Black Flowers, White Lies Read online

  “How many boyfriends have you had?”

  I cross my arms. “Plenty.”

  I don’t need to tell him that there’s only been two and a half. Collin and I broke up when he realized, after every date made him wheeze, that he was allergic to Oscar. I dated another shelter volunteer, but his family moved to North Carolina and we lost touch. And I went out with Jordan, who adored me, but I didn’t feel the same about him and we only lasted two weeks. I figure that counted as a partial boyfriend experience.

  “Maybe you need to date someone from outside your usual social circle,” Blake says. “You need to broaden your horizons, to use the cliché.”

  “Blake, you realize he’s adopting a cat, not asking me out.”

  “He hasn’t asked you on a date yet. I bet he will.”

  “Right. You didn’t even meet him,” I say. “How can you know that?”

  “You look nice today.”

  “Gee, thanks. Isn’t that a bit superficial?”

  “No, when you look good, you act more confident. It’s basic psychology,” he says. “Want to make a bet? Twenty dollars says he asks you out. Within a week.”

  I frown. “Twenty is a lot.”

  “You must not be sure, then.”

  I take the bet and hope that Gavin doesn’t show up at the shelter next week. Sort of. It might be nice if he did.

  The rest of the afternoon shift is uneventful. On the way home, Blake and I split up, and I stop to visit Grace at work. She takes a break and sits outside with me.

  “I have such a headache. I think I hate kids,” she says. “Next summer, I’ll get a job someplace else.”

  “Like a coffee shop?” Grace is practically addicted to caffeine. I only drink it once in a while. I went through a diet soda phase and learned that excessive caffeine and anxiety don’t go well together.

  “Or a movie theater,” she says. “I bet when it’s not busy I could watch movies for free.” Grace loves movies even more than coffee.

  “Or a movie theater next to a coffee shop. Then you’d cover all your favorites.”

  “I can dream about it.” She sighs. “For now, I need to go back inside and face the little monsters.”

  “Hey, wait. I wanted to ask you. Did anyone ever find your hiding spot?”

  “The tampon box?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, Piper found it at the beginning of the summer. I’m asking for a doorknob that locks for my birthday. Why?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say.

  “Grace!” her manager calls.

  I’m relieved that I don’t need to tell her about the moving photo and the falling book. It would give her something else to tease me about.

  After dinner, Stanley sets up chess in the living room for him and Blake. When we’ve all finished cleaning the kitchen, Mom sits on one end of the couch with her book and I sit at the other while Stanley and Blake play.

  “When you’re in Paris, you have to visit the Louvre and look for a chess set on display from the Middle Ages,” Blake says. “The board is made of crystal and smoked quartz squares with silver edges. It’s amazing. I’ve seen pictures online.”

  “We’ll add the chess set to our list of must-sees,” Mom says. Stanley is frowning—about to lose, I suspect.

  Oscar jumps onto my lap. “Hey, old man.”

  “He seems very attached to you,” Blake says, still waiting for Stanley to make a move.

  “My dad rescued him as a kitten, so he’s lived with us since right before I was born. He’s going on sixteen now, the same as me.”

  “Oh, I thought … Dad, didn’t you say—”

  Stanley gives Blake a death-stare, one of his frowns on steroids. Mom scrutinizes the page she’s reading as if it’s incredibly fascinating.

  “Never mind.” Blake focuses on the game, avoiding my eyes. “I just thought Oscar was younger.”

  There’s something weird happening that I can’t quite figure out. It’s like a favorite knick-knack out of place after Mom gets her biannual urge to dust my room.

  “Mom? What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We have plenty of time to talk.”

  “Okay.” She gently shuts her book. “I guess I should finally tell you. Oscar is, well, he’s really Oscar the Second.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember when you and I were going to Disney World? And Oscar got sick right before we left?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Well, he never recovered. The vet tried everything, but he passed away the night before the trip. It would have broken your five-year-old heart. As soon as we got back, I adopted a cat that looked like Oscar. Of course, his coloring was slightly different, and his size. You thought he had lost weight and acted strange because he missed us. It was an adjustment, but soon the new Oscar was part of our family and you loved him just the same.”

