Family Fruitcake Frenzy

by Margaret Lashley

  Tom grinned. “Really? I’d like to hear the joke that managed that feat.”

  “It wasn’t a joke, Tom. It was...the way Rich looked.”

  Tom shot me a curious look. “No offense, Val, but your family is no collection of beauty kings and queens. In fact, I’m not sure people like that should even be breeding.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I know. What can I say? My family tree’s missing a bunch of branches. And as you’ve seen, they’re not too particular when it comes to choosing a mate. I think having opposable thumbs may be enough to get a Jolly laid.”

  Tom grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing, then, you’re no blood relation.”

  “Yeah. But that’s no guarantee of a good gene pool. You saw dick nose.”

  Tom’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Dick nose?”

  I stared at Tom, incredulous. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice Dick’s...I mean Rich’s horrible schnoz!”

  Tom twisted his lip and sighed. “Not really. I guess I was too distracted.”

  “What could be more distracting than a nose that looks like a pickled pecker?”

  Tom didn’t laugh. Instead, he hunched over and lowered his voice. “I overheard Dale talking to Popeye about his girlfriend, Mary Ann.”

  My eye-whites doubled. “Uncle Popeye’s got a girlfriend?”

  “No,” Tom said. “Dale does.”

  THAT EVENING, ALL THROUGH supper, I stared at Dale, trying to imagine how the scrawny, blind-as-a-bat old man could have the energy to deal with two women – especially when one of them was Lucille Jolly. Part of me was impressed. Part of me was kind of glad for him – maybe Mary Ann treated him better. But the biggest part of me wanted to wring his neck. I forbade Tom to bring the topic up. I didn’t want Mom to get hurt. I’d have to handle it later, when I could catch Dale alone.

  After supper, Dale excused himself from the table and scurried out the front door. Mom waddled to the living room to watch TV. I was washing up the dishes with Tom when I saw Dale sneak by window into the side yard.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” I said, pulling off my rubber gloves.

  “What about the dishes?” Tom asked.

  “We’ll do them when we get back.”

  “But...”

  I snatched the dishtowel from Tom’s hand. “Just come with me, will you?”

  Tom followed behind me, grinning. I bet he figured I was leading him off somewhere to have sex. I didn’t bother to correct him. I tiptoed out of the house and snuck around to the side yard, where I’d seen Dale a few minutes before. But he was nowhere to be found.

  “What are you looking for?” Tom asked with a cute, naughty grin. He pulled me to him.

  I frowned. “Nothing. Never mind. Let go.”

  Tom let go of me and shot me a frustrated look. “Are you okay?”

  “No!” I hissed. “How can you be so...happy-go-lucky, Tom? Why aren’t you angry at Dale like I am?”

  Tom’s eyebrows met in the middle. “Wait a minute. You’re mad at me because I’m not making myself miserable over Dale?”

  “Well...yes!”

  “That makes no sense, Val.”

  “It makes perfect sense to me. You’re supposed to be on my side, Tom!”

  “I am on your side. But if you can’t see that for yourself, there’s no way I can make you see it.”

  “Maybe you should go for a walk by yourself,” I hissed.

  Tom scowled. “Good idea. I think I will.”

  I watched Tom disappear down the dirt road. He never looked back.

  “Good riddance,” I mumbled to myself. But a pang of fear had taken hold of my heart like a vice grip. All of a sudden I felt completely and utterly alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  PERHAPS TOM had been on my side all along, like he said. Why else would I have felt so abandoned and alone when he called my bluff and went walking by himself? I needed someone to help sort this out. A trusted friend to talk to. I snuck back in the house past Mom and Dale. They were watching their programs, oblivious to the rest of the world. I fetched my cellphone from my purse and snuck back outside.

  I punched Milly’s number, but got her answering machine. “Hi, you’ve reached Milly. I’m out having a fabulous time with my perfect, fun-loving boyfriend. Vance always knows the right thing to say and never disappoints me. Sorry, ladies, but I got the last perfect man. Leave your pathetic little name and number, and if I ever come off Cloud Nine, I might give you a ring.”

