A Chance for Sunny Skies (24 page)

The next day was Saturday, the dog birthday party. I rolled over in bed and shoved a pillow over my face while I groaned in complaint to no one. Because I was alone, again. I sat up and let out a little yip at the sight of shaven Benny lying next to me, still not used to his new look. A new wave of anger flooded my veins, but the waves were getting less and less intense each time they came, like a tide moving slowly out. Most of my anger was now replaced with sadness and resolve.

I couldn't be in a relationship. I was meant to be alone. The universe had been wrong.

Really, I shouldn't even go to my mother's party, if I was so intent on throwing the universe's plan out the window, but there was a small section of my heart that felt I might be able to make something work with my family. Rainy had worked, Brian had for a while, I had the job I was supposed to, and I couldn't pass up the slight possibility that I might actually be able to have a relationship with my mother, terrible lunch experience or not. This time, the universe was in control, not me, and it had a much better record than I did.

I also couldn't help trying to connect with my mother (I know, I know). She didn't tell me a lot about her childhood, but Gran and Grandpa were strict and unavailable, too. In my mind I had always made the excuse for her coldness that she had never learned any better. No matter how bad things got, she was still my mom and I felt like I would always want and work for a relationship with her. I guess not ever having a chance with my father made it seem silly to throw the chance with my mother away. I don't know. That's the job of being someone's kid, right? Right.

So I rolled out of bed, showered, tucked myself into the lacy dress Stephan had found for me in the back of the wardrobe department, "controlled" my hair (as my mother would say), and went to work on wrapping the dog collar.

Mother had very strict standards of gift presentation and had emailed out the color palette of the party so guests could make sure their wrapping matched. Per her instructions, I had picked up some light green paper with a gold-flecked ribbon.

I opened the box the collar came in, to check one last time that this was right, that this was what the universe had planned for me to do with this image. Just like every other time I looked at that stupid dog-accessory, I knew right away that it would be perfect, that the only dog I could think of who was so over-the-top as to wear it, was Vaughn.

It's not that I knew him at all. My mother took her dogs everywhere with her and she was rarely around. When I was younger, I had loved those dogs (because that’s just what kids do) and had tried unsuccessfully to make them love me back. It had been Schmoopy at that point in my life. I remember going up to him and trying to give him a hug. Simultaneously my mother had barked at me and he had tried to bite me. After that, I began hating the dogs, even going so far as vindictively throwing their fancy chew toys in the garbage whenever I'd find them laying around.

I could see the sun pushing up in the sky through my window and knew I was wasting time, so I shoved those memories out of my mind and wrapped the stupid present.

My mother lived with the rest of the "affluents" in the upper valley and along the hills. The curves in the road, the trees lining the street, the familiar houses from the neighborhood I grew up in, all of it made the back of my throat ache with anticipation and my fingers grip the steering wheel too tight.

I pulled up to the large white brick house. The wrought iron twisted in the same better-than-yours way and the columns still stood in their same pretentious spots. My body broke into a cold sweat as a tailed valet came over and opened my door with a white-gloved hand. Feigning a smile, I grabbed the present, and got out. I waited until he'd driven Gerald away to even consider going inside.

I froze as I looked up at the house. My fingers clutched the present, probably denting it, though I didn't care. My eyes stung as memories and insecurities crammed their way back into my life. I'm not sure how long I would have stood there if another car hadn't started crunching up the driveway, forcing me to swipe away the tears in the corners of my eyes and the thoughts of doubt in the corners of my heart.

I walked up the large entrance and rang the doorbell once. A butler appeared, opened the door, and ushered me inside. I didn't recognize him, but then again, I had stopped getting used to her help since it changed so frequently. Every time my mother went to a new country or stayed at a new friend's villa, she fired the lot she had and hired on new people, as if they were the "fashionable" or "in style" thing, as if people were nothing more than accessories. She was especially bad about chefs. I think we had a new one each season growing up.

The only help that ever remained constant had been Nanny Marie for those seven years. I paused at the grand staircase in the foyer and a smile wrinkled the corners of my eyes as I remembered she and I sitting on those steps while she braided my hair and we waited for Mother to get home from her latest holiday.

I closed my eyes until I heard a foot scuff next to me. The butler had placed my gift on the expertly arranged present pile and tried to show me the way to the backyard, where the party took place. I didn't care that he looked impatient or that I was being weird. I remained standing there for a few more seconds.

Voices, barking, glasses and silverware clinking, dog nails clicking on the patio. The sounds floated in from the veranda as I stood in my childhood house and let the ghosts surround me and wash over my heart. I looked at the walls, covered in huge, larger-than-life-sized portraits of each of the dogs, artsy Saluki paintings, my mother's photographs, and gold embellished birth certificates denoting the royal lineage of each one of her "babies".

I wasn't surprised that there wasn't even one picture of me; there never had been, even when I lived there. I sighed through the tightness in my chest and started up the stairs, putting my hand up when the butler tried to stop me.

"It's okay, I used to live here. I'm her daughter." The butler narrowed his eyes and watched me carefully, but let me go.

My fingers trailed along the railing on the landing and I turned into my old room. It was nothing more than another fancy guest bedroom that never had and never would be used. She'd started decorating even before I had completely moved into my college dorm, saying, "It'll be so nice to have the extra space."

I sat quietly on the fluffy beige bed and folded my hands in my lap as I closed my eyes and imagined the room as it had looked when I had lived there. The walls had still been white (Mother wouldn't settle for anything else), but Marie had helped me collect posters of my favorite shows and movies to hang, covering as much of the boring wall as we could. None of the pin marks remained in the wall, of course, having been painted over the weekend I moved out, but I smiled knowing they were under there somewhere.

