“I was in New Mexico, for God’s sake, Nat. I called her, I sent flowers.”
Natalie’s eyes, the same searing blue as their mother’s, burned. “Do you think that means anything? Clicking on some flowers on the Internet?”
Simone angled her head. “You should tell Mom and Dad that, since that’s what they’ve done for every one of my openings.”
“That’s different, and don’t try to shift the blame. You don’t care about her, or any of us, whatever you’ve convinced Dad to think. They’ve been arguing because of you. Because of you, Harry and I had a terrible fight on the night of our engagement party.”
“Jesus Christ. Don’t spare the vodka,” Simone told CiCi.
“Believe me.”
“The two of you,” Natalie spat out. “All smug out here in your alternate reality. Well, I live in the real world. A world you barged into, uninvited, looking like something that just stumbled off the trail. But you managed to play up to Harry and Dad, didn’t you, playing the victim.”
“I didn’t play up to anyone, or play anything. Maybe if you hadn’t lied to both of them about contacting me, you wouldn’t have had a problem.”
“I didn’t want you there!”
It ripped, ripped a jagged hole in Simone even though she already knew. “Clearly. But you weren’t honest about it, and that’s not on me.”
“You’re selfish, hateful, and don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
“I might be selfish by your gauge, but I don’t have a lot of hate. And if I didn’t care about anyone, I wouldn’t have stopped off at Mom’s and Dad’s and ended up embarrassing both of us. You, on the other hand, you nasty little bitch, are a liar and a coward, and in your real world you don’t take responsibility for being either. Fuck that, Natalie, and you along with it. I’m not going to be your punching bag or Mom’s.”
Though her heart thudded, and her hands wanted to shake, Simone picked up the drink CiCi had set on the counter, lifted it in a nasty toasting gesture. “Enjoy your version of reality, Nat. I’ll stick with mine.”
Tears, fired by rage, fumed in Natalie’s eyes. “You disgust me. Do you know that?”
“I’m fairly astute, so yeah, I picked up on that.”
“Okay, girls.” CiCi stepped in. “That’s enough now.”
“You always take her side, don’t you?”
Her own heart aching, CiCi forced herself to speak calm and clear. “I’ve been working hard over here not to take any side, but you’re pushing it, Natalie. Now, you’ve blown off considerable steam, so—”
“I don’t mean anything to either of you. You’ve turned her against me, too,” she shouted at Simone. “I hate you. You’re welcome to each other.”
She turned to storm out, and blind and bitter, shoved the statue of Emergence from the stand CiCi had had made for it. Even as Simone cried out in grief, it fell, smashed to the floor. The lovely, serene face, that birth of joy, the face of a lost friend, broke into four pieces.
“Oh God, oh God.” The sound, the sight of the destruction slapped Natalie’s rage into horrified shock. “I’m sorry. Oh, Simone, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“You get out.” Simone could barely whisper the words over the wound so deep it screamed inside her. She managed to put the drink in her hand down before she heaved it, because she knew if she struck out, she might never stop.
“Simone, CiCi, I’m so, so sorry. I can’t—”
As Natalie stepped forward, hand out, Simone’s head snapped up. “Don’t come near me. Don’t. Get out. Get out!” With rage and grief choking her, Simone rushed out the back doors before she used fists instead of words.
Sobbing, Natalie covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. CiCi, I didn’t mean to.”
“You did mean to. You meant to hurt her, and me. Sorry’s not going to be enough this time.”
When Natalie collapsed into her arms, CiCi patted her back for a moment, but then turned and steered her toward the front door. “You need to go, and you need to figure out why you’d do what you’ve done, why you said what you said, feel what you feel. And you have to figure out how to make amends.”
“I’m sorry. Please.”
“I’m sure you’re sorry, but you destroyed a piece of your sister with a temper tantrum. You broke her heart, and mine.”
“Don’t hate me.” As CiCi opened the door, Natalie clung to her. “She hates me. Don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, and neither does she. I hate the words I heard coming out of your mouth. I hate what you did because you wanted to hurt us both. And I hate having to say to my own grandchild—and I love you, Natalie—but you can’t come back here until you face what you did, until you find a way to make those amends.”
“She does hate me. She—”
“You stop.” Snapping it out, CiCi pushed Natalie away. “You stop and look inside yourself instead of trying to put things inside someone you refuse to even try to understand. I love you, Natalie, but at this moment, I sure as hell don’t like you. Go home.”
It shattered another piece of her heart, but CiCi shut the door of her home in her granddaughter’s face.
And leaning back against the door, staring at the beauty, the grace, the joy so recklessly destroyed, she let her own tears come.
Accepting them, she went to her other grandchild.
Simone sat on the patio stones, knees hugged tight to her chest, her face pressed against her knees as she sobbed. CiCi lowered to the patio floor, enfolded her, rocking until they’d both cried themselves out.
“How could she do that? How could she hate me that much?”
“She doesn’t hate you. She’s jealous and angry and, God, disdainful. She’s her mother’s daughter there. But I know, I do, Tulip would never have wanted this. You don’t fit the mold, my darling girl, so they see that as an insult. We embarrass them, and that embarrassment makes them feel small, so they retreat into that disdain.”
With her arm around Simone, Simone’s head on her shoulder, CiCi looked out to the water, the deep blues and hints of green, the frisk of its slap against rock.
“I could take some of the blame, but what’s the point?” CiCi considered. “I did the best I could. Tulip was a happy kid, and then my mother … Well, she’s not to blame, either. We’re who we are, and who we choose to be.”
Gently, CiCi stroked Simone’s hair. “She’s devastated, baby. She’s so sorry.”
“Don’t, don’t, don’t take up for her.”
“Oh, I’m not. She struck out at me, too, and she had no right. It’s long past time for her to deal with her inner toddler, to stop blaming you, me, or whatever the hell for her own issues. If she accepts what she did, does whatever she can to make up for it, it could be a turning point for her.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know. I don’t blame you. Families fuck up. Hell, families are fucked-up half the time. But fucked-up or not, she’s always going to be your sister, always going to be my granddaughter. Forgiveness won’t come easy for either of us, and it shouldn’t. She’ll have to earn it.”
“I don’t know if I can fix it. It’s Tish, and I don’t know if I can fix it. I don’t know if I have it in me to try. And if I do, if I can, it wouldn’t be the same.”
“You’ll fix it.” CiCi turned to kiss the top of Simone’s head. “You have it in you. No, it won’t be the same. It will say something else, something more. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go in, pick up the pieces, assess the damage. We’ll take it up to your studio, and when you’re ready, you’ll start work on repairing it. In the meantime, we’re going to white sage the house and banish all that negative energy.”
“Okay, but can we just sit here a little longer?”
“Let’s do that.”
*
Harry came home from a round of golf feeling pumped. He’d knocked a couple strokes off his previous personal best to start what he had decided would be an excellent day.