A Catered New Year's Eve

by Isis Crawford

  “Anyway, Ada did pay us the first third of the bill,” Bernie pointed out.

  “Yeah. Because she didn’t have money for the half we usually require,” Libby observed. “That doesn’t exactly inspire a feeling of confidence.”

  “She explained why,” Bernie protested. “She just went a little overboard with Christmas this year. Everyone does that.”

  “True,” Libby said, thinking of the present she’d bought for Marvin. Well, for her too. Two tickets to Hamilton.

  “We should do one of those DNA things,” Bernie suggested. “Maybe there are other family members out there we don’t know about.”

  Libby grunted.

  “Don’t you want to find out?” Bernie asked.

  “Not really,” Libby replied.

  “Why not?” Bernie demanded.

  “Because I don’t want my DNA on record.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Because it can be used for other purposes,” Libby said as she put Mathilda into reverse and backed out of A Taste of Heaven’s parking lot. This morning the lot had been jammed with people picking up last minute orders, but now theirs was the only vehicle in it. “Like facial recognition.”

  “You’re paranoid,” Bernie told Libby as her sister maneuvered Mathilda around the pothole near the curb and into the street. “I’d still like to know if there’s any other family out there.” Bernie stuck her hands under her armpits to warm them up. “And despite what you and Dad say I’m still looking forward to meeting the Sinclairs.” Then she looked at the display in A Taste of Heaven’s window. They’d done a good job this year. They’d gone with a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer motif only they’d substituted stuffed puppies for reindeer and loaded the sled with cookies and candies and cakes.

  “You know the old saying about letting sleeping dogs lie?” Libby said. “Maybe that should apply in this case. Let’s keep things simple. For a change. Let’s just do our job and leave.”

  Bernie leaned over and turned on the radio. “That’s what I’m planning, but you gotta admit simple is boring.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t,” Libby retorted. “I like simple. I like boring. In fact, I crave them, even revel in them,” she replied, looking at her watch. It was five-twenty. They were due at 1302 Danbury Circle South at five forty-five. They had more than enough time to get there.

  “Why?” Bernie demanded.

  “Because I think we’ve had enough excitement in our lives up till now,” Libby told her sister. “If I never see another dead body it’ll be fine with me,” she declared, something Bernie couldn’t argue with, after which Libby changed the topic of conversation to the chocolate cherry bread she was thinking of making for Valentine’s Day. She was trying to decide whether to make the dough out of white flour, whole-wheat flour, or a combination of both.

  The sisters were still debating the merits of half wheat/half white flour when they arrived at Ada Sinclair’s. They were earlier than expected. Route 48 was usually busy, but not tonight. Tonight, the road had been an empty ribbon of black asphalt paralleling the Hudson River. Except for the gas stations, all the shops Libby and Bernie drove by in Longely and Greenwood were closed for the evening. People were either home or they’d gotten where they were going. They’d passed a total of five cars in the last fifteen minutes. Libby knew because she’d counted them.

  “People tend to celebrate at home when it’s going to be minus fifteen degrees out,” Libby observed.

  “Unless they’re going out later,” Bernie noted.

  “Would you? I wouldn’t. That’s for sure.”

  “I would when I was eighteen,” Bernie told her, suddenly feeling old. When had this happened? When had she decided that staying in was preferable to going out? She thought about when she was eighteen and had gone down to Times Square to see the ball drop with her girlfriends and thousands of random strangers. You couldn’t pay her enough to do that now, even if the temperature was warmer.

  Libby bit at her fingernail while she stopped at a red light. “I just hope Mathilda starts back up when it’s time to go home,” she said as the light changed to green.

  “She will,” Bernie replied with more confidence than she felt as they entered the town of Hollingsworth.

