Being Known Page 8

  As much as Eden and Alex loved GiGi and Poppy, tonight they weren’t having any of it. They wanted to come with me. They begged for me to ask Daddy to come home so he could read them a bedtime story.

  Even though I felt like the worst mother in the world, GiGi pushed me toward the door. I made my exit and winced when I could still hear Alex crying. The side door of Gussie slid open, and Emily welcomed me onto the back seat with her.

  “Sorry! Meltdown at the last moment.” I clicked my seatbelt in place and was grateful for the affirming comments from the other moms in the van. They understood. They knew the routine.

  “What’s on your lap?” Sierra asked from the front passenger’s seat.

  “I made some cookies.”

  “Yum! What kind did you make?” Emily asked.

  “Sugar cookies with almond extract. And with lots of gooey pink frosting.”

  “No wonder your kids didn’t want you to leave the house,” Sierra laughed. “They saw you taking the treasure with you.”

  For the first time since I had gotten in the van, I took in the customized interior. Behind our bench seat was an open space with built-in cupboards. The windows had curtains, and the biggest surprise was that the floor was carpeted. It was too dark to tell, but it looked like a vintage shag in avocado green.

  “Gussie is adorable,” I said. “It’s really comfy back here. Did Todd make all these customized changes?”

  “Most of them,” Christy said. “We have a platform that fits in the back and a mattress.”

  “The carpet is an unexpected touch,” I said.

  “Todd loves it. I’m not so crazy about it. I think he planned for it to be a soft place to load up his surfboards. He ends up strapping them to the roof, though, because he usually takes a bunch of guys with him when he goes surfing, so he needs to keep the bench seats in.”

  “Have you guys ever gone camping?” Emily asked.

  Christy merged onto the freeway, and I noticed the way Gussie chugged. As updated as she was, she still sounded like an old Volkswagen when she sped up.

  “We haven’t gone camping since before the kids were born. Our big trip was up the California coast to Oregon to see my brother. He was working at a conference center near Glenbrook. That’s where he met his wife.”

  “You stayed with us on that trip,” Sierra added. “Remember? When we were in Santa Barbara.”

  “Yes, we did. That was so fun,” Christy said. “You guys were renting a sweet cottage.”

  “I know. We didn’t know how good we had it! I loved the big patio area.” She turned to Emily and me. “Our bungalow was on the grounds of a gorgeous estate in the Santa Barbara hills. It was a groundskeeper cottage near a big swimming pool. Jordan lived there before we met. When we were married, he did the landscaping for the family in exchange for rent. It was a tiny cottage but such a great place for us.”

  “You had it fixed up so cute,” Christy said. “It was tiny but adorable.”

  Sierra turned to Christy with an exaggerated pout. “I know. I can’t wait until we get to move out of my in-laws’ house someday. I look forward to fixing up a place like that again and making it feel like home for us.”

  “Any leads on a place to live?” Christy asked.

  “No. We looked at three places last week, but we were so discouraged over the prices of everything. Oh, I didn’t tell you guys yet. In an effort to contribute to our housing fund, I found a part-time job yesterday.”

  “You did?” Christy asked. “Where?”

  “I get to work at home. I’ll teach English to students in Brazil.”

  “How do you do that?” Emily asked.

  “Through video calls. The organization provides the curriculum with homework and tests. All I have to do is go through the lessons with each student and answer questions the best I can. I think I’m really going to like it.”

  “That sounds like a great job for you,” Christy said.

  “It doesn’t pay much, but I needed something where I could work from home. You know I was selling stuff, but that hasn’t really brought in much moola. I can see why Tess does well with her side hustle of selling the oils. She has a built-in customer base. After I saturated Jordan’s family and mine, I ran out of customers.” Sierra turned toward Emily and me. “Have you guys ever been to Tess’s place?”

  None of us had.

  “I have a feeling it’s going to be really impressive,” Sierra said.

  “I picture it being boho chic,” Emily said. “With lots of colors and sheer curtains fluttering in the breeze.”

  “That’s interesting because I always pictured her going with midcentury modern,” I said.

  “Really? Not me,” Christy said.

  She and Sierra both thought Tess’s place would be traditional.

  “I know that she has a leather couch,” Christy said. “So I bet it’s either traditional with lots of accent pieces to make it look super classy, or it’s clean traditional with a white leather sofa and a thick rug.”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Emily said.

  “Not at this speed,” Sierra said as the freeway traffic slowed to only thirty miles per hour.

  “Do you think there’s been an accident?” Emily asked.

  “No, I think it’s always like this on the 55 freeway,” Christy said. “I probably should have taken the 405.”

  “You should be fine once you hit the 22,” I said. “Or were you going to take the 5?”

  Christy glanced in the rearview mirror. “The 5. What do you think, Jennalyn?”

  “You could take the 5 but then jump off on the 57 instead of taking Beach Boulevard.”

  Emily laughed at us. “You do realize, don’t you, that you guys sound like a comedy sketch with all the freeway numbers. Obviously, you’ve both lived here a long time. In the year and a half we’ve been here, all I know is the name of the street I live on and how to get myself to work and home.”

