Authors: Jessica Verday
“It was last year, right?” Mom asked.
“Yup. You wanted me to make you that Christmasy perfume.”
Mom smiled. “Ahhh, I love that one. You captured the scents of winter perfectly. You’re such a great perfumer, Abbey.”
“You’re just saying that because it’s my birthday.”
Keeping one hand on the wheel, she turned and gave me a serious look. “No. I’m
not
just saying that. Your perfumes are amazing. I know I don’t tell you this very often, but you make me proud.” She switched lanes. “And I’m glad you’ve already decided what you want to do with your life. Although I hope you’ll rethink the whole college thing, I won’t push. I want you to be happy.”
I glanced out the window so she wouldn’t see me getting all choked up. “Thanks, Mom. You make me pretty proud too.”
We pulled into the parking lot, where a glossy green sign proclaimed the store’s name. I got out of the car and just took
everything in for a minute. The store was located inside a gorgeous old-fashioned house that was painted in stunning shades of green and magenta. A quaint wrought-iron sign post had been added to the front porch with an
ALL WELCOME
banner hanging from it.
“Have I mentioned yet how much I love this place?” I sighed happily. “I can’t wait to have my own store.”
Mom followed me inside. “Anything in particular you’re looking to stock up on? Maybe some oils for your violin perfume?”
“Yeah,” I said automatically. “And I need a few more oils to fill my new supply cabinet.”
“How many is
a few
?” Mom asked suspiciously as she eyed the very large essential-oil aisle.
She knows me so well
. “Birthday girl,” I reminded her.
She put both hands up and retreated. “I’ll leave you to your shopping. Call me when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” I grabbed an empty basket from a nearby display and started at the
A
’s.
Amyris, angelica, anise, basil, black pepper, cardamom, cedarwood, cilantro, clary sage, dill seed, Douglas fir, eucalyptus…
My basket started to fill up and quickly became superheavy. I stopped at
L
with a deep sigh. I was going to have to come
back for the rest another time. I probably had too many already.
Browsing for a moment by the bottles and vials, I looked at what they had, but didn’t pick anything up. I had plenty of bottles at home. Then I hauled the basket up to the front register to leave it there while I called for Mom.
But she was already there, talking to the lady behind the counter, and her eyes widened when she saw what I had.
“It’s just a couple… ,” I said defensively.
Couple
dozen.
“It’s a really big cabinet.”
There was a split second when I thought she was going to refuse to pay, but then she nodded and gestured for the clerk to start ringing everything up. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Why can’t birthdays be every day?
“I remember you,” the lady behind the counter said. “You came here before and liked our selection because you only had a smaller store by your house.” She started scanning items and punching in totals.
I grinned. “Yup, that’s me.”
She started wrapping the oils in tissue paper and placed several of the small bundles into a handled brown paper bag. “Well, I hope you’re still happy with our products.”
“Oh, definitely. Although, I did want to ask you about this
honey absolute. Is it just a packaging change, or has it been reformulated, too?”
“Ahhh.” She looked pleased. “You’re the first customer to notice that. The packaging has been updated
because
they reformulated it. Personally, I think it’s a vast improvement over the previous version. It’s spicier. Truer to real honeycomb.”
I nodded eagerly. “I’ve always had trouble with the honey holding its true scent. It degraded too quickly.”
“I bet this one will work better for you,” she said.
Poor Mom stood by looking like we were speaking a foreign language, but at least she was being a good sport about it. The register kept working, the total climbing higher and higher, and I watched it with a growing unease. There was no
way
Mom was going to let me keep everything. I started to prioritize what I could and couldn’t live without. Any second now she was bound to draw the line.
“What do you think of the new E151 distiller?” the sales clerk asked. “It’s been redesigned to leave less of the plant oils behind.”
“What’s an E151 distiller?”
“It’s for harvesting your own essential oils.” She turned to the counter behind her. When she turned back to face us again, a large, square glass box was in her hands. My eyes
widened, and she laughed. “You mean you don’t make any of your own oils?”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve considered it once or twice, but always thought it would be too expensive.”
