Better (Too Good series) (19 page)

“Honey,” Mrs. Connelly whispered in her ear.

Cadence sobbed into Mrs. Connelly’s neck, clung to her. She said nothing. After all, there was nothing left to say. She only wanted to feel protected and loved, and she felt those things now as her new mother stroked her back and shushed her sobs.

Mark stood a few feet away observing his mother—her focus concen
trated solely on the young woman in her arms. He saw the mother who bandaged his knees every time he fell off his skateboard. The mother who dried his eyes when his dog died. The mother who patched his jeans and trimmed his hair. The mother who always had the answers to even his toughest questions: “Why can’t we float in the air?” “How do TVs work?” “Where did we come from?” “Who made God?”

He watched this wise woman—this fixer—work her magic on Cadence. Soothing her worry, mending her heart, promising her love. He thought about Cadence’s mother
, who did none of those things, and realized in that moment just how fortunate he was to have a mother who cared.

***

“Nice to see you, Mark,” Millie said. She stood at the counter writing in a large ledger.

“Hey, Millie,” Mark replied. “Do you mind if I hang with Cadence for a little bit?”

“Not at all, just as long as she keeps working.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” he said.

“She’s in the back.”

Mark walked through the door
, the overpowering floral scent knocking him in the face. He wasn’t prepared for it, but he didn’t
not
like it. He found the perfumed air instantly therapeutic, and realized this was the best working environment for his girlfriend. Not that she was an emotional mess, but he thought flower therapy could go a long way in soothing the pain she experienced a few days ago in church.

Cadence glimpsed him from the back counter.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her surprise was evident—slightly higher-pitched tone, instant flush to the cheeks, silly grin. He made her unexpectedly happy.

“I wanted to see what your job’s all about,” he said. He approached her and kissed her cheek.

“Really?” She sported a full smile now.

“Yes, really,” he replied. He pulled himself up on the counter and sat, legs dangling, watching her snip the ends of a flower he couldn’t name.

“You’re just gonna hang out with me?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“But don’t you have work to do?”

“It can wait.”

“And Millie said it was okay?” she asked.

“Yep. As long as I don’t distract you, which I think I already am. Get back to work,” he ordered.

She giggled and kept snipping.

“What are those?” he asked.

She laughed out loud. “Seriously, Mark? You’ve never seen a tulip?”

He shrugged. “How should I know?” He picked one up and carefully fingered the petals.

Cadence watched him from the corner of her eye. She wanted to tell him to put down the flower. Instinct told her he’d accidentally tear one of the fragile petals. But experience told her he’d be as gentle with the flower as he was when he made love to her last night.

“I’m including them in your mother’s bouquet,” she said.

Mark tricked her. The flowers he ordered weren’t for his mother. They were for Cadence. He ordered them with the intention of coming here to watch her arrange them for herself. He thought it’d be a fun little experiment to learn more about her—how she saw herself represented in the flowers she chose.

“Well, don’t base it on what you think my mom would like. Base it on what you like,” he said.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I know my mom would like any arrangement you made, so imagine it’s for you,” he replied.

“Okay.” She shook her head, clearly confused, and set aside the tulips.

“Not a fan?” he asked.

“Oh, I like them a lot, but they’re not what I’d put in a bouquet for myself,” she said. She grinned. “They’re kind of old womanish.”

Marked laughed. “So you thought they’d be perfect for my mom.”

“Well, what can I say?” she asked.

She walked to a refrigerator on the far side of the room and rooted around until she found the container with all the roses. She carried it back to her work station.

“I’m a simple girl,” she said, pulling out the roses. “I’ll arrange a big fat bouquet with dozens of different flowers if you want, but I prefer smaller, tidier arrangements.”

Mark listened, fascinated.

“I’ve actually thought long and hard about that,” she went on, snipping a healthy chunk from each stem.

“Why do you cut them at an angle?” Mark asked.

She looked at her scissors and then at him. “Helps them drink the water more easily.”

He smiled. “So what conclusion did you come to?”

“I need order,” she said. “I think that’s what it is. I need something easy to digest. Easy to understand.” She waved her hand around. “You see all this? Ridiculous.”

Mark followed her hand as she waved it over dozens of bouquets lining the back of the counter. “Did you do those, too?”

“Yes, and they’re ridiculous. They’re like little kids who’ve had too much candy. All over the place. I really wanna calm them down by taking out half the flowers in each arrangement.”

“But your customers love them,” Mark pointed out.

