Black Flowers, White Lies Page 2

  Grace calls, interrupting my daydream.

  “Hey,” she says. “Are you home? How was the mall?”

  “One ugly dress later …”

  “Oh no. You were afraid of that.”

  Kids screech in the background. “How’s your afternoon going?” I ask. Grace is working at a daycare for the summer.

  “The paint will never come off my sneakers,” she says. “One hour left. See you soon?”

  “Sorry, Mom needs me at the bookstore. She’s extra demanding today.”

  “Ugh. We have no social lives.”

  “That reminds me. I did have a brief encounter at the mall.” I tell her all about Beautiful Boy. “Cross your fingers I somehow see him again. Hey, maybe we should have our Tarot cards read. I want to go to the place on Bloomfield.”

  “Because that will tell you all about future romance?” Grace teases.

  I ignore her, and we hang up with a promise to talk later.

  Grace has been my friend since our moms took us trick-or-treating together in second grade. She told the best ghost stories that afternoon, and I was hooked. Together, we explored all things paranormal. Somewhere along the way, though, she stopped believing. I never did.

  After dinner, Mom, Stanley, and I play a family round of Boggle. Mom and I used to play backgammon, but since it’s only a two-person game, we’ve shifted our routine to include Stanley. Apparently, he has a horrible vocabulary, including short words. I don’t know how Mom can stand his pouting when he doesn’t win.

  “I could teach you to play chess, El,” he suggests after losing again. “I taught Blake and we used to have such enjoyable matches.” His voice is hopeful. “I can’t believe he’s on his way. It will be great to see him.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Since it’s been so many years.”

  “Ella!” Mom chides me like I’ve said something untrue.

  “It’s okay,” Stanley says. “We haven’t had the closest relationship since the divorce. It was a nasty breakup. I gave up on fighting Veronique to see him when work moved me away. I should have tried harder. And last year … well, now our relationship will be different.”

  Stanley draws a big X through his losing word list. “It’s water under the proverbial bridge. Blake will be here for the wedding. It’s a wonderful thing! And NYU is so close. After school starts, he can join us for Sunday dinners.”

  Mom raises her eyebrows, which means the weekly meal idea is new to her, too. Fabulous.

  Later that night, I peek into Mom’s office. She made the bed with the striped sheets and the plaid throw pillow, with the comforter folded back like in a hotel. The closet is opened, showing a neat line of empty plastic hangers.

  I hope Blake isn’t a jerk. If he expects to be treated like royalty, I’ll die.

  Resting in bed, I check my phone. Grace has sent me a photo of the dress she’s wearing to the wedding. Nice, I respond, but she doesn’t answer. I try to reach Jana, but she’s spending August at her grandmother’s, where cell phones are considered evil. A Month of Misery, she calls it. At least she knows what to expect. Unlike me, entering unknown family territory. This is my new normal, I guess. At least when I leave for college in three years, Mom won’t be by herself. I’ve thought about how hard it would be to leave her alone, but now she’ll have Stanley to keep her company. I drift asleep to the sound of Mom and Stanley talking about centerpieces and seating arrangements.

  I sleep late the next morning, waking at eleven to pounding rain. Oscar pads into the kitchen ahead of me, eager for his breakfast. I’m still rubbing my eyes when his hiss jolts me awake. When I see the cause of his hissing, I stiffen.

  Sitting in my seat, sipping from my favorite cat mug, is Beautiful Boy.

  3

  THE READING

  I stare at the guy I’d desperately hoped to meet again, who is somehow here in the kitchen talking to Mom and Stanley. I’m suddenly conscious of the fact that I haven’t brushed my teeth or my hair and that I’m wearing shorts and a sleep shirt with Felix the Cat on it. At least I slipped on a strapless bra before emerging.

  Stanley practically jumps from his seat to introduce us. “Good morning, Ella! Glad you finally joined the living.”

  Blake stands to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says.

  “Hi,” I manage. If he’s as surprised as I am, he doesn’t show it. My cheeks flush as I remember my attraction to him. Embarrassed at the memory, I’m relieved he doesn’t say anything about seeing him at the mall. Maybe he doesn’t even remember talking to me yesterday.