  At one time, the town had been the center of a large farming community that had supplied the markets down in New York City with fruits, vegetables, and dairy, but those days were long gone. Now Hollingsworth supplied worker bees to the office buildings in Manhattan. In the last fifty years, the farms had been plowed under, the apple orchards had been ripped up, and four-bedroom, two-bathroom houses had supplanted them. The town had become a bedroom community for The Big Apple, one of many Hudson Valley communities to undergo that metamorphosis. It made Bernie sad. Farmland lost was hard to regain.

  Hollingsworth was a little wealthier than Longely, but not by much. The school system was ranked the same, the housing stock was a little bit pricier, and their marina was a little fancier, but other than that the two towns were similar, the only big difference being that Hollingsworth was two stops closer to New York City on the Metro-North and had a larger parking lot adjacent to their train station.

  Bernie consulted her phone. Her GPS showed that Danbury Circle South was located on the outskirts of the town, two blocks away from the town’s elementary school and half a mile away from a park named Ruby’s Nature Walk, a park that had a small waterfall. They were almost at the Sinclairs and she could hardly wait.

  Chapter 4

  Libby stopped at another red light. She felt silly sitting there, the only vehicle in the intersection. For a moment, she was tempted to go through the light, but then she reconsidered. With her luck, a car would probably come barreling through and T-bone her. Five minutes later, Bernie pointed to a large, imposing Tudor in the middle of the block. Bookended by two smaller ranches, one of whose driveway was empty and whose lights were off, the Tudor stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.

  “Here we are,” Bernie announced.

  Libby slowed down. “I bet this isn’t Ada’s house,” she surmised as she drove up the driveway. She went by a large, gnarled oak tree in the middle of the lawn. Its bare branches, decorated with Christmas lights, reached out to a sky that was becoming cloudier by the minute.

  “I bet you’re right,” Bernie agreed as vague alarm bells went off in the back of her head. “I bet it’s her mom’s.” Girls Ada’s age didn’t own houses like this. They didn’t want them, and even if they did they usually couldn’t afford them. Bernie just hoped there wasn’t going to be a problem. She and Libby had talked to Ada about the oven and the number of burners they’d need because they assumed she owned the house. What did her dad always say about assuming?

  Libby shut off Mathilda’s engine and turned toward her sister. “Are you nervous?”

  “A little,” Bernie admitted. “I mean it’s not every day you meet a branch of your family you never knew about.”

  “The black sheep branch,” Libby said.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Bernie allowed.

  “What if they don’t want to talk to us?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Bernie told her, disregarding the flutter in the pit of her stomach. “Ada told me she squared it away with her family.” She looked at her watch. Time to get going. “I’ll see where Ada wants us to unload,” she said to Libby as she slipped off her seat belt, opened the van door, and stepped outside. The wind had picked up as she started up the brick path to the house and she could smell the river. She walked carefully, because when she looked down she saw that the bricks were covered with a thin coating of ice, the result of the weather alternating between freezing and thawing for the past week.

  Hopefully, we can bring our supplies in through the garage, Bernie thought as she picked her way up the path, imagining how bad it would be if she or Libby fell and dropped one of the cartons they were carrying and the lentil soup spilled or the chocolate ganache roll got smooshed. She held on to the railing as s
he climbed the three stairs that led to the front door. Then she rang the bell. A moment later, the door was opened by an older, heavier set version of Ada. Bernie assumed the woman was Ada’s mother.

  “I thought you should know I wasn’t in favor of this when Ada told me what she’d done,” she announced before Bernie could get a hello out. The woman pressed her lips together and adjusted her glasses. They were black and too large for her face. “Not at all.”

  So much for Ada’s assurances about the family being down with their showing up, Bernie thought.

  The woman adjusted her glasses. “We were deeply, deeply hurt by your mother’s actions. Of course, you were young when it happened,” she allowed. “Very young.”

  “Yes, we were,” Bernie agreed. She had no idea of the time frame the woman was talking about.

  “But you can imagine my shock when I heard what Ada had done.”

  “Do you want us to leave?” Bernie asked. Maybe she and her sister would be spending New Year’s Eve at home after all.

