by Elicia Hyder
“Sexting!” Garret and Dad said at the same time.
Mom’s mouth dropped open, but her face quickly shifted from shock to a blush. Then, much to my relief, she started laughing. “Oh, shut up! Extra helpings for both of you!”
“Poor Mom,” I whimpered. “I’ll still eat the cake.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite, Grace,” Mom said, turning back to the stove. Whatever she was cooking—gravy? Motor oil, maybe?—was boiling over onto the burner. “Shht! Shht! Shht!”
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I realized my mother swore a lot. Her favorite curse word was shit. But I guess she figured it didn’t count as long as she omitted the letter i.
“Need some help?” I asked, trying to stifle a laugh. Garrett didn’t even bother. His forehead was on the table, and his shoulders were shaking as he cackled.
“No, I’m fine.” Mom carried the bubbling pot to the sink. Black tar sizzled on the burner, sending more black smoke into the air.
While everyone was focused on the fire hazard in the kitchen, I texted Jason back. I think the robe looks better on you than me.
My brother didn’t notice.
“Grace, did you tell Gabby you’ll be skating in the parade?” Mom asked, obviously trying to change the subject.
I turned toward my niece and opened my mouth to speak, but Gabby excitedly waved her hands in front of my face. “I already know about the parade. Can I come with you?”
“No, you can’t go with her, and how do you already know about the parade?” Garrett asked.
Gabby put a hand on her hip. “It’s on the Rollers’ website, Dad.” If we’d been in the nineties, she would’ve tacked a “duh” and an eyeroll onto her answer.
“You’ve been on our website?” I asked.
“All the time.”
I leaned toward her. “Did you know they have a brand-new junior roller derby team?”
Her eyes quadrupled in size. “No way!” She spun toward her father. “Dad, can I join?”
“Absolutely not,” my brother replied.
Gabby’s mouth dropped open. “But why?”
“Gabrielle, do you remember that girl getting her nose broken when she plowed through the crowd?” Garrett shook his head. “I don’t want to pay your medical bills. Hell no.”
“Son, watch your language,” Dad said.
“Maybe sometime you and I could go skating, and I could show you some tricks,” I said, directing the conversation away from a full-blown meltdown.
She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “Will you try to convince Dad?”
I winked. “I’ll do what I can, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t. I gotta go tell Hope!” She ran off toward the family room.
Garrett groaned. “Don’t encourage them, Grace.”
“Why not? What’s so wrong with being part of a sport that teaches girls to be confident and fierce? She could use some strong women in her life, you know.”
“Because her aunt’s too busy for her.”
“Hey!”
He put his hands up in defense. “It was a joke. Calm down.”
“You can make it up to me by letting her join the team. Derby’s a family. It would be good for them.”
He sighed. “I’ll think about it, but don’t say anything else to Gabby until I’ve made up my mind.”
“Deal.”
My brother was single, a widower actually. His wife, Jamie, had died of breast cancer after stopping chemo when she found out she was pregnant with Hope. Jamie died just before Hope’s first birthday. Garrett hadn’t dated anyone seriously since.
I was the only Evans, immediate and extended family included, to ever get divorced. Granted, we weren’t an enormous family, but still. It was a legacy I wasn’t exactly keen to break.
“Aunt Grathe!” Hope ran into the kitchen with Gabby on her heels. “Gabby thaid there’th a junior roller derby team! Can I play too?”
My brother slid me an annoyed glare.
“Girls, we’re not going to say another word about it until your dad’s had a chance to really think it over. OK?”
Her shoulders dropped with a heavy huff. “Fine. Are you really going to thkate in the Chrithmath parade?”
“Yes! Will you come watch me?”
She looked back at Garrett. “Dad, can we?”
With a sigh, he nodded.
I smiled at him.
“Will Riveter Styx be there? Or Full Metal Jackie?” Gabby asked.
“How about Midnight Maven?” Hope added.
