Avery turned to Casey again, and softly said, “I was really proud of this show, and to know that one of the pieces touched you emotionally means a lot.”
Casey just smiled at her, now resolved to go back and listen to as many of the shows as they kept in the archive. Why hadn’t she been doing this all along? Listening to fiction was a thousand times better than trying to read it. And listening to this particular fiction made Avery’s face light up like a Christmas tree. Win/win.
Chapter Fifteen
For Christmas, Casey’s whole family spent four days in the mountains outside of Denver, staying with her sister and brother-in-law. Her brother and his boys also came, and even though four days with the whole gang was a little much, she always enjoyed it.
She returned home on the twenty-ninth, giving her five more glorious days of vacation to blow. On the morning after their return, she slept in, then gathered up the presents she’d gotten for Lisbet and drove over to Kathy’s.
They’d had a good, deep snow in her absence, but the roads were clear. It was cold, but not too awful as she got out of her truck, carrying the sackful of presents in a red nylon bag.
Kathy opened the door while holding Lisbet in her arms. The baby shrieked with joy, then hid her face against her grandmother’s neck, really burrowing. Kathy opened the storm door, and wrapped an arm around Casey, giving her a good, strong hug. “It’s Santa, Lisbet! Look! Santa’s come again. Twice in a week!”
The baby turned her head just enough to uncover one eye.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Casey said, trying to get her voice into a lower register. “I have some presents for a very special baby.”
“If that bag’s full of presents, Avery will throw a fit!”
“What’s she going to do? Write on me with that red pen of hers?” She let out what she hoped was an evil-sounding laugh. “I can outrun her.”
“Come in and take your coat off. Have you had lunch?”
“Just had breakfast,” Casey said, shrugging out of her parka. “I got home pretty late, so I stayed in bed until ten. Felt great.” She held out her hands, and Kathy handed Lisbet over. “Now it feels like Christmas,” she said, nuzzling her face against Lisbet’s neck and shoulder. “I was with a bunch of adults on Christmas, and adults are no fun at all,” she said, making her sentence into a little song.
“Did you have fun? We sure did miss you on the big day, but I’ve got about ten videos for you to look at. Avery treated Lisbet like she was a big movie star and we were the paparazzi.”
“I don’t blame her. Lisbet’s cuter than any movie star I’ve ever seen.” She slid to the floor and set Lisbet down so they faced each other. “Now you get to open your presents.” Holding open the bag, she pushed one little box out, watching Lisbet decide if it was worth investigating. It was wrapped in bright green paper decorated with red polka dots, and the baby played with it for a few seconds before trying to get it into her mouth. It took forever, but with some help she finally got the paper off, revealing a plastic box. It was actually a food container that snapped closed and locked, but it was colorful, as well as safe to chew on. Having Lisbet think it was a toy was a nice side benefit.
“Now that’s a great present,” Kathy said. “We never have enough of those, even though the entire top tray of my dishwasher is filled with them.”
“She eats a lot,” Casey agreed. “Well, she eats often. The volume is still tiny, but she’ll get there.”
It took nearly a half hour, but Lisbet uncovered three more storage containers, a squeaky elephant, and a book made of silicone. It was only six pages long, but she could gnaw on it to her heart’s content.
“That’s some haul,” Kathy said. “If she could, Lisbet would thank you for your generosity. But since she can’t, I will.” She put her hand on Casey’s head and patted it like she would a doll. “You know how much I enjoy having you over here, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” she said, looking up and smiling. “As entertaining as Lisbet is, I think you’d go nuts with just her to keep you company.”
“Well, she can’t keep a good conversation going, but she’s still fun to be around. I’m a little worried that we’re not socializing her enough, but I suppose things will improve when we can go to a playground.”
“That might not be until April. We’re supposed to have a long winter.”
“Well, you didn’t have to tell me that, but I don’t have many options. I’d rather be warm, but I’ll never leave New York.”
Lisbet was thoroughly entertained by the book, and she busily tried to shove as much of it into her mouth as she could manage.
“I don’t know that this will help much with the boredom, but I was planning on taking Lisbet for a long walk. Do you think she’d like that?”
“Not without me, she wouldn’t. I’m going stir-crazy after being in the house all this time. It was bone-chillingly cold when you were gone.”
“That’s because I wasn’t here to warm up the Hudson Valley with the heat of my personality.”
Kathy patted her back as she started for the door. “I know you’re teasing, but there’s an awful lot of truth to that statement.”
Chapter Sixteen
On a cold, sunny Sunday in mid-January, Casey lay on her bed, listening to a soothing, soft voice speak into her ears.
After having listened to most of Avery’s podcasts, her need to consume fiction had grown stronger. Now she was plowing through the New Yorker’s short fiction podcast, and was sure she’d found a piece of writing that she wished she’d written herself. A desire to write had never, ever occurred to her, and she doubted it would have come up now if this story hadn’t moved her so thoroughly. But it had, and she found herself attached to the story in ways she’d never experienced.
