Blue Jeans and Coffee Beans (2 page)

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Chapter Two

M
arry me,” Scott says.

“What?”

“Right away. Let’s get married. At that chapel you like. Or a Justice of the Peace. I don’t care where, just marry me. I love you and I was wrong and I want to be with you. Next week, right away.”

“Scott, we’re not even engaged.” Maris presses the curtain aside and looks out the window, holding the cell close. The marsh spreads out past Eva’s backyard, the grasses green and soft, rising from the mist. A heron stands on the bank, glistening white in the early sun.

“We’re not kids. It doesn’t matter. We’ll do it right away, no engagement.”

“Wait. Wait, Scott. What are you doing? It’s not the right time. My father just died and I’m exhausted.”

“Exactly. And you need me now. You need us together.”

Maris turns away from the window, then turns right back.

“I love you, Maris, and I don’t want it to come between us that I wasn’t there for the funeral. Say yes to me.”

“Oh, Scott.” She leans against the window frame, moving closer to the sea, the salt air. “I can’t. Not yet, anyway.”

“Of course you can. We’ve talked about it plenty.”

She watches below as Matt walks outside to his car, his posture perfect in a state police uniform. She’s been standing at this bedroom window since before anyone in the house had woken; now they are going to work. “Tonight. I’ll call you tonight, Scott. I promise.”

The walls grow close, the air closer. His proposal, if she’d call it that, hems her in somehow. And it makes her take a deep breath and push back by going downstairs to talk to her friend about it over a fresh cup of coffee.

“What are you looking at so intently this morning?” Maris asks, breezing into the kitchen.

“Pinterest.” Eva glances up from the laptop opened on the table before turning back to the screen. “I’m pinning ideas on my board.”

“Ideas for what?” Maris finds a mug in the cabinet and pours herself a cup of coffee.

“Decorating this place. It’s great being back in my family home, but seriously? Sometimes it feels like I’m still in high school with this old wallpaper. Want to see my pins?”

Maris turns and leans against the counter, eyeing her friend.

“Or not,” Eva says. She pulls a light cardigan close against the morning damp. “What’s the matter?”

“Scott proposed.”

“What?”

“He did. Just now.”

“Wait. You’re getting married?”

Maris shrugs.

“Whoa! Congratulations, Maris! That is awesome!” Eva rushes over and hugs her. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Well nothing’s definite yet.” Maris takes her coffee over to the table and sits in front of the laptop. “He caught me a little off-guard with this.”

Now Eva eyes her. “Uh-oh. This is good news, isn’t it?”

“I guess. It just feels a little surreal. I mean, married? Me?”

“Yes!” Eva sits across from her. “You’ll finally settle down! And Scott’s a great guy. Aren’t you happy?”

“Well. Sure I am. It just hasn’t sunk in yet. Married!”

“You know what you need? A ring on that finger. That’ll make it sink in.”

Maris holds out her left hand, looking carefully at her ring finger. “I don’t know.”

“Can’t you see it? A beautiful diamond glimmering on your hand? Listen. Just try this. Visualize it. You know, like on my Pinterest boards. Or better yet,” she says, grabbing Maris’ arm, “I have an idea.” They run together up the stairs, Eva tugging at her halfhearted resistance.

“What are you doing now?” Maris asks when Eva lifts open the old hope chest in the upstairs hallway. Oh she can see it clearly in her eyes, that little bit of the rebel inspiring her idea, whatever it may be, as she digs into the blankets and scarves and sweaters.

“Visualizing, my friend. Visualizing. Trust me. I’ll show you how.”

Time moves like the sea. She always felt so. Living right at the beach, time is placid and calm, soft waves of it rolling onto the shore of her days. One day follows the other, over and over, in a comfortable and reassuring way. No matter what she is doing, at any age, that awareness of the movement of the sea, and of waves of time, keeps her grounded.

But as volatile as the sea can be, so too is any hour, any moment. Washing ashore, overtaking her very self with its insistence, with its forward movement rushing over her so powerfully she can be knocked senseless by the force of time. Waves of the past have that way of pulling at her, leaving her gasping and struggling to get her bearings, to breathe evenly.

Eva studied her reflection in the mirror. It was one of those days when so much happens, a day cresting with immense change. She remembered her mother’s words as she leaned close to the mirror, adding a smudge of eyeliner beneath her eyes.

“Look what you’ve done now,” Theresa had said only weeks earlier, on a day when rain drummed steady on the house. Water streaked the windows, turning the panes fluid. “There’s absolutely no going back now. And what about college? Did you two even think of that?”

Eva added more eyeliner almost in defiance of her mother’s words. At least she’d finished high school. And it’s not like she was the first teenager to ever get herself pregnant. But maybe what she needed was the definition of family that came with it; maybe it felt good to connect with a baby. She’d already begun whispering a few phrases, wondering if the baby could hear them. Because her baby would always know her, and its father, too. She and Matt would find some way to get married and stay together.

