Tea and Primroses by Tess Thompson

shaking.
    “Daddy, stop.” A giggle escaped, and then I was lost to it as well. We laughed in silence until the tears streamed down our cheeks.
    From upstairs, we heard the slam of the bedroom door. That sobered us for a moment but then we started in again, until we were worn out and we sat there grinning foolishly at one another.
    Daddy got up from the table and began clearing the dishes. “Come on, Sweets, help me clean up and then I’ll take you to ice cream.”
    “Really, Daddy?”
    “I have a hidden stash of cash for just this occasion. And I have a hankering for some rum raisin.” Holding dishes in both hands, he leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “My girl. So smart.” Taking the dishes with him, he headed toward the kitchen. “Vermont. Think of it!”
    ***
    The next morning, I walked to Louise’s house. She lived with her mother, Aggie, in the oldest house in Legley Bay, a Victorian perched on top of a hill. On a clear day, you could see the ocean from their front porch. Louise had been my best friend since kindergarten, when on the first day of school I’d pummeled a boy in the face when he told Louise her dress was ugly. Since then, I’d been the lucky recipient of her undying loyalty. When Louise loved a person, she did it with her whole body. We’d gone off to the University of Oregon together after high school, along with her boyfriend, Tim Ball. Tim had a scholarship playing football. Louise majored in Home Economics, and although she was extremely intelligent and it mildly annoyed me that she wasn’t pursuing a more academically demanding degree, I kept it to myself. She learned to sew beautiful dresses, some of which she made for me, and delicious meals on a budget, and how to take care of a home properly. We were opposites, needless to say. But we loved one another fiercely, and without petty jealousies or small cruelties. I considered myself lucky to be her friend; she was a better person than I in every way. Perhaps it was our differences that allowed the other to be a supporter instead of a competitor. Louise was the first reader of all my stories, starting in second grade when I wrote about an orphan named Priscilla who opened her own pizza restaurant (she illustrated it for me, beautifully). Now, we were twenty-four years old and she was marrying “the love of her life” in just a few weeks. Which, honestly, had me worried. Tim Ball hadn’t been the same since he’d injured his knee playing USC at Oregon, blowing all chances to be drafted into the NFL. We’d all assumed it was his future. I’d imagined and hoped for it for Louise, knowing that she of all people would enjoy all the beautiful things that came from wealth. And because it would be so nice for her—she’d grown up poor with Aggie scrimping and saving and the two of them living on bean soup after her father died. I wanted Louise to have it easy. I wanted her to get out. But instead Tim had decided to become a cop and settle back in Legley Bay.
    I found Louise and Aggie in the kitchen. Louise was sewing sequins onto her veil. Aggie was reading the newspaper. They both looked up and smiled when I came in without knocking. This was my second home. Actually, I felt more comfortable here than I did in my own. Aggie put aside her paper and stood, holding out her arms. “Vermont,” she said. “Well done.”
    I let myself be cradled against her scrawny chest. Aggie was built like a board, flat and long. “My mother’s beside herself,” I said.
    Aggie stiffened. “Well, don’t pay that any mind. You kids have to go live your lives.” I breathed in, hoping some of Aggie’s spirit would enter me, sustain me in times of doubt. She smelled of lavender. “You want some bean soup?” She took me by the shoulders, scrutinizing my face. “Just made a fresh batch.”
    I smiled. Aggie was forever making a new batch of pinto bean soup. I knew it was partly financial – bags of beans were cheap – and partly that she