“I know. And that’s why I make them like that,” she said. “But this—” She pointed to an arrangement to Mark’s right. “—this is a million times better than all those others. It’s calm. It makes sense. No flower is competing for attention because they’re all the same.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Who are those for?” Mark asked softly.

Cadence shook her head. “I don’t know. A Mrs. Christensen, I think.”

“You mentioned order,” he said, “but you’re a mess at home.”

She giggled. “I know it. And maybe that’s why I crave order so much. I am dating you, after all.”

He chuckled. “True.”

She finished snipping the roses and tearing off
the leaves before arranging them in a squat, square vase.

“I like these roses because they remind me of sunshine,” she said.

“They definitely do,” Mark observed.

She picked orange, pink, yellow, and purple roses, packing them in snuggly so that there were no holes. That’s what she said. Holes. When she was through, the bouquet resembled a mushroom—flowers served as the cap and the vase served as the stem. It was certainly neat and tidy, but it was most certainly not controlled. The colors burst and popped, and he realized it made perfect sense. She was this arrangement: tiny, tucked, and bursting. A little ball of brightness and energy. He thought if they turned out all the lights, her bouquet would glow. Just like her.

She looked at Mark. “What do you think? It’s simple, I know, but do you think your mom will like it?”

“I think she’ll love it,” he replied. “Are roses your favorite flower?”

“Sounds clichéd, but yeah. And not because they’ve become the staple for birthdays and Valentine’s Day and ‘I’m sorry’ days. It’s not even about the actual flower so much as it’s the way you arrange it in a vase. They are, hands down, the prettiest flower in an arrangement because of their fullness and shape. Their texture, too. Hang on.”

She hurried to the same refrigerator and grabbed a bunch of long-stemmed flowers. She walked back to the counter.

“Look at these,” she said, cradling the calla lilies in the crook of her arm. There were five of them. “You see how these wouldn’t do in a vase? I mean, people will put them in a vase, but they don’t belong. They don’t belong in any arrangement. They belong just like this, in your arm, with maybe a ribbon tied around them.”

He watched her carefully, the way she cradled the flowers gently, talking about them as though they had feelings and rights. His
eyes went wide when she verbalized his thought.

“They have a right to be like this. Free of a vase. On their own. Look at this flower, Mark. This flower shouldn’t have to share with anyone.”

“That flower is Avery,” Mark said.

Cadence burst out laughing. “No kidding. Avery is totally a calla lily. I mean, look at this thing. Haughty. Elegant. Beautiful.”

“And you?”

“Well, you already know. I’m a stunted rose with too much color. I think I work better in a vase. I like to share.”

“I’ll take a stunted rose any day,” he said softly. “And I like all your color. My life was pretty dull until you came along.”

She smiled.

“What kind of flower am I?” he asked.

“Oh, you can’t be a flower. You’re not delicate,” she said. She walked back to the refrigerator and tucked the calla lilies in their bucket.

He smirked. “You’ve only done one arrangement. Will you get in trouble with Millie?”

“Nope. Last one for today,” she replied.

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow,” he said, pointing to the rose bouquet.

“Won’t see you. My day off.”

“But you’ll be home when I get home from work, right?” he asked. He’d have the bouquet with him, ready to give to her. Flowers, and then an explanation. Well, more like revelation.

She nodded.

“Okay, flower girl.” He hopped down from the counter and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you at home.”

“I love you,” she said.

He looked at her for a half moment, wondering if she’d still feel that way after tomorrow night.

“I love you, Cadence.” And then he added “darling,” and she buried her face in her hands
, giggling.

That sound. He heard it long after he left the shop, echoing among the fragrant flowers, tricking him into believing that they were laughing with her. It was a sweet sound—a sound he knew he’d miss in the coming days. She wouldn’t forgive him so easily for keeping his secret, and he feared the absence of her laughter. That song set to perfect rhythm. His song. Her. How could he hold on to it? To her? He already made the decision. There was no changing his mind. He had to tell her, and he prayed she’d accept the secret, forgive him, and keep singing.

“I’m a good little wife,” Cadence joked to herself as she carried the laundry basket into the bedroom. For the first time, she took it upon herself to put Mark’s clothes away. “Except I’m not a wife,” she added. “And I’m not really all that good either.”

She opened
Mark’s drawer and started tossing in clean socks. She stopped and peered inside, noticing several socks with missing mates. Actually, the drawer was a disaster. Very unlike Mark not to have his stuff orderly.

“Maybe I oughta let it stay that way,” she said. “Let him live on the edge a little.”