But fear of that uncertain future finally won out and brought her to her mother for help. On that rainy day in the kitchen, her words to Theresa came like little riptides tugging at her heart, at her tears, at her throat, pulling her under and choking her up.
After a graduation party at Foley’s
and
Usually we just hang out there, you know
were followed by a gasp as she was near drowning in fear.
We played cards
and
We were celebrating and drank a little
had her wiping tears off her face, tasting the salt and closing her eyes against the unknown washing over her.
Later we went to the beach, and I don’t know, it just happened
she’d continued, her breathing ragged, her face wet, her insouciance drowned out by a clear reality now.

“Well you and Matthew made a bad decision. It’s as simple as that.” Theresa’s voice dropped low. “And now your options are limited, so we’ll make your next decision right now. You and me. And you’ll stick to it, Eva. You’ll get through this. You’ll have the baby and live here. Dad and I will help you raise it, don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

Eva shook her head no as her mother spoke.

“What do you mean, no? You are not getting an abortion, and you are definitely not giving that baby up for adoption, tying up another generation in knots.”

“We’re getting married,” Eva whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“We are. Matt wants to.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. You are way too young for that. Maybe in a few years, if you’re still together. It’s bad enough there’s a baby to take care of now. Marriage is out of the question.”

“You can’t stop us.” At that point, she wasn’t sure if her mother even heard her quiet insistence fighting tears, and fighting her mother’s will. “I’m marrying Matt.”

Theresa looked long at her, then reached forward and dabbed at Eva’s smeared eyeliner with a tissue. Eva wouldn’t break her gaze, staring straight at her, her tear-rimmed eyes unblinking. After living a life shaped by moments she knew nothing of, moments that separated her from her birth mother, she’d resolved moments wouldn’t decide anymore. She would.

So a few weeks later, on this late August Saturday morning, Eva stood barefoot in front of her bedroom mirror in the vintage gown she’d chosen. Embroidered lace flowers covered the sheer short sleeves, a white ribbon reached around her waist to a bow in the back, while the gown fell simply into a few lace tiered layers. She accepted Theresa’s help now; she actually wanted it, desperately. The wedding would be small and simple, and she and Matt would live at home until they got their bearings. But still … still. Eva would still do some things her way, would define her own path to motherhood. Her way meant the ceremony would be on the beach she loved. And remaining barefoot in the warm sand in her vintage gown became another of her own small acts of control, of definition. Because on the beach, in the sea breezes, in the sound of the waves, didn’t other voices often carry, a whispered voice she missed all her life.

An embroidered lace bridal cap covered much of her long tangle of untamed dark hair, and looking at her reflection alone in her room on her wedding day, a fear rose in her eyes. No black eyeliner, no defiant attitude, no acts of rebellion could deny the fear of what she’d gotten herself into.

Every bit of that moment, the very one when she raised her arms, took hold of the veil and slowly but gently lifted it and draped it over her face, the whole moment that captured the unknown she found herself facing at eighteen, returns as steady and unstoppable as the tide, the rising wave of memory moving over her heart as Maris stands now in front of her bedroom mirror, the very same mirror as then.

Visualize
, Eva softly suggests as she sets her old veil on Maris’ head. And as Maris reaches up to lift the veil forward over her long brown hair, Eva sees her eighteen-year-old self in the look unbound in Maris’ steady gaze at the mirror. It is there all over again, this time in Maris’ dark eyes, that same pure fear of what she is about to do.

“I can’t do it,” Maris says.

“What do you mean? You’ll make a beautiful bride. Look.”

But Maris hasn’t stopped looking, turning to the side, lifting the veil back over her face.

“My veil can be your Something Borrowed. It looks so pretty on you. And we can shop for a gown together. Or if you shop in Chicago, pin pictures of gowns you like on Pinterest so I can see too. I’ll let you know what I think of them. Here, hold this up, just for fun.”

Maris takes the vintage gown from Eva’s hands, feeling the detail of the fabric, of a life itself, in the complex threads of embroidery and lace. Oh the anticipation and tears and love and promise all stitched into one simple dress. It feels like playing dress-up, holding the gown against her body and seeing someone she isn’t sure of. Someone she has to imagine, this bride. The delicate feel and faint scent of this aged cream gown long tucked into a cedar hope chest give it a tangible quality, an evidence of a life fully lived for one day within it.

“When will I ever find time to do all this? Gown shopping? A wedding?”

Eva stands behind her and adjusts the veil, resetting it over her dark hair.

“Can you do me a favor?” Maris asks, holding the gown’s shoulders over hers, vintage satin and lace falling the length of her body, brushing her bare feet. Eva’s reflected eyes in the mirror rise to meet hers. “Find me a place to stay here.”

“Here? What do you mean?”

“Just for a little while.” She turns back to Eva, giving her the gown. “The more I think about it, the more I want to do it.”

“Do what?” Eva asks, laying out her gown on the bed.

“Oh, this idea so needs a fresh cup of coffee to mull over. Come on.” Maris rushes back down the stairs to Eva’s kitchen, feeling suddenly so hippy, barefoot in her skinny jeans, tank top and wedding veil. She sits in front of Eva’s laptop again, glancing at her decorating inspiration. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you with your design plans in exchange.”