  Truth be told, Milly’s real phone message simply said, “I can’t get to the phone right now. Leave a message.” The rest of the stuff was conjured up by my desperate, damaged ego.

  Crap! I’d have to settle for Plan B. I punched in the number.

  “Hi, Laverne.”

  “Hi there, honey!”

  Laverne’s simple-minded, cheerful voice sounded like an angel from heaven. “It’s good to hear your voice. How are you doing, Laverne?”

  “Oh, fine, sugar. The fellas have been coming by for lunch and helping me finish off the turkey and potatoes.”

  “Are they doing more work around your place?”

  “Yes! Lord, everybody loves their rooftop lights! You wouldn’t believe it, Val! Every night, it’s like a convoy around here. People driving by our houses and takin’ pictures. The guys even got a write-up in the Beachcomber Busy Bee!”

  “Wow. What do you know!”

  “I know a lot, Val. Thanks for asking! After the guys finished up the mayor’s place, they got another job. Then a whole bunch more, like some kind of snowball, they said. They’ve been working around the neighborhood day and night. Oh! And I been plugging in your lights at night, like you said I could. I guess it’s been good advertising for the fellas.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “Hey. You don’t sound so cheery, honey. Are you all right?”

  “Not really.”

  “Tell me all about it, sugar.”

  “I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Honey, there’s no way you could ever bother me.”

  I thought about all the times I’d been petty and let Laverne’s crazy antics bother me. “Thanks,” I said and tried to brush off the guilt tapping on my shoulder.

  “So, what’s troubling you, honey?”

  “It’s Tom. We had a fight.”

  “About what?”

  “That’s just it. It was about nothing.”

  “Oh. Those are the most common kind. But they’re never really about nothing, you know.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “It’s all just too hard, Laverne.”

  “What’s too hard?”

  “Relationships! I’m just no good at them. I always end up feeling like I’m suffocating in a cloud of...expectations.”

  “Whose expectations, sugar?”

  I thought about that for a moment, too. “Mostly my own, I guess.”

  “Uh huh,” Laverne cooed.

  “Why is it that I always want things from people that they don’t have to give? I want them to do things they can’t do...be things they aren’t.”

  “That’s natural, honey.”

  “It’s natural to be disappointed in people? Laverne, I don’t want to always have to lower my expectations. That would be settling...wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s one way to look at it, sugar. Some people call it compromising. Some call it accepting somebody like they are.”

  “My Mom,” I began, but my voice cracked.

  “Uh huh,” Laverne said, soft as a downy feather.

  “I never have been able to meet her expectations, Laverne.” A dam of pent-up emotions burst inside me. It took all I had in me not to cry. “My mother never accepted me. She judged me, Laverne. She condemned me. She made me feel like I was always the one in the wrong.”

  “Like you’re doing now with Tom?”

  Laverne’s simple question cut through me like a hot knife through a warm dog turd.

  Crap! “Yes. Oh my word, Laverne! How
do I break the cycle? How do I get out of this?”

  “Well, honey, that’s why men invented alcohol.”

  It took me a moment to absorb that one. While Laverne waited on me, she giggled.

  “I’m serious, Laverne! I don’t want to go through life always feeling disappointed.”

  “I know you’re serious, honey, but you don’t have to be angry, too. Try to see the bright side of this.”

  I was about to tell her I wasn’t angry. But that would have been a lie. “The bright side?”

  “Yes, honey. I mean, you say you don’t want to feel disappointed, so how do you want to feel?”

  I swallowed a lump of anger. “How do I want to feel? I want to feel satisfied, Laverne. I want to feel happy.”

  “Well, good for you, honey! Cause you’re the one with the key to your own happiness, you know.”

  I grunted out a jaded laugh. “Oh yeah? So, where do I find this magic key?”

  “Well, I think you know by now it’s not in the ‘high expectations’ drawer, right?”

  I blew out a breath. “Right.”

  “The key isn’t in lowering your expectations of folks, either.”

  I frowned over the phone. “Then where the hell is it, Laverne?”

  “The key to happiness is in getting rid of your expectations altogether.”