  “Oscar the Second.” I try to comprehend the trick Mom’s played on me for most of my life. Oscar was my living connection to Dad. I fight back the tears.

  “I’m sorry. But we did give a shelter cat a good life,” she says, as if that excuses the deceit.

  Stanley takes forever to move a piece. I can feel Blake’s eyes on me, but I won’t meet his gaze.

  I wait several minutes before going to my room with Oscar so that it’s not completely obvious that I’m having an inner tantrum. Once I’m there, I’m trapped. I slam dresser drawers, punch my pillow a few times, jerk the closet door open. Nothing makes me feel less angry. I check on my photo of Dad. It’s still hidden.

  “I can’t believe she lied,” I whisper, closing the box.

  Restless, I look for something to tidy up. It’s one of my coping mechanisms, a way to reduce stress. I might not be able to control everything in life, but at least I can impose order on my bedroom. I decide to reorganize my closet as a distraction. Grace’s sister, Piper, might like some of the clothes I don’t wear anymore, even if they’re just to sleep in, so I make a bag for her. I bet she’ll appreciate it, because Grace would rather throw things out than give them to Piper. It makes me feel slightly better to think about someone else’s dysfunctional family.

  Oscar rests on my bed as I clean. “I still love you,” I tell him. “Even if you are the Oscar-replacement. The good news is we’ll have more years together than I thought.”

  Mom calls to me from her room when I finally emerge. She’s packing for the honeymoon, rolling up each outfit to maximize the space. “Want to help me?” she asks. “Or at least keep me company?”

  I’m still miffed about the Oscar lie, so I stall. I compare the pile on her bed to the space in her suitcase. “Is it all going to fit?”

  “I hope so. Six nights away is overwhelming. I haven’t been on a trip this long since … since Disney.” She pauses. “About Oscar. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. At first, you were too young, and I didn’t want to upset you. Then, as you got older, you were so comfortable with the second Oscar. It would have been disruptive to tell you the truth and it almost seemed pointless. I’m sorry for not being honest.”

  “Hmmph.” I’m glad she apologized, but I don’t want to let her off that easy for a decade of lying. She hands me a bundled pair of gray pants and I squish them on the side of the suitcase. We work wordlessly for a few minutes. She rolls. I stuff.

  “It’s just that Oscar was a link to Dad. It was his last gift to us.” I pause. “You know your old photos of Dad? I took some to keep in my room.” I know this will irk her, but she won’t fight me tonight after her Oscar deceit was revealed.

  Her hesitation is barely noticeable. “All you have to do is ask, honey. You can have any of the photos you want.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  She hands me a white skirt with embroidered flowers, each petal stitched in black thread. I stare at the black flowers.

  “You don’t like that one?” she asks.

  “It’s pretty. I was just wondering. Does anyone ever visi
t Dad at the cemetery?”

  “Not that I know of. Why would you bring that up?”

  “There were flowers by his tombstone.”

  “Oh.” She presses her lips together, handing me a rolled sweater. “So, how are you and Blake getting along?”

  I’m surprised at her change of subject, but she seems determined not to get into another argument with me.

  “Fine. He asked if I would do errands with him tomorrow.”

  “That’s good. It will give you a chance to get to know each other.” She passes me a short-sleeved black top. “You know you’re still the most important person to me.”

  She’s said this before, but I’m not tired of hearing it. “I know. Thank you.”

  “No more Two Musketeers.” Her voice is bittersweet.

  “Blake would have to analyze the psychology of musketeers before joining,” I joke.

  “I’m glad you’re becoming friends. It makes me feel better about leaving. By the way, I’ve put Henry in charge of running the bookstore while I’m away. Maybe you can check on him occasionally?”

