my mom pulled up in her navy blue Mercedes-Benz and picked me up every day and took me to lunch so I didn’t have to be alone. I was never sad about those silly girls, I was happy to spend the time with my mom. Once I finally did make friends, we would all go over to my house to have lunch with her anyways. Everyone wanted to be around her.
In college, I never went on any spring break trips with my sorority sisters or friends, I went somewhere with her. Some of my best memories are from those trips. I was so lucky to be her friend and her daughter. I spent the entire two weeks laughing.
As I got older, got married, and had children, our relationship changed. She sat me down and said, “Victoria, you’re a writer. I know this in my bones. Stop cooking, stop working in boutiques, write your story, or I will.” So I started to write. I would send her what I was working on, hoping she’d lend her expertise, and she would always just say, “Keep going.” She encouraged me to be anything I wanted, but she wanted me to see the wonderful world she got to see by being a storyteller.
I was lucky enough to go on a book tour with her twice. We had so much fun we couldn’t believe we were getting paid to be together! I got to see her in her groove. Talking to packed theaters, libraries, schools, bookstores where the masses would come to hear her talk. If you have ever seen my mom speak, then you know it was a little like stand-up comedy, but then she would open her heart and read a passage from one of the books she had written, and it was like looking into her soul. She connected with her readers because she wasn’t afraid to go deep. She could make you laugh and cry and also give you something to think about. Her stories were sad and heartwarming but they were also funny. Humor, my momma always taught me, is the sharpest tool in one’s toolbox. You can say anything, if you make them laugh.
Maybe that’s what I miss the most, making her laugh. Every single day we talked . . . usually a few times . . . and emailed, texted, etc. I would try to make her laugh. Whenever I did it was like hearing a love song. Her laughter was approval. She would say, “Oh, Victoria, you’re so crazy. I love you girl” and my day would be made.
I MISS MY FRIEND. I miss my soul mate. I miss the moon to my tide. I was lost at first, but then I remembered she gave me everything I needed to dig deeper, to try harder, and to never forget to create magic. She gave me hope, and faith in myself and my ability to go on. I am not lost. I am very grounded. My children will always know her, she will never be forgotten. My wonderful, magical Momma.
Right before she got sick, she attended her high school reunion, and was going to write a book about her memories, her friendships, and the women she knew when they were girls. Instead, now we women, her friends and fellow storytellers, have all come together in a reunion, to write about my momma, and how she created inspirational magic in their lives. I hope you read these memories and stories inspired by the great and wonderful Dorothea Benton Frank. If there was one thing my mom inspired and encouraged it was the power of women coming together, and especially to share stories.
Bridesmaids
Patti Callahan
1
The Answer
Lachlan was waiting for an answer. Beatrice’s answer.
And she didn’t have one.
The lemon-light of the restaurant’s overhead chandeliers fell onto the linen-covered tablecloth in shaded patterns, imitating branches of a naked tree. Beatrice stared at that pattern because she couldn’t look Lachlan in the eye, her mind scrambling for the right words.
As if there were right words.
“Beatrice.” Lachlan said her name softly, and she finally lifted her gaze to his. “Are you here?”
“I am. I just don’t know what to say.”
“It’s simple,” he said.
“And complicated,” she said.
They, by all rights, looked exactly like who they were: a middle-aged and quite beautiful couple in love at a fine restaurant—the Olde Pink House on Abercorn in the heart of Savannah, Georgia. Soft music played in the background from a piano player in the far corner by the fireplace.