Continuing with my Friday fiction posts… As usual – I’m sitting down with little idea of what I’m going to write. Still with Vivi – but I think it’s time to bring Ivy back in. Let’s see if I can make it happen this week.

I set up a post that consolidates all of the posts so far HERE. So for the sake of context – you may want to read what you missed first.

Of course it wasn’t easy – but it was a start. And then each day, getting out of bed sounded just a little bit better. The world came back into focus and even the sun shone brighter.

Though the latter may have had something to do with finally opening the shades…

Emerging from that cocoon of blankets, bourbon and tears made her feel like a brand new butterfly in truth. A little fragile, but ready to test her new wings. And while corny metaphors typically made her snort in derision, this was the exact image she held in her mind as she walked out her door for the first time since the funeral.

Vivi put a great deal of thought into her choice of clothing that day. She wondered whether she was expected to wear black or gray. Were somber colors still considered more appropriate for a recent widow?

Well screw that. Black was for evening and gray was for secretaries. She selected her favorite teal silk. Paired with matching heels and the pearl cluster earrings Sam gave her for their last anniversary, she was ready. But ready for what?

Having not really considered where she was going, Vivi paused in the foyer to think about that. And a good thing too. The natural light streaming through the front windows had thrown the dark circles under her eyes into high relief. The hall mirror showed her a shadow version of herself that was rather disconcerting.

“Well,” she thought, “that’s what God made sunglasses for.”

She decided to go to the National Gallery. Then maybe she would have a cup of coffee by the fountain.

The idea of being with people, but not having to talk to them was very appealing to Vivi. Regardless of how fabulous she looked, there was still the very real possibility that she might burst into tears, and that just wouldn’t do. She would ruin her makeup and possibly soil her lovely clothing if she cried.

Vanity aside, it was these fine feathers that were holding her together. The thinnest of barriers, her looks were no more than an egg shell. Just one crack, and she might truly fall apart.

She wasn’t ready for conversation. She wanted to be seen, and that was all. To announce her presence to the world at large. That she was back.

And who would have thought that any comeback Vivi Rogers made would be so quiet. Certainly not her. But that’s what it was. A quiet day of walking through galleries and people watching on the Mall.

It was just like any other day. Except Sam wasn’t with her…or there when she got home…or expected to walk through the door in time for dinner…or just on a business trip… That was her favorite one – to pretend he was on a business trip.

These little fancies – pretending that he wasn’t really gone – never did go away for Vivi. It was an indulgence that she refused to give up. Maybe someday. But not yet, and certainly not then.

Back then she had an excuse though. She had to start small. Just leave the house. Think about what to wear. Thinking about how to live the rest of her life without Sam would have to wait until later when she was stronger.

So every day her first thought was about what to wear. Frivolous or not – it was an unconscious morning ritual. Some people had coffee…she had her closet. And strangely enough, clothes became so much more than the beginning of her daily routine. They started her career. They introduced her to some of her most treasured friends. And because of this, the first thing she noticed about anyone was what they were wearing.

She liked to tell this to people so she could see their reactions. Some just chalked it up to her being shallow. Others took it personally. But everyone thought about it.

Ellen was horrified. Nancy laughed. David looked smug. And Ivy had to smile.

Due to some other posts that took precedence last week, I didn’t write fiction. As usual – I’m sitting down with little idea of what I’m going to write, but I’m staying with Vivi. Who knows if I’ll ever get to her connection to Ivy… But that’s still my intention.

You should probably read Vivian’s Roots and then the continuation for the sake of context.

Losing Sam at such a young age was one of Vivi’s greatest regrets. And it was the only one that ever made her feel bitter. To her way of thinking, if you didn’t have any regrets in life, then you didn’t expect very much for yourself. And Vivi’s child bride expectations could have eclipsed the grandeur of Notre Dame at sunset…of the New York skyline at twilight…of any helicopter ride through Hawaiian rainbows. She had see all of those things. With Sam. And not one of them compared to her hopes for their future.

At the very least, she had expected that they’d grow old together.

When your husband drops dead of a brain aneurysm at age 49, you can’t help but have a few bitter moments of regret.

But Vivi chose not to linger over long in those melancholy moments. As much as she would have given anything to rewrite that one piece of history, she was far too committed to her own life to live for Sam’s death. Limbo wasn’t a place for the likes of her.

She never did anything halfway and she gave grief her full attention when it was new. She stayed in bed for weeks on end and planned to follow Sam within the year. Mama of course rolled her eyes and said “Vivi honey – do you have any idea when first act will be over? As soon as it’s intermission, I’m going to need a drink.“

While this would have sounded shocking to anyone outside of the family, it always made Vivi throw back her head and laugh. A deep belly laugh. Another off kilter response that bonded them as mother and daughter…I’ll see your insensitive quip and raise you an inappropriate peal of laughter.

Ethel was never known for her brains, but it was just this kind of comment that hinted at her considerably sharp wit. And not for the first time, Vivi wondered what Mama would have been like in life if she actually cared enough to participate.

Fourteen years ago, Vivi’s surprised laugh was dry and brief, and it flew into a thousand papery wisps as soon as it left her throat. There is no music in bitter laughter.

But it did wake her up a little. And she realized that no amount of overly dramatic posturing would make the terrible truth any less real. She couldn’t play the tragic heroine or victim because this wasn’t the stage. There was no audience save herself, and she preferred something a bit lighter.

She who was always said to be so full of life then made the predictable choice to go on living. It wasn’t what she had wanted or expected for herself. But Mama was right – the show must go on. So she got out of bed, made the old bitch a drink and started considering her next twist of plot.