  “Sure.” Henry would not welcome any interference from me. But I don’t want Mom to worry about business on her honeymoon.

  She closes the suitcase, then pushes on the center as I zip it from the sides.

  “I have a bit more to pack but at least I know this stuff fits. You’re still okay with me going, right? I’ll leave you some spending money. And I spoke to Grace’s mom. Staying there from Sunday night onward works with their schedule, too. They’re happy to have you.”

  The six nights would undoubtedly be filled with lots of movie-watching. Grace might not believe in the supernatural, but she loves all kinds of scary movies.

  “I bet you won’t even miss us,” Mom says.

  6

  VÉRITÉ

  Skyler, the shelter manager, calls Friday morning after breakfast. A pipe burst at the Jersey City shelter and some of the dogs and cats will be relocated to our facility in Hoboken. “We need to get ready for the new animals,” she says. “Any chance you can come in for a few hours?”

  I arrive a half hour later, sign in, and stride toward cattery number one. Despite the faint disinfectant smell, I love this place. Sixteen healthy cats currently call the room home. Carpeted cat trees and scratching posts are scattered throughout the center for playtime. Wire cages line two of the walls and under the window is a shelf with cat beds built into it. Curled in the middle bed, Petals snoozes in the sun.

  I say hello to her before I do anything else. She’s a beautiful old cat with black fur and greenish eyes. She leans into my hand as I rub behind her ears.

  “Maybe today will be your lucky day, Petals.”

  Skyler joins me in the cattery. “You love that cat so much. Why don’t you adopt her?”

  “I wish I could. Our building has a one-pet rule,” I say. “What’s our mission for this afternoon?”

  She pushes her blonde, wavy hair behind her ears. “We need to move more of our animals out quickly to make room for the Jersey City ones, so the adoption fees will be temporarily waived. We’re also going to have a Shelter Beach Party–themed week starting on Monday. I’ve picked up some beach balls, floppy sun hats, and other decorations. What do you think?”

  I think the cats might puncture the beach balls, but I don’t want to be negative. “Sounds good. We should update the animal photos on the website to match the theme.”

  “I’ll get the camera,” she says.

  We spend most of the morning trying to pose cats with beach props, which is a lot harder than I imagined. We succeed in surrounding Petals with fake flowers for her photo, not exactly beach-themed, but still adorable, given her name. It makes me remember, for a moment, the black flowers at Dad’s grave. I shake off the unpleasant thoughts and focus on the next picture.

  When we finish with the cats, I wish her luck with the dog photos and head home. While I’m walking, I decide to research the flowers at Dad’s grave. They didn’t look dyed, like carnations or daisies. I search for Hoboken florists using my phone, then call them all. None sell any naturally black flowers. One lady explains that black roses are actually a very dark red.

  “I’m not looking specifically for roses,” I explain.

  “There’s not a big demand for black in general,” she says. “Revenge, hatred, death. Hardly a best seller.”

  I thank her and hang up, more confused than ever about where the flowers came from.

  After a quick sandwich, Blake and I are about to leave for Mom’s “blue” gift outing when she sees us by the door.

  “Where are you headed?” she asks.

  “Just leaving for the mall,” I say, “to buy a …” I’m not prepared to lie. I go blank.

  “A tie.” Blake’s voice is smooth and natural. “Ella said she’d help me pick one for the wedding.”

  “Wait.” Mom leaves and comes back with some folded bills. “In case you see something nice.” She hands me the cash. “Have fun!”

  Inside the elevator, Blake chuckles. “You,” he says, “are the Worst. Liar. Ever.”

  I shrug. “She caught me off guard.” But the truth is, I hate to lie to her.

  The train is empty. Blake takes a navy drawstring bag off his back and puts it on the seat between us. As the train jolts forward, I think about his excuse to Mom. “Do you still need a tie?”

  “No, I bought the one you chose, remember?”

  I shift in my seat, thinking about how taken aback I was by his beauty that first day. I wasn’t even sure he remembered meeting me.