  Anger shot through me again. “Geeze, Laverne! But then, people would –”

  “Val,” Laverne spoke up, cutting me off. “Who do you think loses when your expectations aren’t met?”

  “Whoever it is that hasn’t done what I wanted them to.”

  Laverne laughed. “Maybe. For a moment. Then they get over it. But there’s only one person who loses every time and for the rest of her life. You know who that is, don’t you?”

  Dang. “It’s me.”

  “Like I said, we all hold the key to our own happiness.”

  “How’d you get so wise, Laverne?”

  “A magician taught me that back in Vegas. Thank gosh-a-mighty, it’s one trick I never forgot how to pull off.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  EVERYONE IN THE JOLLY-Short household was hiding something. Mom was an unrepentant fruitcake saboteur. Dale was a secret philanderer. I was stashing my heart (and a boozy fruitcake) in a closet. And my sister Annie...she, herself had up and disappeared.

  It was Christmas Eve morning, and I still hadn’t heard hide nor hair from Annie, even though she lived only two miles from Mom. I hadn’t confronted Dale about his girlfriend, Mary Ann, either. When I’d come back in from my phone call with Laverne last night, Dale had been snuggled like a bug into his chair next to Mom, watching TV like nothing was up. I’d been in the bathroom when Tom had gotten back from his walk. He’d stayed in his room and we’d both gone to sleep without speaking.

  I sat up on the couch and yawned. Being on the outs with Tom had sapped my energy. I was about to turn over and try to go back to sleep when I heard a rustling sound coming from the kitchen. A shot of adrenaline had me wide awake in two seconds flat.

  Either someone left Dawson inside, or Tammy was back! Or maybe someone else altogether was trying to destroy Mom’s and my chances at the fruitcake competition....

  The rustling sound repeated. I grabbed a cheap figurine of an old-fashioned outhouse off the coffee table and snuck into the kitchen. An unexpected, pink, fuzzy blur about scared the bejeesus out of me.

  “Mornin’ Val,” Mom said. She put her coffee down, plopped into her chair and picked up the newspaper she’d been reading.

  “What are you doing up so early?” I asked in a voice that had been frightened up an entire octave. My heartbeat thudded in my ears. I hid the figurine behind my back.

  “IGA closes early on Christmas Eve, Valiant. It’s a pure nuthouse every year. I sent Dale out to get the donuts a’for the store opened and they was all gone.”

  Something about my mother’s tone seemed odd. It was lighter. Less sarcastic. It sounded...what was the word for it? Friendly! My heart skipped a beat. Oh no! Is she going to tell me she’s dying?

  “So why are you up?” I asked with trepidation.

  Mom twisted her lip at me. “I didn’t want you turnin’ on the oven again, girl. You give me a fright, yesterday. I done put so much moonshine on that fruitcake, I was surprised you hadn’t blowed us all to kingdom come.”

  “Moonshine?”

  Mom bit her lip and looked down. She seemed angry with herself. “Dang it. Yeah.”

  “Is that your secret, Mom? How you win the competition every year?”

  Mom sighed. Then she smiled begrudgingly, hoisted herself to standing, and opened the pantry door. She fished through the shelves and pulled out a bottle of castor oil.

  “Castor oil? That’s your secret ingredient?”

  “No, Valiant! Don’t be stupid! This here’s your daddy Justas’ moonshine. The last of it, I might add.”

  “But why is it –”

  Mom looked at me as if she took pity on me for being so dimwitted. “Think about it. Whoever in their right mind would steal somebody’s castor oil?” she said. “It’s the safest place I could think of. But like I said, this is the last of it. When this bottle’s used up, I can’t make the winning fruitcake no more.”

  “Is that why you’re telling me now? Because your secret doesn’t matter anymore?”

  The left half of Mom’s face twitched into a grimace. “Partly.”

  “What’s the other part?”

  “The other part...let’s see. How can I explain it?” Mom shuffled over to the table and sat down again. She blew out a breath before she spoke. “I guess it comes down to managing expectations, Valiant.”