  “Does anyone want breakfast?” Stanley asks. “Blake, do you still like Lucky Charms?”

  “Sure,” he says, sitting down. “I’m not hungry yet, though.”

  “Right, right. Let me know when you want some.” Stanley smiles at him like when he finally manages a rare Boggle win.

  Mom pours me coffee with one sugar in her Reading is My Superpower mug. She may have awful taste in dresses, but at least she has no objection to my occasional caffeine consumption.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I take grateful sips. Oscar weaves insistently between my legs, so I put the mug down long enough to feed him. Then I take the empty seat at the table, across from my seat, which is occupied by the boy-formerly-known-as-beautiful.

  I study him and his father. Blake is lean muscle compared to Stanley’s slight paunch. They do have the same strong chin and the same intense brown eyes. Compared to Stanley’s enthusiasm, Blake’s tone and body language seem reserved. It reminds me of the first time I got scratched at the animal shelter, how the next few times I used extra caution volunteering with the cats. Blake is wary but polite as he answers Stanley’s questions about graduation, NYU registration, and his upcoming classes.

  While Blake asks Mom about the wedding arrangements—her favorite topic—the coffee finally kicks my brain into gear. Wasn’t his flight supposed to arrive late last night? How was he even at the mall yesterday?

  “About thirty people in total,” Mom says. “Stanley explained it would be hard for you to invite friends with everybody heading off to college. Don’t worry. Only one of Ella’s friends can make it. Right, El?”

  Mom gives me a pointed look that mandates I join the conversation. Blake smiles at me, the same smile from yesterday. I find it hard to meet his eyes.

  “Yes, my friend Grace will be there,” I say. “With her parents and sister.”

  Grace. Oh no. I had called her and raved about the guy at the mall, who is actually my soon-to-be family. Awkward, awkward, awkward. Of course, I didn’t realize who he was then. But I can’t let her know. She’ll tease me forever.

  “We want it to be an intimate affair,” Stanley says.

  The phrase “intimate affair” makes me blush. I fight the urge to giggle inappropriately. “Excuse me,” I mumble, rushing to the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face and decide to stay here as long as possible.

  Wow. Today is going to suck.

  Grace agrees to have our Tarot cards read in the afternoon. Getting out of the house outweighs putting up with her skepticism. Today’s cat shirt reads You have to be KITTEN me right MEOW, which feels appropriate. You have to be kidding me that Blake is Beautiful Boy. I manage to avoid him until I’m about to leave. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, texting and suppressing a yawn.

  “You must be tired after the late flight,” I say, soft enough so that Mom and Stanley can’t hear.

  He leans close enough for me to smell—the ocean? His cologne reminds me of jumping waves at the beach. “I had some things to take care of, so I took an earlier flight. You can keep a secret, right?” He gives me an earnest smile, as if my cooperation means the world to him.

  “Cross my heart,” I say, closing the door gently behind me. What is wrong with me? Cross my heart? I sound like I’m in kindergarten.

  The rain has stopped, and I have a little time before I need to meet Grace. I stroll down Washington Street and, without really planning it, somehow find myself
at the entrance to Hoboken Hill Cemetery. I decide to go in quickly, just for a minute.

  As I approach Dad’s grave, I see them: dark flowers in front of his headstone. I shiver, checking for who might have left them, but no one else is around.

  The flowers are disturbing. Why black? I know black roses can symbolize death. But the floppy, outstretched petals don’t resemble roses, and death is a bit redundant in a cemetery.

  Pebbles are scattered nearby, probably the same ones I used before. I pick one and place it in the center of the headstone, but I don’t linger. As I hurry to Grace’s, I debate whether or not to mention the cemetery visit to her.

  “Nice cat shirt,” she says, locking the door behind her. She lives in a detached three-story brownstone, which is the closest thing to a house in Hoboken. “But isn’t it from seventh grade?” She scrunches her mouth in a way that suggests I have questionable taste.