I stood up, realizing that even this room, my one space in that whole big house, hadn't been my refuge. My escape had never been a place, but a person. When Marie was forced to leave me and then passed away shortly after, I had been in elementary school. That's when I had really started going downhill, when mom sent me away, too, hidden at that boarding school.

Just like when I was little, I felt my life, the normalcy I so wanted, slip through my fingers. Brian should be there with me, but he wasn't because I couldn't compromise and share my space. I shook my head, feelings of stupidity cramming into my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I needed to make this right again, I needed to find him. I stood up and resolved to go do just that right after the party.

So it was with purpose that I walked downstairs and outside, into the heart of the dog birthday party. Sadly, since I had attended many of them as a child, it was not the most ridiculous thing I'd ever seen (just tied with all the others). There had to be at least a hundred dogs running around, each fitted with a party hat that was easily more expensive than the cost of feeding a small family for a week.

From the looks of it, I decided that rich people had the weirdest taste in dogs. They looked positively crazy. Half of them didn't have most of their hair. The other half were groomed beyond recognition. I was tempted to pick a few of them up and squeeze them to see if they were real or stuffed. One of the dogs even looked like my poor, shaved Benny. The dog's owners, upset that they were doing anything but posing quietly on a thousand dollar pillow like they were supposed to, kept snapping at their dog nannies to make the animals behave. Therefore, behind each dog, a poor soul followed, exercising themselves and futility, fighting thousands of years of instinct.

The yard was decorated in large pieces of cloth draped and adorned with flowers fit for a celebrity wedding. The adults were drinking salty dogs as they always did (clever, I'll admit). I grabbed one as a waiter passed with a tray full. This year, they had bright green slices of pear elegantly floating on the top, to match with the color theme, of course.

I sipped and continued my look-around, swiveling toward the garden. I almost spit out my drink as I spotted something new, a huge ice sculpture of Vaughn, ear hair flowing behind him in the frozen wind, sitting in the garden entrance. I coughed, having sucked up the small slice of pear and gotten it lodged in my throat in the process of freaking out about the sculpture. Even though my throat felt like it was in mortal danger, I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and my heart ached for Brian or Rainy, someone to share this silliness with.

That's how my mother found me, cough-laughing, bent over, and by myself.

"Sunny." Like on the phone, she was cold and calm. My name was a statement and it always seemed like a disappointing one.

I wiped my mouth and patted my watering eyes with the cocktail napkin. "Mother." she wore a poofed out party dress with blue and light green flowers covering it, and her red hair had been smoothed back into an elaborate chignon. She watched me, too, from where she stood tall and judgmental on green heels.

Then, as if remembering she needed to tip the help, she walked forward and placed her hands on my shoulders. I leaned into her, lifting my arms to wrap them around her in a hug, or trying to. Her hands gripped me even tighter, her arms blocking mine from touching her and holding me a safe foot away from her perfect dress and expensively styled hair. Then she straightened her arms and pushed me back away from her.

I looked around. "So this is..." I couldn't say any of the adjectives that jumped into my mind because they were all things like, stupid, ridiculous, a waste of money, insulting, so I just stopped there and nodded.

My mother didn't care what I thought, only how I appeared. "Who did you come with?" She frowned and looked around me like I might be hiding a man behind a flower pot or under one of the cloth decorations.

I tried to meet her gaze, to make her stop searching. "Uh, I didn't. I'm here stag."

Her face pulled tight into what might seem like a smile to the untrained eye, but was really the highest manifestation of distaste her face was capable of representing. "Oh." Her eyelids fluttered, only slightly masking an eye roll. She pulled her mouth tight. "A date was on the list I gave you, was it not?"

My throat felt hot and the discomfort traveled into my neck and face. "Yes, I --"

"It's very inconsiderate to ignore a hostess' request." She shook her head. I saw her keen eyes locate "the girls" over by a particularly lavish hors d’oeuvres display. A tremor of what I can only assume as fear ran down her features and she said, "Why don't we talk inside."

I followed her and even though I knew she was hiding me, I was happy to be alone with my mother because I desperately needed to do some talking, some figuring out. My mind felt tight and sure that this was the moment I was going to make a difference in my relationship with her. It was what the universe had brought me there for. She opened her mouth to say something, but I interrupted her by grabbing her hand and saying, "Come see what I bought for Vaughn."

The rhinestone collar had to be a peace offering, something my mother would appreciate,
the
thing that would make her see that I wanted to try, that I wanted to be a part of her life.

Surer than sure, I pulled my mother after me as I made a beeline inside for the present table. I'm pretty sure Bunny Skies had never been pulled anywhere in the last thirty years because as I glanced back, her lips were pressed into a very thin, disapproving line and her eyes were flitting around her, probably to make sure no one saw her being toted around like one of the dogs she'd invited to her party.

I snatched the green box from the pile and I handed it to her. She wrinkled her nose and held it. I pushed it toward her.

"Open it. I want you to see."

"It's not mine, though. Vaughn should be the one to --"

"Mother." I cut her off and craned my neck forward. "He's a dog." I narrowed my eyes as I watched her. "He can't open presents. You do get that, right?" From the way her eyes tightened and her face remained rigid, I wasn't sure that she did, but I shoved it toward her again anyway. "Please. I bought it for you."

She fluttered her eyelids and rolled her eyes again, but pulled the bow loose and undid the wrapping. I wet my lips and smiled, watching her closely as she opened the box. Her eyebrows shot up and she reached inside, pulling out the collar carefully.