Capri shrugged, her voice laced with sarcasm. “What’s there to be bothered about? My mom’s living her best life, right? And I get to sit front row for the show. It’s like watching a slow-motion train wreck with a side of prune juice. Real riveting stuff.”
Reva watched as what little color Capri had drained from her face. Her expression held a resigned and profound despair.
Capri’s relationship with her mother had always been a tangled mess of duty and resentment. From a young age, Capri had stepped into the role of caretaker, managing her mother’s moods and insecurities, finding her own sense of purpose in keeping things together. Her mother’s fragile dependence gave Capri a reason to stay strong, to be the rock in the storm. But now, as her mother sought comfort in someone else, Capri no doubt felt unmoored, her sense of purpose slipping away, leaving her with a bitterness she couldn’t quite mask.
Couple that with Dick’s passing and there was no mistaking that their dear friend was going to need their support—now more than ever.
10
In typical fashion, Capri’s mom thought food could fix everything. Despite the stacked boxes and luggage at the door waiting to be loaded into Earl’s U-Haul, Capri was forced to sit at the table and eat, acting as though the bottom wasn’t falling out from under her.
“Honey, is that all you want?” her mother posed. “I fixed your favorite. You love spaghetti and meatballs.” She turned to Earl, who had cleaned his plate so efficiently by scraping a piece of bread across the surface and then eating the last remaining sauce. “Would you like seconds, darling?”
“You mean thirds,” Capri muttered.
“What, honey?”
Capri drew a deep breath and shoved aside her plate. “Nothing. Not important.” Okay, yes—she might be acting like a spoiled little girl but the child inside of her was screaming.
She looked across the table to Earl, who was oblivious to her pain. He had a tiny bit of sauce clinging to his mustache. Seeing it, her mom picked up a napkin and lovingly tapped at the side of his mouth, cleaning the spot.
“Thanks, Princess.”
Oh, my goodness! Kill her now!
If Earl Dunlop called her mother Princess one more time, she was going to vomit spaghetti all over the table.
Her mother stood and cleared the table. Normally, Capri would hurry her back to her seat, offering to take over the task. Today, she sat, her arms folded across her chest, and sullenly stared straight at the door with the stacked boxes.
“I made a chocolate ganache cake.” Her mother made a big production of slicing the dessert and carried over small plates laden with the sweet confection. “Here you go, baby.” She set a plate in front of Earl. In response, he playfully patted her bottom as she turned to get another helping from the counter.
Her mother giggled like a silly schoolgirl.
As soon as her mom set the slice before her, along with a fork, Capri simply slid the plate aside. “No thanks.”
Her mom and Earl exchanged glances but said nothing in response to her spoiled brat act.
Truly, she did not want to be this way. She should be happy for her mother and her upcoming nuptials. Shouldn’t she?
Instead, her gut felt like it was filled with river rock.
A short while later, her mother picked up the remaining lunch dishes and loaded the dishwasher. She wiped down the counter and carefully folded the washcloth and placed it next to the sink. She turned. “Well, I guess I’m done.”
Capri wondered at the double meaning of the phrase. Done with the dishes? Or, done with the life she had here with Capri?
Earl’s face filled with giddy anticipation. “We’ll call as soon as we get to Vegas,” he told her. Their plans were to make the five-hour drive as far as Salt Lake City, spend the night, then proceed into Sin City in the morning. They’d stay at the Stratosphere Hotel and Casino, then head to the infamous Little White Chapel for a ten o’clock ceremony.
“Honey, did you know Joan Collins and Michael Jordan both had their wedding ceremonies at the Little White Chapel?” her mother said, excitement lacing her words.
Her mother moved for the door. “Do you need help, honey?”
“Nah, I got this,” Earl assured her.
As Earl carried the boxes outside and into the U-Haul, her mother turned to her. “I’ll send pictures.”
Capri nodded absent-mindedly. “Yeah, sure. That’d be nice.”
When Earl picked up the last of the suitcases, he grunted. “Goodness, Emily. What do you have in here?”