“Or Medusa.” Gabby gripped my forearm. “She’s my favorite.”
Hope looked a little dreamy-eyed. “Mine too. The’th thooo cool.”
Garrett leaned toward Dad. “What’s with these names? Sounds like a metal band.”
“Kinda looks like one sometimes too, now that you mention it,” I said.
“Have you been to watch it yet, Dad?” Garrett asked.
“Not yet, but I’m sure we’ll go see Grace play,” Dad said.
Gabby went around the table to Garrett. “Dad, let me see your phone. I want to show Pops the team.”
“Mom, want me and Garrett to set the table?” I asked, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
Garrett turned his palms up with a confused look that asked, “Why would you do that?”
“You’re such a bum, Garrett. It won’t kill you to help out,” I said, walking to the dish cabinet across the kitchen. “Get the glasses. I’ll get the plates.”
As I reached into the cabinet, my phone buzzed twice, and as much as I hate to admit it, my heart torqued with excited agony. I cradled two plates on my forearm, then pulled out my phone.
I looked at the screen.
Not a chance.
“Busted,” Garrett said behind me.
I yelped and dropped the dishes. They shattered with a loud crash on the tile floor.
“Grace!” Mom yelled.
Garrett laughed.
Dad covered his mouth with his hand.
I groaned and knelt to pick up the biggest pieces of ceramic. “I’m really sorry, Mom. I’ll replace them.”
“I bought them in Nantucket twelve years ago, dear,” Mom said with an eye roll.
My nose scrunched. “I’m really sorry.”
“You hold the dust pan. I’ll sweep,” Dad said as he carried over the broom.
“Gabby, you’d better get the plates. Your Aunt Grace’s hands seem a little slippery today,” Mom said.
“I’m sorry,” I said again as Dad swept the last of the dish fragments into the dust pan.
“So what’d the cop say?” Garrett asked me as he passed us with an armful of tea glasses.
“He said, ‘Your brother’s an asshole, Grace.’”
Garrett and Dad laughed. Mom swatted me from behind with a dishtowel and huffed. “I swear if I could still ground you, I would.”
When we were finished, I put the silverware out in the dining room and took my seat at the table—china-cabinet side, to the right of Mom’s seat. In the kitchen, Dad turned on the electric carving knife, so I pulled out my phone and texted Jason again. Full disclosure: I’m saving this photo in case I ever need blackmail.
My phone buzzed immediately.
Jason: You wouldn’t dare.
Me: I might even make it my screensaver.
Jason: Do what you must. I’m rocking this pink robe.
I laughed.
Wait. Were we flirting?
“Hey, do you know what the plan is for Thanksgiving?” Garrett asked directly across the table from me.
I shook my head.
“Hey, Mom! What are we doing Thanksgiving Day?” he called to the kitchen.
“Linner here at two o’clock!” our mother answered.
Dad had coined the term “linner" when we were kids because he refused to call a meal in the middle of the afternoon lunch or dinner.
“Think Granna
is cooking?” Garrett whispered to Gabby with a grimace.
She made a sour face and then laughed.
Mom carried a huge bowl of mashed potatoes into the dining room. They looked normal, which was encouraging. Dad carried the plate of roast beef into the room and placed it in the center of the table.
Once everyone was seated, Dad said a blessing, praying for each of us specifically. At the end of the prayer, we all said “amen” together, then dove in different directions for the food.
“Grace, do you have a big sale planned for Black Friday?” Dad asked over the sound of clinking spoons and china.
“Yeah, but I’m not doing anything crazy like opening before dawn.”
Mom wasn’t looking at me as she passed Garrett a bowl of creamed corn. “I never opened my shop at all on Thanksgiving weekend.”
Oh great. Here we go.
I nodded and plucked a biscuit from the bread basket. It was burned on the bottom. “But you didn’t exactly have a retail store. Nobody buys wedding gowns as gifts for Christmas.”