She held the contraption closer for my inspection. “Normally, that’s true. The large distilling machines can cost thousands of dollars. But this little baby is for home use, and it’s designed to make the process ten times easier. You just put your flowers or plants inside the humidifier box and add some water to this jar here.” She turned it so that I could see the back. A maze of tubes ran from one end to the other, all connecting to and crisscrossing each other. A tiny bronze knob was at the end of the tubing. “Turn this knob to increase the heat and boil the water; then the plant oils are released and funneled into a collection tube. Making your own oils really adds that extra personal touch. A lot of people swear it’s the only way to go.”
Oh, man
. I was sold.
Trying
very
hard not to look at Mom with puppy-dog eyes, I asked, “How much does it cost?”
“It’s normally one ninety-nine, but this week we’re having a discount of forty percent off on it. So the price would only be one nineteen.”
Only.
I couldn’t help it, I caved. I turned the full force of my
OMG I have to have this gaze
on Mom.
She sighed. “Go ahead; add it to the bill.”
“Okay, then,” the clerk chirped. “Your total will be two twenty-five eighty-seven.”
I almost choked.
Two hundred dollars for some perfume supplies?!
But Mom only shot me the tiniest of glances before she reached into her purse and pulled out a credit card. I gleefully picked up my bags and whispered, “Love you, Mom” as she paid. I’m pretty sure I heard her mutter, “Thank God it’s not your birthday
every
day,” and I grinned all the way out to the car.
Sometimes she could be a very good mom.
Ten minutes before I was supposed to be downstairs for my birthday dinner, I was still trying to figure out what outfit to wear. I didn’t want to look too dressy, yet Mom had pleaded with me to wear something nice.
Searching my closet for the millionth time, I finally chose a white cotton sundress and slid it on. The hem was decorated with black satin ribbon, and tiny daisies danced across the straps. It was dressy, but not fussy. Then I threaded a white ribbon through my black curls and pulled my hair up into a low
ponytail. A couple of strands immediately escaped, but I tucked them safely behind my ears.
Black strappy shoes were next, and then the last thing I needed was some jewelry. Dipping into the holder on my desk, I picked through necklace after necklace. But none of them seemed to fit my mood.
I’ll just go without.
Then my pinkie got snagged on a tangled chain, and I tried to free my finger.
A silver star on a delicate chain spilled out, and I stopped for a second. I’d only worn it once before it had gotten lost in the depths of the jewelry pit. It seemed perfect for tonight, though. Kristen had given me the star-shaped necklace for my fifteenth birthday.
“Okay, Kristen,” I whispered, smoothing out the tiny tangles and fastening it around my neck. “I can take a hint.”
Checking myself over one last time, I straightened the necklace, tugged at the bottom of my skirt, and messed with my hair a bit. Time to go.
I felt oddly nervous as I made my way to the stairs.
It’s just dinner. No big deal,
I told myself. But that didn’t stop the slightly nauseous feeling that was creeping up. I hoped Mom and Dad weren’t going to do anything
too
embarrassing.
Forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I froze mid-step
when I heard voices. It sounded like they were talking to someone.
Who’s here? Mom said it would only be us tonight.
She’d thought about inviting Aunt Marjorie and Mr. and Mrs. M. but had decided against it so that we could have some “family time.”
Slowly descending the rest of the way, I peeked into the living room. It was Ben. Ben was
here
, sitting across from Mom and Dad on the couch. He had on a long-sleeved button-down shirt and a
tie
.
I was horrified.
Mom spotted me first and came over to greet me. “Here she is. The birthday girl.”
I put on a fake smile and whispered through gritted teeth, “Mom! What’s Ben doing here?”
“I wanted to surprise you, Abbey.” She lowered her voice. “He’s such a nice boy.”
Ben stood up, and so did Dad. “Hey, Abbey. Happy birthday. I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Ben here was just telling us all about his college plans,” Dad said.
“Isn’t that
wonderful
, Abbey?” Mom added. “He has his
whole
life
planned out.”
I looked closely at her. Something was… off. “Yes, that’s nice, Mom. I’m
sure he has a bright future ahead of him.” Then I changed the subject. “Is dinner ready?”