  The woman in the doorway ignored Bernie’s question and continued with what she’d been saying. “The rest of the family wasn’t happy either when they heard. They wanted to cancel. I did too at first, but then we all decided that was ridiculous. We’re all adults, right? And this happened a long time ago. We’re just going to pretend you’re a caterer. Agreed?”

  “We are caterers,” Bernie said.

  “I have to say your mother was a good cook, whatever her other failings.”

  “Excuse me,” Bernie said. She could feel her cheeks start to redden.

  The woman raised her hand in the air. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

  “It certainly did,” Bernie agreed.

  “What I meant to say was that hopefully you’ve inherited her ability.”

  “I like to think my sister and I have,” Bernie told her.

  The woman sighed. “I suppose you’re serving lentil soup,” she continued, frowning.

  Bernie nodded. “Ada . . .”

  “Asked you to,” the woman said, finishing Bernie’s sentence for her. “I hate lentil soup,” she told Bernie. “It’s such a stupid idea. As if eating that is going to mean you’re going to have a prosperous New Year. I suppose you put sausage in it.”

  Bernie shook her head. “I made it with coconut milk and lemongrass.”

  “That should be a little better,” the woman conceded, brightening. A smile flitted across her face and died. “You know this is only going to open up old wounds,” she stated. “No amount of good cooking is going to make up for that. Especially now. Especially when we’re finally on the verge of success.”

  Bernie wanted to say that didn’t make any sense. She wanted to say in that case the family should be in a celebratory mood. But she didn’t. Instead she watched Ada’s mother sigh a long dramatic sigh, her breath visible in the night air.

  “But that’s my daughter for you,” Linda Sinclair continued. “Snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory. Every. Single. Time. I understand she’s had a hard time, but who hasn’t?”

  Bernie started to reply, but before she could Ada’s mother added, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sure you couldn’t care less.” Then she turned toward the hallway. “They’re here!” she yelled up the stairs before turning back to Bernie. “She’ll be down in a moment,” she announced, after which she added, “You’re going to have to move your van. It can’t stay in the driveway. Not with everyone coming.” Then she closed the door in Bernie’s face. The thud echoed in the night.

  Maybe Dad wasn’t wrong after all, Bernie thought as she turned to Libby and made a palms-up gesture. A moment later, the door swung open again and Ada stood in the entranceway. She was wearing Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, a black hoodie, and her hair was gelled into spikes—not a good look in Bernie’s humble opinion, although it seemed to be a trend these days, a trend Bernie hoped would disappear sooner rather than later.

  “Sorry about that,” Ada said to her. Bernie decided she looked about ten. “Linda is in the middle of a hissy fit, but she’ll get over it.”

  “You call your mother by her first name?” Bernie asked as Libby joined her sister. She’d gotten tired of waiting in the van.

  Ada nodded. “I’ve just always called her that,” she explained even though Bernie hadn’t asked for an explanation, although she had been curious. “That’s weird, right?”

  “Well, kinda,” Bernie began, but Ada interrupted her.

  “I guess I should have told her about this sooner,” she said, hugging herself as the cold air nibbled at her fingers and toes.

  “Probably would have been a good idea,” Bernie allowed. “When did you tell her?”

  Ada put up three fingers. “Three days ago. I don’t see why she’s so pissed, though,” Ada went on. “I mean I’m doing her a favor. She doesn’t have to do the cooking.”

  “I don’t think that’s what she’s upset about,” Bernie said.

  Ada frowned and started fiddling with the zipper on her hoodie. “I mean who cares what happened umpteen million years ago.”

  Bernie didn’t make the obvious comment about Ada having hired her and her sister because of something that had happened ten years ago. Instead she said, “Maybe you should have told her about us sooner.”

  Ada grimaced. “If I had, she would have told me not to do it.”

  “You operate under the better to ask forgiveness than permission rule?” Bernie asked. It was a motto she was familiar with.

  Ada smiled. “Exactly,” she said.

  “Me too,” Bernie said.