  “That’s why I rely on my secret weapon!” Sierra pulled out her phone. “I am dependent on my apps. Here. It’s set with Tess’s address. Do you want me to start it?”

  “Sure.” Christy merged into the carpool lane.

  I looked out the window at the familiar buildings and billboards visible from the illumination of all the car headlights. “My dad grew up not far from here. His dad was born back when the city of Orange still had lots of orange groves. My grandparents both came from families that were ranchers.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Christy said. “You’re a third-generation Orange County girl.”

  “Fourth, actually. My great-grandparents owned part of the orange grove that was sold to build the Angels’ baseball stadium.”

  “That’s amazing,” Sierra said. “You always astonish me, Jennalyn. You are a woman of many hidden surprises.”

  I laughed self-consciously. “I don’t know about that. You were the one who surprised me when we first met. I didn’t believe it at first when you said you had lived in Brazil for five years.”

  “Believe it. Those were some refining years, for sure.”

  The traffic jam had let up, and we had clear sailing in the carpool lane most of the way on the 5 freeway. Sierra told us some interesting stories about her time in Brazil. My friends all commented at the looming arena when we sped past Angel Stadium.

  “Can you imagine this whole area being orange groves and dirt roads?” Christy asked. “I’ve seen pictures of what Disneyland looked like before they started building it. All of Orange County is a concrete jungle now.”

  We talked about life and changes and wondered what this world would be like when our kids grew up. Christy got off the freeway, and Sierra’s phone kept interrupting us, giving advice on where to turn so we would miss the congestion. We found our way up into the hills, winding through a beautiful area with
tall trees and gated driveways.

  “You know what I appreciate?” Christy asked. “I appreciate that Tess is willing to always be the one who drives to see us. She’s a lot farther away than I realized.”

  I glanced at my phone. It was 7:45 and we had told her we would be there at 7:30. I sent Tess a text and told her the street name of the intersection where we were waiting for the light to turn green. I noticed I had two texts from GiGi. She had snapped a picture of my little ones, content on Poppy’s lap as he read a story to them. Her message said, All is calm here. Have fun.

  I turned the phone screen to show Emily. She smiled.

  “That’s honey to a mama’s heart, isn’t it?” she asked.

  I nodded and glanced at my phone again. Tess had replied with a smiley face. I also noticed that I had two messages waiting for me on my Word Wiz app. I slid my phone back into my purse and felt an odd tightening in my gut. Knowing that Garrett was trying to contact me now felt different from the late-night back-and-forth messages when I was home in flu-bug mode. He didn’t belong here in Christy and Todd’s Gussie. He didn’t belong in my circle of haven maker friends.

  “Looks like it’s up here on the right,” Christy said.

  The gray, one-story duplex with its flat roof was unimpressive at first glance and not at all what I had expected.

  “Tess warned me about her driveway,” Christy said. “She wasn’t kidding about its being steep.” Christy inched her way into the sliver of a parking space next to Tess’s white SUV.

  “Well done,” Sierra commented.

  “Only one slight problem,” Christy said. “I can’t get out my door. I’m too close to this retaining wall. I’ll have to go out your door, Sierra.”

  Sierra had opened the passenger’s door a half a foot but couldn’t open it any further without hitting Tess’s car. “Guess again.” She closed the door. The interior of the car went dark. “Looks like we all go out through the sliding back door.”

  Christy got out of her seat, lowered her head, and bent over as she tried to squeeze through the opening between the driver’s and passenger’s seats. She reached for her shoulder bag on the floor to loop it over her arm as she came toward where Emily and I were sitting. However, she somehow had put her foot through the long strap so, when she pulled it up, the strap snapped up between her legs.

  “Ouch!”

  “Christy, you’re giving yourself a wedgie!” Sierra laughed. “Here, hand me your purse. Now lift your right leg. Sorry. No, I meant your left leg. Bend your knee. Not that much. Wait.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.” Christy repressed her chuckles. “I mean it. Don’t make me laugh. I’ve had two babies.”

  She really did look funny hunched over and trying to stay in place on one foot. Sierra’s unhelpful directions made it even more comical. Emily and I glanced at each other, and we couldn’t help it. We burst out laughing.

  “You look like an arthritic flamingo!” Sierra spouted, which was no help at all.

  “Don’t make me laugh!” Christy yelled. “I’m not kidding! Not on my husband’s precious vintage shag carpet!”

  “Here,” Emily said. “Take our hands.”

  The moment Christy leaned forward to take hold of my hand and Emily’s, Sierra pulled on the purse. It was like watching a slow-motion mousetrap game. The strap tugged at Christy’s raised leg. The tilt of the van added to Christy’s imbalance. With an unladylike squawk, she came toward me headfirst, her chest landing on the plate of cookies in my lap.

  “Got your purse!” Sierra held it up triumphantly.

  We all laughed so hard we could barely breathe.

  Christy had sunk to the floor at my feet, laughing and wiping her tears with the back of her hand. She smoothed her hand over the front of her top. “Did I ruin the cookies?”

  “Forget the cookies,” I said. “Did you break any bones?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Emily let out a startled shriek and then started laughing again.