Garrett picked through the roast beef slices with his fork, probably searching for the biggest one. “And, Mom, you worked every holiday.”
I laughed. “Right? Do you remember that Christmas morning when we had to open presents in the kitchen because she moved her workroom to the den?”
“That was only because Jenny Hayes was getting married on New Year’s Eve and I wasn’t finished with her gown yet.” Mom pointed a butter knife at me. “But I was home, wasn’t I?”
“And I’ll be home too. Just not from nine to six that one day. I’ll be closed the rest of the weekend, I think.”
“If you do flyers or something, get me some and I’ll put them out at the bar,” Garrett offered.
“Thanks.” I smiled. “You know, when you aren’t being a jerk, you’re very nice and generous.”
Garrett winked at me. “I try. Occasionally. How’s business going?”
I groaned.
“That good, huh?” he asked with a grin.
Dad looked over, concerned. “Is everything OK with the store, Grace?”
“Truthfully?”
Everyone looked up.
“It’s suffered with all the divorce drama, and it’s harder and harder to have a storefront when so much retail is being done over the web. Kiara has helped boost the store’s presence online, but I’m starting to fear it’s too little, too late. I’m hoping to get sales back on track during the holidays. It just doesn’t help that my motivation to make children’s clothing is kind of lacking lately.”
“Wonder why,” Dad said, shaking his head sadly.
“You could always make wedding gowns,” Mom suggested.
I dragged my fork around in my mashed potatoes. “Yes, because being part of matrimonial bliss is right up there on my priority list with celebrating babies.”
Mom stopped mid chew and looked at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”
“It’s OK,” I said.
“You could make Barbie clothes,” Hope suggested.
I raised my eyebrows. “That’s a great idea.”
“Or stripper clothes,” Garrett said with a rotten smile.
“Garrett! In front of the girls?” Mom said, pointing to his daughters.
Gabby was laughing behind her hand, probably to keep herself from spewing her mouthful of food all over the table.
“In all seriousness,” Garrett said, plucking three half-burned rolls from the bread basket, “you can always come boil hops with me.”
“Thanks, brother. I might have to take you up on that.”
Silently, I prayed I wouldn’t have to.
After dinner, when Garrett and I had helped Mom clean up, Dad came up to me tapping an envelope against the palm of his hand. The look on his face told me everything that was inside it.
My heart sank. “Is that the property-tax bill?”
“After our conversation at dinner, I’m terribly sorry to give it to you.”
I took a deep breath. “It’s OK. I’ve been saving for it.”
He handed it to me. “Smart girl.”
Inside was the bill. I pulled it out and carefully unfolded it. My chest tightened. “Oh.”
“It’s higher this year because of the added square footage of your apartment. Do you have enough to cover it?”
Sure didn’t.
“I’ll get there,” I said, hoping it was true. “I’ve got until March, right?”
“Yes.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll let me know if you need help?”
“Of course.” I held up the paper. “But if I can’t do this, I don’t have any business keeping the store.”
“I respect that, Grace.” He pulled me into a tight hug. “You’ll find a way.”
“I know, Dad. Thank you.”
I really hoped he was right.
Six
I’m craving pancakes was the message waiting for me when I woke up on Thursday morning.
Jason and I had been chatting all week long, like I needed anything else to distract me from work. We talked about our friends and our families. He wanted to hear all about roller derby, and he told me stories from patrol. I whined about dressmaking; he whined about working third shift.
None of our conversations had been about Clay.
I rubbed my eyes and texted him back. That’s very random. Good morning to you too.
Jason: I think I need some Pancake Pantry. I have court downtown today. How about an early lunch?
Me: What time?
Jason: 11?
Me: Perfect.
I inhaled, only realizing then that I’d been holding my breath. Holy shit. Were those butterflies? Smiling, I jumped out of bed.