  Laverne’s words began to echo in my mind. Had my mother been eavesdropping on our phone call last night? “What do you mean, Mom?”

  “People’s come to expect me to be ornery and spiteful, Val. I know it. I been that way most a my life. But when Justas got sick and died, I give up caring about much a nothin’. I didn’t want him to go, you know.”

  I hung my head, embarrassed, and nodded.

  “I was mad at Justas – and even madder at God about it. I couldn’t figure out no way on earth to be happy about life no more. It’s been near-bout twenty years, now, and I still ain’t forgiven either one of them sorry rascals for up and leaving me.” Mom looked toward the kitchen window. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I know I ain’t been nice. But I have been consistent. There’s a lot a comfort in knowing what to expect from someone. Even if it’s not what you want. Ain’t that right?”

  “I...guess.” I felt paralyzed and helpless, like a guilty child waiting for the inevitable swat on the backside and banishment to my room.

  “Valiant, how many times would I have to say I’m sorry for the way I am? That I can’t change? That the way I am ain’t got nothin’ personal to do with you. Would ten million times be enough?”

  I couldn’t look at her. My head was too heavy to move. “I don’t know.”

  “Everybody at church talks about unconditional love, Val. It ain’t possible. I never gave it, and I don’t expect it in return.”

  A sudden fire in my belly gave me the strength to look Mom in the eye. “But you do! You expect me to be perfect, Mom! You pick me apart for every little thing!”

  I searched for sorrow or remorse in Mom’s face. There was none. Only defiance. And...resolution.

  “I ain’t saying you’re wrong about that,” she admitted. “What I’m saying is I never meant it personal. It’s just the way I roll.”

  “Yeah. Like a steamroller,” I hissed.

  Mom stared at me, then snickered. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Could I hear it just once?” I heard myself say.

  “Hear what?”

  “The words. I’m sorry.”

  Mom sighed, then spoke as if she were announcing the weather for the day. “Sure, Ragmuffin. I’m sorry.”

  Horrific disappointment shot through me, as if the universe itself had answ
ered my pleading question to the meaning of life, and it was, “Eat fiber to stay regular.” This couldn’t be all there was to this long-festering wound. There had to be more transcendence. More relief!”

  “Feel better now?” Mom deadpanned.

  The adult in me knew that my relationship with Lucille Jolly would never be the same again. The scared child in me was suddenly flat-out desperate for everything to go back to the way it was – to the familiar, the expected. Exactly as Mom had tried to explain....

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’d be lying to say it makes everything okay.”

  “I didn’t expect it would. But Val, I’m not your enemy. Not like you think.”

  A wave of guilt threatened to drown me. All of a sudden, I wanted to confess my sins like a Baptist on Judgement Day. I ran up to my mom and knelt on my knees beside her. “I thought you wanted to ruin my fruitcake, Mom! I figured you were the one who rifled through the kitchen looking for it yesterday. But now, I think it was Tammy.”

  Mom laughed. “Nope. It was me all right. But I wasn’t looking to ruin your cake, Val.” She picked up the castor oil bottle. “I was gonna give it the last drops of Justas Juice. So’s you could win. But you wouldn’t know you’d won on account a me.”

  Either Mom was lying, or somewhere deep down inside all that sarcasm, Lucille Jolly Short had an actual heart. She’d shared her secret with me. Now I wanted to share mine with her.

  “Mom, I think Dale is cheating on you.”

  Mom’s smile dried up. She slammed the castor oil bottle on the table. “What do you mean?”

  “Tom heard him talking to Uncle Popeye yesterday. About a woman named Mary Ann.”

  The front door opened. Mom’s eyes shifted in that direction. “Dale Short! Is that you?” Mom yelled.

  “Yes’m!”

  “Get your hind end in this kitchen right this minute.”

  His small frame and slight stature made The Hostage seem excruciatingly vulnerable as he appeared in the kitchen, wiping sweat from the inch-thick lenses of his cat-eye glasses. I took a step toward him, hoping to shield him from what would surely be a lethal barrage by my mother. But no such attack came. Instead, Mom smiled up at Dale like a baby turtle.