Page 16 of The Wish List
Downtown and the surrounding neighborhoods had become engulfed in holiday decorations. There were boughs of pine encircling every lamppost and twinkle lights strewn across Main Street. Each business had its own unique theme, from snowmen to Santa’s toy shop to a vintage display at the florist.
She ducked into Sunnyside Bakery, enticed by the selection of holiday cookies displayed in the front window. Breathing in the scent of coffee and sugar—one of her favorite combinations—she approached the counter.
Like many businesses in Magnolia, the bakery hadn’t changed much from what she remembered as a kid, although her memories were somewhat fuzzy. She and her sisters had avoided the local shops and restaurants per Beth’s instructions.
First off, their mother often forgot to leave cash when she went on one of her frequent trips out of town, so it wasn’t as if the girls had a lot of spending money. Beth did her best to keep their fridge and pantry stocked.
The grocery store was only a few blocks from their house, and they could stop on the way from school. At first, none of them minded the steady diet of boxed mac and cheese or packets of ramen noodles.
Freya had eventually come to detest ramen noodles.
According to a teenage Beth, too many people in town knew about May and her publishing success. Her sister feared they might ask questions or make inquiries into May’s whereabouts if the girls were seen without her. Everything Beth did was to ensure that no one discovered how often May left her daughters on their own.
By the time she was a teenager, Freya had stopped caring what anyone thought of their living situation, although she still hadn’t gone into town often. Magnolia had felt too close-knit for her, and they lived on the outskirts anyway. Plus, she understood the need to protect Trinity.
At this point, she felt like a stranger in her own hometown. There had to be people she’d gone to high school with who still lived in the area, but she hadn’t kept in touch with any of her former friends.
They’d met with May’s care team that morning, including Beth’s tool of an ex-husband, Greg. The hospital and rehab staff had explained the recovery process for stroke patients, which could take weeks, months or even years.
Freya learned the term for May’s difficulties speaking was aphasia, and the speech-language therapy she was already undergoing would, hopefully, help her regain some function in that area. But no one had concrete answers on whether their mom would fully recover.
The facility’s director encouraged the girls to convince their mother to sell the house so she could move into a smaller, newer place that would take less maintenance.
The three of them had been silent as they walked out of the meeting, and Freya’d had no idea what her sister thought about the suggestion until they were halfway back to town.
At that point, Beth had pulled her car to the side of the road and thrown it into Park.
“She won’t agree to sell the house,” Beth had announced as Christmas music played in the car’s stuffy interior.
“Of course not,” Freya agreed. “Do we force the issue?”
“Mom isn’t the same as she used to be,” Trinity had said from the back seat. “Who knows what she’d say since she can’t speak.”
That little mic drop from the baby of the family had given them all something to think about.
“Either way, the house needs some updating if she’s going to stay there,” Beth told them. “We should focus on that.”
They’d all agreed because focusing on the house seemed easier than worrying over their mother’s future. They headed downtown to the hardware store to start gathering supplies for renovation projects. Beth had offered to stop in at a local realty office to ask about the process for selling if they decided to go that route. Trinity was tasked with ordering takeout from Il Rigatone, the popular Italian restaurant, because no one wanted leftovers again or to be in charge of cooking.
The Freya of a few years ago would have been satisfied to drink her dinner—lunch as well. To numb the emotions that bubbled up inside her, trying to take center stage like the holiday decorations in town, only more fierce and fiery than festive in nature.
But she rarely drank and had given up any other vices after seeing a particularly unflattering picture of herself in a tabloid at the grocery store.
“Oh, my gosh, can I have your autograph or a selfie?” Freya turned to find a group of teenage girls staring at her, cell phones at the ready. She tried to turn her grimace into a smile.
She hadn’t given much thought to being recognized in Magnolia. Her hometown felt like it was a world away from Hollywood and the type of fame she’d courted partly as a middle finger to her mother, whose book was, in many ways, a manifesto that claimed women didn’t need men for their happiness.
Freya had made the rounds of reality dating shows as well as a frivolous dancing competition and a slew of paid endorsements. But she’d grown weary of the constant need to feel like she was on.
Still, she posed for selfies with the girls and encouraged them to tag the brand of sweater she wore. She needed that money coming in, especially if she was going to make the career change she planned for the New Year. She ordered her complicated coffee concoction, omitting a cookie order, suddenly losing her desire for the indulgence.
The woman at the counter gave her a strange look. “Are you famous?” She inclined her head toward the teenagers walking out of the shop as they furiously thumbed captions into their phones.
“Not for anything worthwhile,” Freya answered. “Do you watch much reality TV?”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t own a TV. It messes with the brain cells.”
“Indeed it does,” Freya agreed.