After taking extra care getting ready that morning, I walked down to the store. The lights were already on when I opened the door. “Hello?” I called, a little confused, when I cautiously went inside.
Kiara stepped into the doorway to the workroom. She wore black pants and a polka-dot blouse with a Peter Pan collar. “Hi!”
I put my hand over my heart. “You scared me. What are you doing here so early?”
“Come here! Come here!”
“OK,” I said slowly.
I walked to the workroom, and what I found made me stumble back a step. Bags of white cotton. Boxes of pink glitter. Cans and cans and cans of pink, white, and gold spray paint.
“Tada!” she announced, her arms extended into the air.
“Um…”
“What do you think?”
I put my hand on my forehead. “I think I’m really confused.”
“It’s going to be a sparkled pink winter wonderland.” She pointed back to the front of the store. “For the window!”
“Oh!” I looked at all the stuff again. “But where did all this come from? You didn’t buy it, did you?”
“God no,” she said with a laugh. “You know the big craft store off Franklin Road in Brentwood?”
“Yeah.”
“My boyfriend’s parents own it.”
I blinked. “Wow.”
“Yeah. I told them I needed some supplies for my internship project and they said I could have whatever I wanted.”
“You’re kidding?” I walked over and looked inside a box full of glittery pink ribbon. “Did you tell them it was for a store window? Like a commercial store? I don’t want to get sued, Kiara.”
“I told them all about it. And my advisor at school loved the idea. She said if I can really make something of it, she might be able to pull some strings with the newspaper to get it featured.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a sale at Barney’s.”
“Why would she want to put it in the paper?” I asked.
“To get it on the radar of other businesses. She thinks she might be able to make it part of the curriculum next year and let design students compete for scholarship money.”
My eyes widened. “Hey, that’s a great idea.”
“I think so too.” She clasped her hands together. “So do I have your permission to do it?”
I laughed and looked around at the packed workroom. “I can’t very well say no now, can I?”
“No, you can’t.” She stepped toward me. “But are you happy? Is this OK?”
Putting my hands on my hips, I nodded. “Yes, I’m happy. Do I have to help?”
“I’ll do it all.”
I gave her two thumbs-up. “Then I’m ecstatic. What else do you need?”
“I’ll need some white Christmas lights. Those tiny wired ones that look like fairy lights. You know what I’m talking about?”
“Yeah.”
“I found some online. I’ll need about eighty dollars to get enough strands for what I want to do.”
I considered it. “I can do eighty. Is that all?”
“I kinda want to buy a pink Christmas tree.”
I smiled. “How much?”
“A hundred…ish.”
“Is it online too?”
She nodded.
“Send me a link.”
“Can I get started on it today?” she asked.
“Yes, but you’re going to have to move this stuff off my table. One of us still has to make gowns.”
Kiara removed everything that was currently in the front display, then she used brown craft paper to “gift wrap” the front window. With pink and white window markers, she wrote on the glass: Santa’s elves are working hard on a big surprise. Come on in, we’re open!
Even that was pretty cute.
Later that morning, I was in my workroom cutting out the pattern on the periwinkle satin when I heard the front door bells jingle. My breath hitched with excitement. I stood, paused, and took a deep breath.
“You OK?” Kiara asking, looking up from where she was making snowflakes out of tissue paper.
With an excited smile, I nodded and stepped over the piles of art supplies she’d scattered across the floor. “I have lunch plans.”
“Gra-ace!”
Oh great.
“With Sylvia?” Kiara asked with a chuckle.
I hung my head and trudged out to the storefront.
“Good morning, Sylvie.” Her shih tzu was under her arm. I gritted my teeth. “And hello, Miss Taylor.”
Sylvia was using her cane again today, with her two-inch patent black heels. She also wore a deep bluish-black fur coat—fox fur, I think and definitely real—over a white turtle neck with a heavy-beaded necklace. I shuddered for the fox. She was like Cruella de Vil’s wicked stepmother.