sweet and uncomplicated. I looked around, wondering where Dad was. Maybe he’d finally taken up sportfishing or kitesurfing, both hobbies he’d always said he’d like to try when he retired.
“Here we are.” A few minutes later Mom appeared, bearing a tray with scrambled eggs and buttered English muffins, cubes of fresh papaya, and the promised mai tais. She settled down into the other chair with a big sigh and raised her glass. “To paradise.” I joined her in the toast, then dug into the scrambled eggs. I was starving.
As I ate, I studied her across the table, soaking in her presence like sunshine. She looked older, but her color was pink and healthy, not the waxy hue of that terrible last day. She had always been plump and sturdy. A Danish workhorse, she called herself. She looked classically Scandinavian, with high, wide cheekbones, deep-set green eyes, and that thick wheaten hair. She was not beautiful in the traditional sense, but she was striking; people noticed her. She had a strong presence and radiated an air of capable optimism, a can-do attitude that energized every space she occupied. For as long as I could remember, she’d been the focal point of every room, the center of activity, the queen bee in the middle of every hive.
Now she had aged, with lines across her forehead and a certain shadow in her eyes, but her posture was relaxed, her face serene. Watching her, a feeling of pure elation bubbled up through my chest.I couldn’t believe I was actually here. My mother was sitting across from me amid a tumult of blooms and greenery, rocking a flashy teal muumuu and drinking cocktails for breakfast. It felt so marvelous, so deliciously improbable. It was a gift, pure and simple.
“It’s so good to see you,” I blurted out around a mouthful of eggs.
Her expression softened. “I’ve missed you, Lolly. It’s been too long. I know you’re busy running the Eatery, but don’t forget to take time for yourself too. That’s something I regret, that your dad and I didn’t take enough time for ourselves. We worked too hard. Don’t make our mistake.”
“Speaking of Dad, where is he?” I took a sip of mai tai, savoring the cold, sweet punch of the rum.
Mom looked a little surprised, then a brief flash of sadness crossed her face. “In my bedroom, right by the window. He always loved the ocean. I wanted him to have a view.” Her mouth twisted a little, and she cleared her throat and looked away. I froze, a forkful of eggs halfway to my mouth.Loved. She’d used the past tense.He always loved the ocean.I put my fork down. My appetite suddenly vanished.
“I’m just going to grab a glass of water. You need anything?” I stood hastily. There was an awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Instead of going to the kitchen I slipped down the hall. I found her room next to the one I’d awakened in. It was simple—a queen bed with a birds of paradise coverlet, a dresser, and two small side tables flanking the bed. With a growing sense of dread, I stepped into the room. On the side table nearest the window that looked out at the water sat a small wooden box with a heart-shaped photo on one side. I bent down for a closer look.
The photo was of Dad in his navy uniform, his eyes upside-down crescents when he smiled, standing trim and straight in his jaunty white Dixie cup hat and neckerchief. The brief lines of cursive below the photo stated simply:
Martin Samuel Blanchard
Beloved husband, father, cook, and sailor
April 12, 1960–September 09, 2018.
Oh no. Oh no. This was a cremation urn. Dad was dead. I gave a muffled cry and jumped back so quickly I almost lost my footing. I gazed at the photo numbly. I couldn’t quite catch my breath.
“Sweetie, are you okay?” Mom called from the veranda. “Are you finding everything you need?”
“I’m fine,” I yelled back automatically, taking a deep breath and trying to steady myself. My hands were shaking and I couldn’t take my eyes off the box. The meaning of it slowly sank in. In this version of my life, Mom was alive, but Dad was gone. I’d exchanged one parent for the other. I felt a sharp stab of disappointment. I had hoped I’d find my family complete and happy for one more day, not like this. Not fractured in a different way.