  “Once Linda gets an idea in her head, that’s it,” Ada said.

  “Sounds as if our moms have a lot in common,” Libby observed, tucking her hands underneath her armpits to warm them up. “Ironic, isn’t it,” she said as Ada hugged herself tighter and stamped her feet.

  “It’s cold out there,” she complained. Then she gestured to Bernie and Libby. “Come in.” Ada had raised her voice. Bernie thought it was to make sure that her mom heard they were coming in the house. “I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”

  “Great,” Libby said, putting on her best business smile as Ada laid out the schedule for the evening. She wanted the big reveal, as she called it, to happen right after Libby and Bernie served dessert.

  “And then I want you to stay in the room and watch everyone’s reactions,” Ada reminded them.

  Libby and Bernie both nodded.

  “We haven’t forgotten,” Libby said.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be there,” Bernie told her.

  “Especially my stepmother’s,” Ada said.

  “What does she look like?” Bernie asked.

  Ada rolled her eyes. “She’s the young blonde with the big boobs and the tight dress. My dad’s trophy wife.”

  “Who else will be here?” Bernie inquired, figuring it would be good to have names she could put faces and attach reactions to.

  Ada gave the sisters thumbnail sketches of all the guests. “And especially keep an eye on my uncle. He’s the fat one with the big nose,” she added as she led Bernie and Libby through the house into the kitchen and then showed them how to go out through the garage. “That way,” Ada explained, “you don’t have to use the outside steps.”

  “It sounds as if Ada isn’t a big fan of her family,” Bernie observed after Ada had gone back into the house to get dressed and she and her sister were heading toward the van.

  “It does, doesn’t it,” Libby noted as she reached Mathilda and opened the rear doors.

  “Like Mom,” Bernie observed.

  For a moment, Libby saw herself baiting a fishing hook. “You shouldn’t have made that bet with Dad.”

  “You agreed.”

  “Only because I thought you’d be pissed at me if I didn’t.”

  “It’s probably just a mother/daughter thing,” Bernie reassured her sister as she watched a few snowflakes drift down to the ground. It looked as if the storm wa
s about to arrive.

  “Do you really believe that?” Libby asked Bernie.

  “Absolutely,” Bernie lied. Even though she wasn’t going to admit it to Libby, Bernie was having second thoughts about the bet. She sighed. Oh well, it was too late now.

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Libby said as she started lugging the first carton of supplies into the kitchen.

  Chapter 5

  An hour into the dinner Bernie could feel the tension she had been holding in her neck and shoulders flow out of her body. Contrary to what she had been expecting, everyone was behaving themselves. Between her dad and Ada, she’d half envisaged flying fists and overturned furniture. But that was ridiculous. It just showed what happened when you allowed people’s ideas to get into your head.

  Everyone had arrived on time, between eight and eight-thirty, brushing snowflakes off their coats as they hurried inside to get away from the wind. Everyone, to Bernie’s and Libby’s eyes, seemed polite if not warm to each other. Bernie was thinking about that as she got ready to serve another round of Kirs when Ada’s aunt, Sheryl, stepped into the kitchen.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said, introducing herself, not that she needed to. Ada’s description had been on point. Dowdy.

  “Not at all,” Libby said.

  Sheryl smiled and walked into the room and looked around as she fingered the diamond pendant that was hanging around her neck. Looking at her, Bernie reflected that her long, prematurely gray hair fastened back with a large clip, her lack of makeup, and her ill-fitting dark brown dress made her look older than she was.

  “Can we get you anything?” Bernie asked.

  Sheryl shook her head. “I just wanted to tell both of you that I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Linda certainly doesn’t agree with that sentiment,” Bernie observed, thinking back to the speech Ada’s mother had made when she’d answered the door. “She’d be much happier if we weren’t.”

  Sheryl gave a regretful shake of her head. “Some people can never let go of anything,” she said, “and, unfortunately, my sister and some other members of my family fall into that camp.”