She burst out laughing. And then she pulled the drawer completely and dumped the contents on the bed. She felt like she still owed Mark for leaving half-empty glasses lying around, though she’d become much better about picking up after herself.

She scanned the bed, then got to work pairing and organizing his socks. She sang to herself while she worked, oblivious to the little gray box that lay half hidden under a pair of blue and green argyle
socks. She froze when she saw it. Her immediate reaction? He’s going to propose! But then she held it up and realized it wasn’t a ring box at all. It was too big.

She pushed aside his socks and sat down on the bed, still holding the mysterious box. She knew what she ought to do
: tuck the box in his socks and forget the whole thing. She knew what she wanted to do: open the damn thing immediately. She was torn, feeling guilty for even considering snooping in his stuff, but desperate to know what he was hiding.

“Unfair,” she said aloud,
placing the box back in his drawer. She continued pairing and folding socks, every now and then glancing at the box. She told herself she was only checking to make sure it was still there, but secretly she was willing it to open itself. It remained closed, hiding its secrets from her.

“I don’t care,” she said, placing socks in the drawer according to color.

But she did care. She cared very much, and when all her sock work was done, she stood hovering over the drawer, contemplating her next move. She had two choices: put the drawer back in the bureau and forget what she saw, or open the box and never mention what she learned.

Choices.

She bit her nails.

Choices.

She picked up the drawer.

Choices.

She plopped the drawer back on the bed.

Choices.

She opened the box.

***

Cadence extended her hand, the rings cupped in her palm. She thought absurdly that she was offering him something, or giving him a gift. He didn’t reach out to take them. He stayed frozen.

“You
were married,” she whispered.

He stared a
t her, bouquet of sunshiny roses in his hand. She didn’t even notice. But then why would she?

“You . . . you had a wife. See?” She pulled the lone picture from the box with her other hand and held it up. She felt stupid, showing him his wife, like he didn’t remember he had a wife. But she held the picture out anyway because it really wasn’t about him. It was about her trying to make sense of her discovery. “You had a wife,” she repeated.

“Yes.”

This was not the way it was supposed to go. He had a plan. He was going to give her the bouquet, tell her how much he loved her, then reveal his past to her slowly, carefully. On his terms.

“Why?”

Instant defensiveness
. “Why what? Why did I have a wife? Why did I never tell you? Why what? Be specific,” he barked.

Cadence dropped the rings and the picture on the coffee table.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” she warned. “You don’t get to be angry because I’m asking you about these rings and this picture. Now, why did you never tell me?”

“Because I don’t talk about her.
I can’t.”

“But I’m in a relationship with you.”

“And?”

Cadence flinched. He didn’t mean for the question to sound so cold. He was angry, but not with her. He was angry at himself for going so long carrying the secret, tricking himself into believing she would never discover it
. He felt foolish, and that foolishness grew his anger.

He
rubbed his face. He braced himself for a screaming match. He knew Cadence all too well. She was calm now, but that calm wouldn’t last long.

“It’s like a huge deal, Mark. You had a wife—”

“Stop saying ‘had’! Stop talking about her in past tense!” He placed the bouquet on the dining room table.

“Are
you still married?” Cadence asked, horrified. She heard her heart pound in her ears.

“No.”

“Then you
had
a wife.”

“Yes, Cadence. I
had
a wife. Now are we finished with this topic?”

He knew he was saying the wrong things, but he couldn’t stop himself.
All he could think was,
Not my terms. Not my terms.

“
What the hell? No, we’re not finished with this topic!”

He took a deep breath. “I was going to tell you today.”

“Ha! You really expect me to believe that?”

He stared at her blankly.

“You were married, and we’re gonna talk about it!”

“I . . . I can’t
.”

“
Stop being unfair to me! I’m your girlfriend, and you’ve kept this from me for over a year! I deserve to know about your past. I’ve shared mine with you!”

“Your past?” He laughed derisively. “You have a past?”

“Fuck you! I’m a person! I have feelings, and I have a past, and stop making me feel like my experiences aren’t important!”

“They’re not important!” he roared. “N
ot next to mine! You’re nineteen, for Christ’s sake! What the fuck do you know about a past? About experiences?”

Cadence reared back, stunned. The tears crept into the corners of her eyes.

“Why do you think I went after you, huh? Why do you think I wanted to make you mine? Because you’re complicated? Because you’re seasoned? No, Cadence. I fell in love with your non-history! I fell in love with you because you’re brand new and shiny. Blank slate. Easy.”