  I tug at the bottom, stretching it down. “I love this shirt!” Even if I were tempted to tell her anything about the cemetery, the insult makes up my mind.

  The Tarot card place is at least a fifteen-minute walk from her house. Grace talks steadily on the way. “Can you believe Piper went through my closet again? That blue cami I couldn’t find? It was crumpled on her floor. How could she think she’d ever pull off wearing it in her training bra? Makes me wish for a brother.” She pauses. “Hey! Did you meet your new brother today?”

  Ack. “Yes. Blake was at breakfast. He seems nice.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s weird to have an instant family member. We didn’t really talk much.” I point down the street to change the subject. “We’re almost there.”

  The building is brick, nondescript, except for the fluorescent blue Psychic sign glowing in the ground-level window.

  “So, this place opened recently?” Grace asks.

  I’m sure she thinks it’s cheesy. “The store has been here but I learned about the Tarot reader online. He’s new and supposed to be amazingly accurate.” I’ve had my palm read by a gypsy-looking woman at a street fair, but never had a Tarot reading.

  “What are you going to ask about? The beautiful boy and your next romance?”

  I’m glad she can’t see my face as she follows me inside. I’m sure it’s blazing red.

  I recognize the owner, a tall woman who always looks like she’s stepped out of a sportswear catalog with her coordinated shorts and running tops. She stands behind the counter of the narrow, brightly lit shop.

  “Why don’t you go first? My treat,” I say to Grace. I brought some of my bookstore earnings for this.

  We ask for two Tarot readings and Grace follows the woman through a curtained doorway into the back room. The owner returns, resuming her place behind the register.

  I browse to pass the time. Books like Healing with Gems, Feng Shui, and Exploring Inner Self with Tarot line the shelves. A round table covered in lace displays aromatherapy oils. One of the floral scents reminds me of Mom. I sniff each of them until the smells blur and my head aches.

  A new jewelry display catches my eye—a sparkly glass bowl filled with rings. They’re all so pretty, it’s hard to decide which I’d choose. I reach in and pull one out without looking. It’s a black flower carved in stone. Obsidian, the label says. Helps contact with the spirit world.

  Goose bumps cover my arms. Another black flower. Did I want more contact with the spirit world? I secretly hope that Dad watches out for me, kind of like a guardian angel. When Grace emerges from the back, I quickly bury the ring under the others in the bowl.

  “Your turn.” She says it with a tiny smirk, as if our whole adventure is silly.

  My hands tremble with anticipation as I enter the dim room. A man with cloudy blue eyes waits at a dark wooden table. A white cane rests against the side of his chair. The online article praised his accurate readings, but no one mentioned that he’s blind.

  “Hi,” I say quietly.

  He motions to a chair opposite him. “Please sit.”

  The corners of the Tarot cards are marked with braille. He sorts the cards into random piles. “I’m cleansing them to remove leftover energy. Is there anything you want me to focus on in your reading?”

  There are so many things I want to know. Will I have a boyfriend during sophomore year? Will I eventually get accepted into vet school? I think of the obsidian ring. Is it really possible to contact spirits? But none of those questions feel right when I try to verbalize them. “My family,” I finally say.

  He nods, passing the stack of cards to me. “Touch as many cards as you can, concentrating on thoughts of the family member you want to know about.”

  Dad. As I gently shuffle the cards, I think about the mini-album of photos I made when I was eight. I stole the snapshots of him from a scrapbook Mom keeps on the top shelf of her closet. I envision my favorite picture of Dad standing outside at the pier, looking toward the Hudson River. He’s smiling away from the camera as if he knows a wonderful secret. I like to imagine he was daydreaming about me, his future daughter, when Mom caught his shy smile.

  But his life was cut short, and soon Mom will be remarried. Stanley and Blake intrude on my thoughts, and it’s hard to focus. I hand back the cards. He deals them out, touching the braille on each one. The silence lasts long enough to make me shift in my seat.

  “Interesting,” he finally says. He taps a card that displays matching towers with a passageway between them. Two menacing dogs block the path. “This shows danger.”

