Page 77 of Happy Is On Hiatus
Rita shrugged. “Nope.”
Jemel rolled her eyes. “Just get it together and fast! I’m not having dinner with the Aunts by myself, and Necole and Taryn are no help because they’ll just sit at the table scrolling through their phones.”
Jemel continued to mumble as she walked out of the room, and Rita and Sharae chuckled.
“I wonder if we should tell her she still whines like she did when she was a teenager,” Rita said.
“Nah, that’ll spoil the fun of watching her mini tirades,” Sharae replied.
Then silence fell like a boulder between them.
Sharae stood closer to the fireplace, and she reached up to straighten a heart-shaped sterling-silver frame with a picture of Marc and Jemel in its center. The frame wasn’t crooked, and Jemel was definitely going to pitch a fit when she saw it’d been moved. Which was precisely why Sharae had moved it. Rita looked away, trying to hold back a smile, but finally shook her head.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I know why you didn’t tell me about Nate.”
Dropping her hand to her side, Sharae looked at her. “And I know why you were so angry that I didn’t tell you about seeing him and Amy last year.”
Tucking her hair back behind her ear, Rita sighed. “I was an idiot. All these years I thought that if I just kept praying, kept focusing on building and taking care of my family—” She paused and then gave awry chuckle. “I thought that if I pretended everything was fine, that it would be. After all, my life had turned out to be everything I’d imagined as a little girl. So why couldn’t I just imagine happiness?”
“Because fairy tales aren’t the real world.” Sharae pushed her hands into the front pockets of her shorts. “And the real world doesn’t have to stay as dark as some of the things that happen in it.”
With a tilt of her head, Rita said, “You’re right. We can choose how we react to things and how those things will affect us.”
“And we don’t have to blame anyone for them to move on. We can choose to do that as well,” Sharae added.
A lightness filled her chest as Rita looked at the girl who’d once shared a bedroom with her. That girl was all grown up now. She was a stunningly beautiful and professional woman who meant the world to Rita.
“I’m sorry,” Rita said. While the Aunts hadn’t said those words to Rita, nor had Rita thought she needed to say them to the Aunts, they were needed here, between her and Sharae. Despite how the Aunts were used to dealing with disagreements and making amends, Rita felt the clear communication between two adults was necessary for healing. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you when you were only doing what I’d compelled you to do all those years ago.”
Sharae dropped her head and let her shoulders hang for an instant. Then she was staring at Rita again, inhaling deeply before releasing that breath and saying, “I’m sorry too. I wanted to respect your wishes and your marriage. I wanted to stand by your side and be the friend, the cousin, the sister, that we’d always proclaimed to be. And I did those things. But in doing them I hurt you, and that was never my intention.”
Tears stung Rita’s eyes, and her instinct was to wave them away, to tell herself they weren’t necessary, that she didn’t need to show this emotion at this time. But that was a lie, and she’d told herself these pastfew days that she was going to stop lying to herself. It was the only way to face things head-on. She had to be honest about her wants and needs, her feelings, and her future. The first tear fell, and relief washed over her.
“We should stay in here longer so she’ll have to finish helping the Aunts with dinner,” Sharae said.
A burst of laughter came from Rita just as another tear fell. “She’d have a full tantrum then, and we’d never hear the end of it.”
Sharae laughed. “I know.”
Rita went to her then, pulling her into a tight hug. “I love you, Sharae.”
Sharae wrapped her arms around Rita and said, “I love you too, Margaritaville.”
“I’d like to make a good-night toast,” Rita said a couple of hours later, when three generations of Johnson women sat around the table.
The sun had gone down, and the lights along the railing of the deck provided illumination to their little dinner party. Standing, Rita looked around the table, emotion clogging her throat.
It wasn’t the first time tonight she’d felt overwhelmed with love and adoration for these women. After talking with Sharae, they’d both returned to the kitchen. Rita had paused a moment to take in the scene. Her mother had still been at the stove, this time giving Taryn instructions on how to shake the excess flour off the pork chops before placing them into the hot skillet. She told her how long they should cook on each side, the light-brown coating they should have when she turned them, and eventually took them out of the pan to rest on the plate.
Aunt Ceil and Aunt Rose had been discussing the best brands of flour to use for the different types of baking while supervising Necoleas she brushed butter over the yeast rolls that would be put into the oven. Jemel had been still rambling as she ran back into the kitchen and grabbed more items to put outside on the table, and Sharae had huffed as she decided to help her.
The scene had held her still for she didn’t know how long as she marveled at each woman. Each one of her relatives who filled their own intricate spot in her life. It was because of these women that Rita was who she was today and that she could look toward the future with such determination and excitement. The Aunts who had instilled great values and strength in her, the cousins who’d held her down even when she’d been too blind to see that they were doing so, and the daughters who were her legacy in this world.
Her heart was so full, happiness brimming in every part of her soul.
“Wait a minute,” Jemel was saying. “I gotta refill my glass.”
They were on the second bottle of Moscato.