“Stop it!” Cadence cried. “Why are you being so mean to me?” She wiped the tears coursing down her cheeks.

“You wanted to talk about it—”

“Not about me!” she screamed. “About your wife!”

“My wife is dead! Okay?!”

Cadence gas
ped.

“She died three years into our marriage,” Mark said softly.

“Oh my God.”

“No. God took that day off,” Mark said.

Silence.

“You need to tell me what happened,”
Cadence said finally.

“She hemorrhaged during childbirth.”

Cadence looked up. “What?”

“When you hemorrhage, you—”

“I know what hemorrhaging is.” Pings of clarity. Little by little, like the light breaking through the cracks. Mark’s wife died giving birth. Mark doesn’t want children. He called a baby a parasite.

“It was a stillborn. And it decided to take the mother with it.” He didn’t intend to say it that way, but the bittern
ess permeated his heart. Just as new and raw as the day he lost her.

Cadence stood up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

“I don’t want you to say anything. But now you know. I had a wife. And now I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Cadence whispered, hanging her head. “I understand.”

Mark snorted disdainfully.
She understood. What the hell did she understand? All right, Cadence. You understand.

Cadence snapped her head up
at the sound of his bitter laugh. “I meant that I understand why you reacted the way you did to my pregnancy scare. And why you said that thing about babies. I get it now.”

“Do you?
”

Cadence nodded
.

Despite his efforts to suppress it, the bitterness twisted around his heart and turned him ugly. She didn’t understand shit. But she was about to.

“Oh, I don’t think you do understand. Okay then. Let me explain. I’m a fucking jerk. I don’t see cute and cuddly when I look at a baby. I see a parasite. Something that feeds on its mother—its host. Without the host, it can’t survive. It feeds. It demands. It drains. And in some cases, it kills.”

“You’re not being fair,” Cadence said.

“Stop, Cadence. Don’t talk to me about fair. This is my experience. Weren’t you just crying about how your experiences are valid and important? Well, so are mine.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t go through something horrible.”

“Good. I’m glad you get it.”

“But you’re angry.”

“Yes, right now I am. I didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“You just said yo
u were going to tell me tonight!”

Mark rubbed his forehead. “Like this. I didn’t wanna talk about it like this.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t want me to discover this on my own,” Cadence fumed. “So you get to throw insults at me because I beat you to it?”

“What insults?” Mark asked.

“Telling me I don’t have a past! That there’s nothing really there! That my youth invalidates any experiences. It’s bullshit!” Cadence screamed.

Mark sighed. “I didn’t mean it. I—”

“You should have told me you were married,” Cadence interrupted. “You should have told me from the beginning.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what you do when you’re in a relationship! You tell your history!”

“Whose rules are those?”

Cadence blinked.

“I have every right to stay silent about my past.
”

“The hell you do! It affects ME! You realize how stupid I feel right now? Making dinner for your fucking friend who sat across the table from me
, knowing all about your wife and not saying a word? Attending church with you and your mom like one little happy family? God! She wouldn’t even tell me! Nobody would tell me! Why? I deserved to know!”

“Cadence . . .”

“You made me look like a fucking fool!”

Mark was quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry. So sorry, Cadence. I can’t . . . I can barely even say her name out loud.”

“Exactly! She’s a HUGE
part of you and your past!”

“She
was,” he said finally.

“She
still is,” Cadence argued. “Look how angry you are.”

“I’m mostly angry
that you went through my things,” he lied. “That box was buried.”

“Bullshit! You aren’t upset I
found those rings. You’re upset about your life. That it didn’t turn out the way you wanted it to.”

Mark stared at her. What did
that
mean?

“I like my life just fine,” he replied.
“I love my life, actually.”

“Bullshit.”

Cadence felt the tingle in her fingertips—that aching that signaled the worst kind of fear and betrayal. It was worse than the fear she felt when she sat on the bathroom floor and cried after Mark broke up with her. Yes, the fear and anger stemmed from his secret, but most of it stemmed from the words he said to her and their inherent meaning:
You have no past. You’re brand new and shiny. Blank slate. Easy.

You’re unimportant.

She wasn’t crying anymore. She wasn’t feeling anything apart from the fear.

“Cadence?”
she heard from far away.

She looked up at Mark. He was mere inches from her. Why did his voice sound so far away? And that’s when she realized what was happening. In those
few seconds, the wall flew up. A great big divide. And she was too tired to start tearing it down now.

“Cadence?”

“I need to go think,” she said absently. She pushed past him for the bedroom. He followed.