  We all turned to see Tess standing by the window of the sliding door, peering inside, trying to see what in the world was going on. I reached over and pulled the handle, sliding the door open.

  “What are you guys doing?” Tess asked.

  “We were trying to get out,” Christy explained, “but then Sierra—”

  “Hey, don’t blame me!” Sierra protested. “I was helping.”

  “Helping?” Emily started laughing again. “That was the funniest way of helping I’ve ever seen.”

  I handed Tess the plate of cookies through the opened side door. With my brightest smile, I said, “I brought crumbs.”

  She looked confused. “Pink crumbs?”

  “They used to be hearts.” Inspired by a sudden pun, Sierra said, “Oh, Christy, you’re such a heartbreaker!”

  “I’d rather be that than a…What did you call me?”

  “An arthritic flamingo.”

  We burst into another round of laughter, much to poor Tess’s confusion.

  “You guys better come in,” she said. “My neighbors are going to think I’m throwing a wild party and call the police.”

  It took the four of us in a team effort of uncoordinated moves and assistance from one another to get out of the van and make our way to the front door. The laughter had calmed down but not the jovial teasing.

  “I think we should try synchronized swimming next,” Sierra said.

  “Absolutely not!” Christy, Emily, and I answered as a chorus.

  “Hey, that was pitch perfect,” Sierra said as we approached Tess’s front door. “Maybe we should start a girl band. We could introduce the world to a new dance move.”

  Sierra imitated Christy’s bent-over, balanced-on-one-leg position and cracked herself up with laughter.

  Tess stared in disbelief.

  Just then the neighbor’s porch light turned on, and Tess put a finger to her lips to hush us. She opened the door and pushed us inside. “I’m serious,” she whispered. “They’ll call the police!”

  Chapter 9

  I was the last to step inside Tess’s home because I wanted to take a moment to admire the entryway. The front door was painted black, and she had two potted plants on either side that were trimmed the way a champion poodle might be for a competition—precisely and artfully, in the shape of a teardrop. The ornate vintage black iron lantern hanging over the entry, along with the door and plants, gave the feel that we were about to step into a Parisian shop.

  I entered an open area that immediately felt luxurious and simple at the same time. My earlier guess of Tess’s style being midcentury modern was close. True to everything else about Tess, her home wasn’t just one style, nor was it predictable. Inside we were met with a surprising mix of styles that all worked together in beautiful and inviting ways.

  On the left was a small, and I do mean small, galley-style kitchen. A narrow floating island with a white marble top separated the kitchen space from the living room. A stunning blue leather couch dominated the space along the edge of an oversized ivory rug.

  I especially loved the lighting. I wanted to ask her what watt bulbs she had in the various lamps positioned around the room. They seemed to have the same strategic balance of proportion and shape as the many lush green houseplants. The glow of the soft lights bounced off the gold accents in the picture frames, the hammered brass bowl on the end table, and the curios that dotted her built-in bookshelves. Tucked up against the wall under one bookshelf was a table for two, with narrow high back chairs upholstered in a rich blue and gold tapestry that seemed like maids-in-waiting for the queenly sofa.

  “I don’t know what you guys were drinking before you got here,” Tess said, as she pulled a glass pitcher of water from her narrow fridge. I noticed the cucumber slices bobbing in the water, which was something I loved to do with my water too.
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  “It might be hard to believe, but we didn’t have anything to drink,” Sierra said. “Hey, are those Fenton or hobnail?” She took one of the filled glasses from Tess and examined the light blue goblets that had rows of raised polka dots on them.

  “I have no idea. They came with the house. I love them.” Tess’s voice was especially low, as if she were setting an example of the level at which we needed to communicate in her duplex.

  “These are collectibles.” Sierra took the cue and lowered her voice. “Just so you know. They are true vintage pieces. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in blue.”

  “Your home is beautiful,” Emily said. “If Trevor and I are ever able to buy a home, could I pay you to come over and make decorating suggestions for me?”

  “Of course. But you can’t pay me,” Tess said with a look of mock offense. “Don’t even say things like that. I’d be happy to give you some ideas. We’re haven makers, remember? We agreed long ago that this is what we love to do and love to do together.”

  Christy lifted her goblet. “To us haven makers.”

  We all raised our glasses, echoed her sentiment, and sipped in unison.

  “Besides,” Tess said, “I’ve been to your haven, Emily, and it’s so cozy. Whenever I’m there, I feel loved. I really do. It’s the same for your homes, Jennalyn and Christy.”

  “We feel it here too,” Emily said.

  Tess grinned as if that’s what she was hoping to hear. “I haven’t been to your place, Sierra, but I’m sure it would feel the same.”

  “It might. It’s different, though, since it’s not our home.”

  Christy quoted a saying as if we all had heard it before. “ ‘A house is made of brick and stone, but a home is made of love alone.’ ”

  “Did you just make that up?” Sierra asked.

  “No. My grandma did a cross-stitch of that saying when she was a young girl. It’s on a piece of linen with a border of little houses. Really sweet. When she passed away, it was sent to me. She knew I always loved it. I need to reframe it and find a good place to hang it.”