  I jiggle my foot nervously beneath the table. Tiny flowers line the base of the towers. They might be black, but they’re too small and the room’s too dark to tell for sure.

  “You have a brief doorway of opportunity. You can create safety,” he says. “But it will be difficult. Beware of betrayal. The cards indicate that you’ll need to rely on your strength.”

  On the card labeled “Strength,” a woman in a pale, flowing dress holds a lion’s head with her hands as if to close its mouth. Am I the woman? Or the lion, like my name—Ariella? I don’t have the courage to ask.

  “Thank you.” I stand, ready to leave.

  “One last thing. I’m sensing … it feels like above.” He gestures his hand in a circle over his head. “Whatever trials you face, you may get help from above.”

  Above. Just like I imagined—my dad in a mystical, heavenly world, somehow looking out for me. I don’t want my longing to taint the reading, though, to make connections that aren’t there. Dad had helped me avoid danger once before. I hope I don’t need his help again.

  4

  BROKEN

  Grace and I linger outside her building. She makes fun of everything the blind man said: danger, betrayal, strength. It is lost on her, the fact that the Tarot reader doesn’t have regular sight, but could have a different type of vision.

  “I wonder what he meant by above.” I don’t mention that it might refer to Dad. Grace is too skeptical already and that would give her another reason to scoff at me.

  “Maybe something religious?” she says. “Anyway, the psychic could be wrong. You know, Houdini—”

  “Yeah, I know, I know. He exposed fake psychics.” We’ve had this discussion before. I fold my arms across my chest. “What about your reading?” I ask. “What do you think the envy refers to, and the strong bonds weakening?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “What?” Now I’ve made her angry.

  “If I believed in this type of thing,” she says with a touch of condescension, “I’d think he was talking about my dress for the wedding. You hate the dress your mom picked for you. But what about mine?”

  “What about it?”

  “I texted you the picture and your answer was a single word.”

  I squeeze her arm. “Grace, I’m fine with your dress.”

  “You’re sure? I thought you’d be jealous.”

  Does she want me to be jealous? Is that why she keeps going on about it? “I’m happy you’ll look beautiful.”<
br />
  “Thanks. And I’ll get to meet your mysterious stepbrother, who you’ve told me nothing about.”

  I take a deep breath. How much to tell? “Blake starts NYU in the fall. He’s a psych major. And he’s … well, he’s extremely good-looking.”

  Grace’s mouth falls open a little. “El, do you realize how gross that sounds? He’s your family now.”

  “You asked—”

  “I don’t care. You can’t say stuff like that. It sounds like you have a crush on him.”

  I stare at Grace. Has she always been so contentious? It seems that ever since Jana left, Grace has transformed somehow. Maybe I’m only seeing it now that part of our trio is missing. Without Jana around to moderate our friendship, Grace and I seem more dysfunctional.

  “Whatever.” I need the conversation to end.

  She gives me a fake-cheerful wave before I turn for home.

  Near dinnertime, the door to the office/Blake’s room is shut. Mom insists that I set the table with the good china since it’s our first dinner as a new family. Grace’s reaction to my description of Blake distracts me like a jagged fingernail, and I realize I’ve only used two plates, two napkins, two sets of utensils. How I wish it were just me and Mom. But I grab the extra settings before she can notice my mistake.

  When Stanley comes home, Blake emerges to greet him. Not wanting to seem rude, I follow Mom to the hallway, too.

  “I keep forgetting you’re taller than I am now.” Stanley awkwardly hugs Blake, then me, then kisses Mom. It’s kind of like a visiting guest instead of a family member. I’m not sure this would ever feel routine.

  “Oscar!” Mom yells. In the midst of the hugging, Stanley forgot to close the door and Oscar darts out.

  I rush after him. Norma, the building superintendent, frowns at him as she exits the elevator. Oscar dashes through the doors right before they close. He’s an indoor cat, and if he makes it to the lobby, manages to go outside among the cars … The elevator sounds like it’s moving down. I bolt for the stairwell, run the six flights.