serenity
18 YEARS OLD
I’ve only seen Aunt Fran a handful of times, and they were all brief encounters. She’s been wanting to connect with me since I was a child, but Mama and Daddy would never allow her into our lives. They never told me why there was such hostility between them. In all the old photos I’ve seen, they seemed so close, inseparable even. Fran was barely a year older than my mom, so they were more like twins: both brunettes with almond-shaped dark eyes, pouty lips, and petite frames—natural beauties who are able to pull off the sweet and sinful look at the same time. I’ve always smiled with pride whenever someone told me I was the spitting image of them.
However, I never got to experience their closeness. I hear they were quite the pair to be around, but something happened while Mama was pregnant with me. No one will tell me. All I know is my father despises my aunt, Mama barely speaks to her on the phone—mostly to make sure she’s alive—and Aunt Fran relocated from Montana to Sunshine Coast, B.C. the year I was born. She only came back for one Christmas at my grandparents’ house, each of my grandparents’ funerals, and then more recently, my high school graduation. Each time ended with her and Mama in a standoff by themselves in what appeared to be a heated conversation, and then she’d offer me a sad smile before she disappeared again.
Fran is a constant stranger that’s been in my life. She’s sent me cards for every birthday and holiday—including Groundhog Day. She’s always been a mystery. Why do my parents loathe her? What drove her and Mama apart when they’d been the infamous Fuller Girls? Why’d she flee to Sunshine Coast?
I’m not sure how she persuaded Mama to allow me to come spend the summer with her. It was completely unexpected and out of character for her, but I’m really excited. Since I’ve never even been outside of Montana, I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face as the ferry boat pushes through the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
I walk down the ramp and take in the striking view before me. Tall, lush green trees all around me, with large mountains off in the distance and the ocean behind me—this feels like paradise. I’m going to love it here; I can already tell.
“Serenity! Serenity Tremblay!”
“Aunt Fran!” I hurry down the rest of the way and rush toward the woman who is a mirror image of my mother, but that’s where the comparison ends. She’s tossing her arms out and squealing, which is something Mama never does. Aunt Fran is also wearing cut-off shorts and a tank top, and with each step, she’s jingling from all the jewelry she’s wearing—several necklaces around her neck, bangle bracelets on her arms, a row of earrings down her ear, and several rings on her fingers.
“Oh, kiddo.” She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “We’re going to have such a blast. Shit, look at you. You’re a woman!”
She holds me at arm’s length, and I blush. “I’m growing, I guess.”
“I’d say so! Your boobs are bigger than mine. More firm and still in the right spot, too. God, I’d kill to have tits like that again. I didn’t even give birth and mine still went AWOL. Gravity is a motherfucker.”
I’m not sure how to respond since I’ve never heard anyone speak so… abrasively. My shock must be written all over my face, because Fran bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry, sugar pie. I guess Sydney is still living the prim and proper lifestyle. Look at you. You’re just so damn sweet. I hope you always stay that way, kid. In fact, do you mind if I call you Sugar? That’s a good nickname for you.”
A nickname? I literally just arrived like five seconds ago. Not sure why she’s insisting on giving me one, but I like it. I’ve never had a nickname or pet name. This makes me feel like we’re really bonding, as silly as that may sound. Sugar. Okay. We’re doing this. “Sure.”
“Come on, Sugar. Let’s get started on the best summer ever.”
* * *
The drive from the port in Fran’s jeep to her home was basically an eighties and nineties hip hop tribute concert starring Fran Fuller. I was more than content to let her do her thing while driving, because it saved me from having to come up with words fill the silence. What do you say to a woman you know your mother despises? Glad Mom got over her grudge enough to let us visit? What’s your favorite color? Mom hates you—why? Instead, I enjoyed the show from a woman who could pass as my mother’s twin, but is such the polar opposite of her that I can’t believe they’re related.
Fran’s cabin is something out of a fairy tale. It isn’t fancy; in fact, it’s small and simple, but that’s also the best part. It’s picturesque: light wood with blue shutters, pebble rocks, and trees surrounding it.
I enter the cabin and am greeted with a woodsy and fresh-linen smell. The kitchen and living room are connected, then there’s a tiny hallway that has two doors and a laundry room with a door leading outside.
Fran tells me to drop off my suitcase in the bedroom—meaning, there’s only one and we’re sharing.
“I don’t mind taking the couch,” I offer.
“Nonsense. There are two beds in there. I had a friend loan me her daughter’s bed while she’s away on a study abroad program. We’ll be roomies. It’ll be like a slumber party all summer.” Fran gives me a hopeful smile.
It’s a little strange, but I roll with it. I offer her a closed-lip smile that I hope comes off as polite and not cringy. It must work, because she beams a smile at me that makes her look ten years younger, full of excitement and vigor. I’ve never seen my mama smile like that. It’s strange how much they favor one another in the face and have the exact same body frame, yet don’t act anything alike.
“Now drop that off, and let’s go get something to eat. I can’t wait to show you around and show you off.”
The wood floors creak as I take my suitcase into the small bedroom. There’s a full-size wooden bed in the center with a dark wooden nightstand at its side. A matching dresser stands next to the only window in the room, which is adorned with floor-length white lace curtains. On the other side of the bed sits a bronze floor lamp. The only thing that looks out of place is the white metal twin bed, which makes the room crowded. Everything in the room, which has wooden walls, is either dark wood or white, except for the vibrant landscape paintings that add some much-needed color to the atmosphere.
I send a quick text to my mom to let her know that I’ve made it to Fran’s cottage and we’re about to go eat. She immediately dings back.
MOM: Thank God. Have fun and be safe.
ME: I will. Gotta go.
MOM: LOVE YOU!
ME: Love you <3