The story was really short, much shorter than the others she’d heard, but it packed a punch, saying so much in so few words that she couldn’t wait to listen again. She went back to the beginning and closed her eyes, letting the reader’s deliberate, musical cadence wash over her.
***
Avery lunged for her phone at five that night, annoyed with herself for not having turned off the ringer. But Lisbet only stirred briefly, then settled down in a matter of seconds. “Hi,” she whispered, tip-toeing out of the baby’s room, then closing the door behind her. “What’s up?”
“Got dinner plans?”
Avery smiled, liking how direct Casey usually was. “Not good ones. Why? Are you going to offer something better than leftover fried rice?”
“God, I hope so,” Casey said, laughing a little. “I’m in the mood for pasta, but it’s still on my mom’s forbidden list. If you’re up for company, I could make pasta puttanesca or fettuccini Alfredo.”
“I’m getting out the pasta pot right now,” she said as she walked downstairs. “I’ll take either. Cook’s choice.”
“Then get your mouth ready for some Alfredo sauce. I haven’t made it in years, but I’m sure I can deliver.”
“Literally. Come any time. I’ve been upstairs reading while Lisbet sleeps. I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”
“You’ve gotten pretty brave out there in the wilderness. I remember when you thought bears were going to come in through the front door and maul you while you slept.”
“Bears don’t have opposable thumbs, so they couldn’t use a doorknob. I still think they’ll come,” she admitted, laughing at herself. “I’m just sure that a silly little door won’t stop them, locked or not.”
***
Casey’s truck crawled up the drive while Lisbet was still sleeping. She must have been going through a growth spurt, since she was taking solid two-hour naps in the afternoon, and eating more than normal. But those long naps were pretty fantastic, letting Avery goof off, something she hadn’t had time to do for a long while. She should have spent her free time making some healthy meals she could pop into the freezer, but she craved goofing-off time much more than a ready supply of quick meals.
Openi
ng the front door when Casey’s foot hit the porch, Avery held her finger to her lips. “Baby’s still sleeping.”
Casey gave her a smirk. “Do I usually bellow when I come in?”
“Not usually. But I didn’t want you to start today.” She took the bag of groceries from her and started for the kitchen. “I’m really glad you called. Even though I’ve been enjoying my unstructured time, I was getting antsy.”
“Antsy?” Casey took off her jacket, an oatmeal-colored fleece bomber with dark leather detailing on the zipper and the slash pockets. It was a jacket a normal person would wear when it was around fifty degrees, but Casey was always, in Avery’s opinion, underdressed for the weather.
“Pardon?” Avery asked, realizing she’d spaced out.
“I asked why you were antsy.” She looked super butch in a fatigue-green Henley waffle-weave shirt that was partially tucked into her jeans. Most people left their shirts out, but Casey often tucked hers in right at the zipper. Maybe that was to show off her distressed leather belt with the custom Kaaterskill Brewery buckle. Whatever her reason, having her shirt tucked in a little bit pulled the fabric snug to show off the swell of her hips, which was a very good choice in Avery’s opinion.
“I was just thinking that if I still lived in Brooklyn I’d go sit in a coffee shop for a couple of hours. I loved to do that back in the day. I’d alternate between reading and people-watching. It was divine.”
“Mmm-hmm. So your Brooklyn plan would be to dress Lisbet up in her snowsuit, pack a bag with diapers, wet wipes, lotion, a few toys, and a book or two. Oops. Don’t forget some soft food she can throw around instead of eat. Then you’d carry her, and her stroller, and her diaper bag down how many flights of stairs—?”
Avery clapped a hand over her mouth. “My fantasy only works in the past,” she said, laughing. “My current situation makes sitting in cafes more of a summer pursuit. At least I hope I can do that in the summer.” She thought for a minute, then had to admit, “Come to think of it, the only people I see doing that have kids old enough to entertain themselves.”
“Like high school aged?” Casey asked, batting her eyes.
“Fine. Ruin my fantasy.” She began to take things out of the bag. “Wine? I’ve never seen you drink wine.”
“I don’t like beer with pasta.” She plucked the bottle from Avery’s hand. “I don’t know a lot about wine, but I thought a pinot grigio would cut through the richness of the cream sauce without overpowering it.”
Avery took the bottle back and put it into the refrigerator. “Says the woman who claims not to know anything about wine.”
“I didn’t say anything, but I’m not an expert.”
“I used to love wine, but I haven’t had any since Lisbet was born. Luckily, I’ve got enough milk in the freezer to be able to pump and dump if I have to.”
“We’ve been over this,” Casey said. “Unless you get totally wrecked, you don’t have to dump. But I’m glad I brought wine, if you love it.”
Avery patted her back as she passed by. “I’m glad you brought you.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’m willing to help, but if you’d rather be in charge, I’m also willing to watch.”
“I think I’ll have you watch. But I might want your help with the salad.”
“I’m ready when needed.” She kicked another chair out and put her feet on it. “I’m not going to complain about sitting on my butt watching you cook for me. Actually, I could get used to it.”
