Page 82 of The Scent of Happiness

Karla and Miss Maxine loaded empty boxes into their cars, tutting over her and reassuring her that the next show would be better. But as Brooke drove away from the VFW hall, she couldn’t even work up the energy to be bummed out. Next week was her biggest show, Emma would help her, and she’d put herself back in the black. Maybe. Probably. Who knew anymore?

She started to drive home, but at the last minute, turned down Second Street and parked in front of Riverside Gifts. She sat in the car for several minutes, watching people go in and out of the Starbucks and the hair salon on either side of the shop. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering if she should go in.

She’d been avoiding her parents. No dinners, no check-ins, no casual waves from the driveway. Even borrowing the car from Dad today was handled by text. But sooner or later, Brooke would need to restock her soaps at the gift shop. And if these weren’t the most popular bars, so what? Mom could sell anything.

She dragged the box of soap from the back seat and carried it toward the store. The door flew outward as her neighbor Marci opened it. “Brooke! I’m glad I ran into you. I was just in there looking for the soap. Chateau Clair?” She peered into the box. “You don’t happen to have any in there, do you?”

Brooke’s shoulders drooped and the box sagged in her arms. “No, I’m sorry. I haven’t made any since—I’m going pro now, selling on my website, and I have to serve a wide audience, so…”

“Oh.” Marci adjusted the scarf at her neck. “But you’re going to make more at some point, right? Do you think you could let me know, or…”

“I’m not…” Brooke shifted the box to get a better grip. What part of going pro didn’t Marci understand? She couldn’t waste time on soap that didn’t sell.

“Do you know anyone else who makes it?”

“Maybe? I’ll email you.” It occurred to her that this was the second time she was supposed to email Marci and she’d probably flake out this time too. “This box is heavy and I have to—”

“Oh, right, right. Let me get the door.” Marci held it open for her and Brooke slipped inside.

“Let me know about the soap. We just really love it.” The door closed behind her and Marci walked toward the parking lot, her head down, her hands in her pockets.

Brooke nodded to her mother, who was behind the register with one of her part-time employees. “I’m here to restock,” Brooke called out, trying to make her tone breezy.

“Wonderful,” Mom called back, her voice equally bright.

“I’ll be, you know, over there.” Brooke squeezed past the clearance section, where all Halloween items were fifty percent off. She rearranged the pitiful selection of Mixed Suds and started unpacking the soaps she’d brought, mindful of her mother’s eyes on her.

After Mom finished with her customer, she left the register and made her way over to Brooke. “Hi, hon. Did you bring me any of those Pumpkin Spice soaps?”

“Not today.” Brooke lined up a row of Morning Mist bars.

“How about the coffee one? I sold the last—”

“This is what I have.” She unpacked some Hidden Copper and Summer Fawn.

Mom glanced down at the table and then over to the clearance section. “That’s okay. I’m just happy to have your soaps.”

“Got something else, too.” Brooke pulled an envelope from her bag. It was all the money she’d made today, plus most of the cash she’d brought to make change. She handed it to her mother. “Rent.”

Mom tried to give it back. “It’s not due until December first.”

“I know.” Brooke arranged the last few bars of Morning Mist. “But I want to be sure to pay on time. Also, my rent has never gone up. Am I even paying market rates? Because in our neighborhood, for a unit that size—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mom turned the envelope over in her hands. “Can you afford—”

“I want my key back,” Brooke interrupted.

“What if you lose it?” Mom put up surrender hands. She touched her cheeks. “Sorry, sorry. That’s not—that’s your business.”

“I can give my spare key to Emma. She never loses anything.”

“Good plan.” Mom lifted a bar of Hidden Copper and sniffed it before putting it back on the display. She half-heartedly shifted a few other bars around. She was wearing black pants and a sequined Christmas sweater featuring a decorated tree. It made her look older than her years. When she frowned, the lines on her face seemed deeper. She met Brooke’s eyes. “I’m sorry I broke your trust. I’m sorry I barged in on you, and treated you like—”

“No, Mom. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m glad you did—actually, yeah.” Brooke caught her mother’s hand and squeezed it. “It led to a better place. Because I found out what Theo really is. Thank you.”

Mom smoothed some of the sequins on her sweater. “So what is Theo?”

“Selfish,” Brooke said. It was so obvious. Her mother didn’t see it because she only knew Theo as the son of her friend. The young Theo who stayed after church to collect all the paper bulletins for recycling. The high school Theo who somehow got the chess club to donate the most food to the canned food drive every year. The adult Theo who took her legal case as a favor. That’s who the world thought Theo was. She knew better.