Mom nodded and teetered over to Ben, putting her arm through his. “Why don’t you escort me into the dining room?” she said to him with a smile. “I hear you have very good mannersh.”
Oh. My. God
. Mom was tipsy. I gave Ben an apologetic look, but he played along.
“I’d be honored, Mrs. Browning.” He led her out of the living room, and Dad came over to escort me.
“Is Mom
drunk
?” I hissed to him.
At least
he
had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “She’s not… It’s just that… She was so excited after you guys came home from shopping, and she kept talking about what a great bonding experience it was… so I suggested a drink to celebrate. One drink turned into a couple, and, well… she really shouldn’t have had that last one.”
Nice.
This
was going to be fun.
“Can you watch her, Dad?” I pleaded. “Try not to let her do anything too embarrassing, okay?”
We entered the dining room, and Mom was giggling at something Ben was saying. I sighed, and Dad threw me a helpless look before we sat down.
Mom had outdone herself with the decorations. The whole room looked like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Gleaming silverware, tall candelabras with red tapers, maroon wine goblets, and a black-and-white damask tablecloth were all part of the setting. Confetti was scattered across the table, and fancy deckle-edged place cards sat at each plate. A large crystal bowl filled with strawberries was the centerpiece, and my excitement grew when I saw the telltale long-handled forks sitting nearby.
I
might
be able to forgive Mom’s tipsiness for fondue.
Maybe
.
“Oh, by the way, I brought you a present,” Ben said. “But I left it in the living room.”
Mom brought over a silver tray loaded with little white fluted paper cups. “Well, isn’t that nice of you?” she said. “That was very thoughtful.”
Ben was seated across from me, and he leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s a Barbie. Doctor Barbie. I looked, but they didn’t have Perfumer Barbie, or even Artist Barbie. I thought about getting you Hippie Barbie, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. At least Doctor Barbie is a businesswoman.”
I laughed. “Thank you, Ben. That’s a great gift.”
Dad looked baffled by the whole thing. “Aren’t you kind of old for Barbies, Abbey?” he said.
“It’s an inside joke, Dad. Something Ben told me at the library when we were working on the science-fair project last year. It was about his sister and Barbies.”
“Ohhhhh, okay.”
He totally didn’t get it, but I did. It was sweet.
Mom passed the silver tray to me, and I reached for one of the paper cups. It had a round brown disc filled with something green inside of it. “What is it?” I asked.
“It’s spinach-stuffed portobello,” she said with a hopeful grin.
I put the blobby thing back down. “But… I don’t like mushrooms, Mom. You know that.”
Her face fell, and she looked crushed. “You don’t? I could have sworn you liked them.”
A moment of stunned silence filled the dining room, and everyone waited for me to make a move.
“Don’t worry about it.” I passed the tray on to Ben. “Leaves more room for…” I scanned the table and saw the edge of a garlic knot peeking out from a cloth-covered serving dish. “Garlic knots! Mmmmm, I love garlic knots! Pass me those, please.”
Ben took three of the stuffed mushrooms, and as soon as Dad passed me the garlic knots, I loaded my plate.
Within seconds we were all crunching and chewing and
discreetly wiping our fingers on our napkins. Then we moved on to some chilled tomato basil soup (which I actually did like), and Mom poured herself a glass of wine.
I shot a worried glance over at Dad, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“So Ben, why don’t you tell my parents about your summer jobs?” I said.
Anything to keep the conversation from turning to me and my naked baby pictures, or something equally embarrassing.
Ben gamely joined in. “I’m a busboy at the Horseman’s Haunt. Nothing important about that, but they
do
let me take home the special of the day after each shift. Great perks, there.” He stopped talking while Mom brought out the main course, lasagna, and dished out a piece to each of us.
“Go on,” she told him, spatula in hand, “I’m lishening.” She giggled. “Oops! I mean, I’m listening.”
I clutched a fistful of skirt under the table and sent up a prayer to the lasagna gods that she wouldn’t accidentally drop Ben’s dinner into his lap. Luckily, Dad sprang into action.