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Graham
Idrive up to meet Weston at Leona’s house to take a look at an addition she wants to add to the back deck. I have a lot on my plate at the moment, but I find myself looking forward to going out there in hopes of seeing Taeli.
When did that happen?
The last thing I need is to get involved with her. It’s a messy business to fool around with your mother’s friend’s daughter. Especially a daughter who is newly seperated and comes with a little person in tow. I’d be an asshole to take advantage, but there is something about her that’s gotten under my skin.
I park in front and follow the voices to find them all sitting on the back deck.
“Graham,” Leona calls when she sees me.
“Hi, ladies, Mom,” I say as I ascend the stairs.
Taeli is standing against one of the posts with her arms folded over her chest. She is wearing a pale yellow dress with white slip-on sandals, and her hair is pulled up in a knot. And she looks tense.
“Did I interrupt anything?” I ask as I look between them.
Leona waves off the question. “Nothing important,” she assures me as she stands. “I’m so happy you’re here. I have everything sorted; come see.”
Mom, Taeli, and I follow her as she leads us onto the upper part of the deck.
She’s hung shade curtains and surrounded the room with candles and lotus flower lamps. A large stone water fountain, meant to be displayed outdoors, is plugged into the corner of the space. Vinyl Yoga Moon wall decals hang above a bamboo bench, and the floor is covered with colorful mats.
“What did you do?” Taeli asks as she looks around the screened-in room that used to be filled with comfy lounge furniture and an electric fireplace. “This was my favorite part of the house. I used to love to sit out here and read or just relax and watch the horses in the back field,” she states.
“I told you I was making a yoga room. I think it’s fun and whimsical,” Leona announces.
“It’s tacky, Mom,” Taeli disagrees.
“When did you become such a fuddy-duddy?” Leona asks her daughter.
Taeli looks offended. “I’m not. I’m sensible. This is a great outdoor space, and you ruined it.”
“Sensible is just another word for prude. I didn’t raise you to be a snob, young lady,” Leona retorts.
Mom and I exchange a look, and I try to hold back my laughter as they continue to bicker.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect you to turn into such a hippie. What happened to my mother?”
“You say that like it’s an insult. I embrace my inner hippie. Life is too short to be walking around with a chip on your shoulder and acting like a stick in the mud,” Leona scolds before turning her attention to me.
“Now, Graham, what I’d like to do is replace the screens with glass panels that roll up like garage doors so that we can have the space open when the weather allows but still use the space when the winter temperatures hit. Also, I’m thinking of hanging mirrors across this wall and painting it all a calming blue,” Leona explains.
Taeli looks on with a befuddled expression before shaking her head and walking into the house.
Once Leona has finished explaining her vision to me, I promise to have some plans drawn up with a quote estimate for her by the end of next week. Then, I head out in search of Taeli.
I find her in the front yard, barefoot, twirling in the tire swing.
“Having fun?” I ask.
“I don’t know my own mother,” she says.
I lean against the trunk of the tree and watch her spin.
“I don’t know my son either,” she continues.
I stand there in silence and let her talk it out.
“I obviously didn’t know my husband. How did I let this happen?”
It’s a rhetorical question.
“I gave him everything. The best parts of me. I lost my self-worth because of him. What’s left?”
I laugh.
She digs her feet into the ground to bring herself to a halt, and her angry eyes bore into me.
“You think that’s funny?” she asks.
“It’s called self-worth, Taeli. That means the value and love you have for yourself. The pride you have in who you are. No one can take that from you or alter it. It’s who you see when you look in the mirror. Stop looking at yourself through everyone else’s eyes. You know who you are, and their opinions can’t change that,” I tell her.
“You don’t even know me,” she retorts.
“Maybe I don’t, but I do know Leona. She’s kind, funny, and a bit quirky, but she has a big heart. She’s been dealt some hard blows in life, same as you. You should get to know her.”
“Same as me, huh? My husband didn’t die. He ripped our family apart on purpose.”
“It still feels the same. She’s grieving. You’re grieving. The only difference is, she is choosing to move forward, and you are choosing to continue feeling sorry for yourself,” I accuse.
“You want to take me to dinner?” she asks.