  “You arrived on an earlier plane,” I say, “but you didn’t tell them. How did you know I wouldn’t give you away? I could’ve mentioned that we’d already met.”

  “It didn’t seem likely,” he says. “I gambled that it wouldn’t come up.”

  Where did he sleep that night? I wait for the rest of the story, but he doesn’t share anything more with me.

  When we near the mall, I spot the same homeless man with the German shepherd. Blake stops and opens his bag. He hands the guy several cans of dog food and some protein bars.

  “God bless,” the man says. “Thank you.”

  Wow. I’m impressed that Blake remembered him from his last trip to the mall, too, and clearly made the effort to help. Without Mom to interfere, I hand the man five dollars from the money she gave me. It starts our afternoon together on a positive note.

  Inside the mall, we try a few smaller jewelry stores before ending up at Macy’s. We pass by my dress, the one I wanted to wear to the wedding, and I can’t help pausing to run my hand over the yellow fabric. I must sigh aloud, because Blake wants to know what’s wrong.

  “Nothing. Mom and I disagreed about what I should wear to the wedding, and she won.”

  “Yeah, Dad was pretty specific about my suit, too.”

  After wandering through the costume necklaces, we find a glass case of more expensive jewelry. We both see it at the same time: a bracelet with ice-blue Swarovski crystals.

  “It’s perfect,” he says.

  “Yes, she’ll love it.”

  It doesn’t feel right to use the cash Mom gave me on her own present, but I have money saved from the bookstore. We split the cost and leave happy.

  “That was pretty painless,” Blake says.

  “Now what?” I say.

  “Do you need to do any other shopping?”

  “Actually, I’d love to stop in the makeup store.”

  “Okay. How about we meet where we came in? Does one o’clock give you enough time?” he asks.

  “Yes, that’s great.”

  Sephora isn’t that busy. The store is out of my price range, but I decide to splurge with the cash from Mom. They usually require an appointment for a makeover, but I explain about the wedding tomorrow and the beauty consultant takes pity and fits me in.

  Forty-five minutes later, I look like an enhanced version of me. I saunter toward the exit with a little black and white bag containing e
yeliner and eye shadow, nervous about what Blake will say about my look.

  That’s dumb, I remind myself. He’s your stepbrother, not your boyfriend.

  His face lights up when he sees me. “Wow!” He moves the hair away from my face. “You look nice.”

  It’s a small gesture, but his touch unnerves me. I need to get a grip. “Thank you.”

  He carries a large Macy’s shopping bag, but doesn’t chat about what he bought the way Jana or Grace would. They’d be pulling clothes out and showing me right there, unable to wait. I guess guys are different. I stop in the food court to buy bottled water for the homeless man, and then we head home. One more day until the wedding. We’re as ready as we are going to be.

  Later that night, Grace and I talk on the phone.

  “What did you do today?” she asks.

  “I went to the mall with Blake to buy a wedding present for my mom.”

  “How’s everything with that hot stepbrother of yours?”

  “Leave me alone. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow.”

  “Right. Then Sunday night our sleepover extravaganza begins!”

  “Yes,” I say, laughing.

  “Is there anything special you’d like to do, besides watch movies?”

  I had thought of one thing. “Yes, but you won’t like it.”

  “What? An evening Tarot reading?”

  “Close. I was thinking maybe we could have a séance.”

  “Ugh.”

  Just the reaction I expected. “It’s my dad’s birthday next week.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “I realize nothing will happen, Grace. It will be for fun.”

  “Maybe. If you agree to watch—”

  There’s a tap on my bedroom door.

  “Hold on,” I tell her. I open it to find Blake, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “Let’s go,” he whispers.

  “Where?” I mouth.

  He looks at my Felix the Cat pjs. “Get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen,” he whispers. “Trust me.”

  I close the door behind him. Where could we possibly go at this time of night? Still, my curiosity is piqued.