Casey smiled at her as she plucked Avery’s apron from a hook she’d attached to the refrigerator. “I don’t cook often, but that’s mostly because my mom would rather work alone. I picked up some tricks from the cooks in my uncle’s restaurant when I worked there, but my menu’s pretty limited. You’d think I was really Italian.”
“I thought you were.”
“My mom’s great-grandmother was half. What does that make me?”
“Not very. But why does your family run an Italian restaurant?”
“Because people like Italian food,” Casey said, grinning at her. “My grandparents almost made it a French restaurant, since that was more popular when they opened it. I’m glad they went Italian, though. I’m wild for pasta.”
“Maybe you have just enough Italian blood to make you a good cook.”
“We’ll just have to see.” She took out a baguette and handed it over. “Even if I’m unsuccessful with the entree, I bought some good bread. Want some butter?”
“Why not? It’s a little late in the day to worry about a pat of butter, right?”
“That’s my motto.” She went into the fridge to pull out the butter as if she lived there, then started to find everything she needed. “So,” she said, filling the pot with water for the pasta. “I listened to a story today, and decided that if I had any talent, I’d write one just like it.”
“Really?” Avery looked up at her, having never heard her express any interest in writing.
“Yeah. I mean, this woman’s already written the story, and I could never do anything close, but it was so cool.”
“What was it?”
“‘Girl,’ by Jamaica—”
“Kincaid,” Avery finished for her. “That’s a great one, isn’t it?”
“You know it? Out of all of the stories in the world, you know this one?”
“Yeah,” she said, grinning. “I used to do some mentoring back when I had a personal life, and that was a story I always used with young women.” She broke off a piece of bread and started to butter it. “The public school by me had a big population of girls with Jamaican, Bahamian, and Haitian ties. It really resonated with them, even though they were a generation or two away from living in the Caribbean.”
“It knocked me out,” Casey stressed. “I listened to it three times, and when I was finished I really wanted to talk about it with someone.” She turned and flashed that beautiful smile. “The list of people who I thought would be interested was really small. You were at the top.”
“Fantastic. So, what caught your attention?”
“Mmm.” Her eyes closed halfway as she seemed to ponder the question for a while. “I felt like that girl when I was young. It seemed like there were a million rules for how I was supposed to be, but even though I heard the rules all of the time, I always doubted I was doing them right.” She’d turned away to start grating some cheese, and Avery felt that might have been purposeful. It was probably easier for her to talk about something so personal when they weren’t looking at each other.
“Tell me more about that. What did you doubt?”
“Everything,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I loved how the girl in the story was going through the list of all of the things she’d been told, then she jumps in and starts scolding herself. Like so many people have told her what to do that she’s built those negative voices right in.”
“Um, the way you interpret a piece is really personal, but I’ve read that story to be a mother giving her daughter the rules. There are just one or two places where the daughter speaks…” She got up and went to the bookcase, pulling out a binder where she kept notes from her mentoring days. A copy of the story was still in there, smudged and worn. “Check it out,” she said, holding it up in front of Casey. “Where the italics are is the girl’s voice. The rest is the mother.”
Casey dropped what she was doing and held the binder in her hands. Her lips moved slightly as she read the words, her eyes narrowed in concentration. “I never would have known that,” she said quietly. “I guess you don’t get the same experience when you listen to a story.” She looked up and met Avery’s eyes. “I like it better when I think of the girl having all of those rules already in her head. That’s what made me feel like she was telling my story.”
Avery took the binder and clasped it to her chest. “That’s the gift of storytelling. Every story can be read a million different ways. They don’t come with manuals,” she said, smiling at the sober expression on Casey’s face. “If the sto
ry works for you as a self-rebuke from the girl, that’s kind of fantastic,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m one hundred percent certain that Jamaica Kincaid would dig the fact that you found your own meaning. Any writer would love that, as a matter of fact.”
“When I get home, I’m going to write it down. I’d like to see it on paper, but I don’t want those italics in it. I want it my way,” she said, her grin looking a little sheepish.
Avery gently rubbed her back, so pleased for her she was about to burst. It was like watching a blind person gain sight. Now if she could only find all of Casey’s teachers and give them a tongue-lashing. When you had a kid who struggled to read, it was a crime not to help her find other ways to access fiction. Our lives were incomprehensible, disorderly bits of information without stories to organize the noise into a narrative that could give our existence some meaning. Every child deserved the gift of story, even if their little brains couldn’t process words in the most common way.
***
Casey was very glad to see that Lisbet was going to be a pasta lover. She only ate tiny bits of fettuccini, no longer than a half inch, but she clearly liked the cream, as well as the pecorino.
“That’s about all I’d give her,” Avery said, watching her intake carefully. “That’s the richest food she’s had other than breast milk, and I don’t want to be cleaning it off the walls if it doesn’t agree with her.”
“Gross,” Casey said, nodding. “Incredibly gross. But understandable.” She picked up the plates and took them over to the sink.
“I’m doing the dishes. You’re on baby patrol.”
“Not a bad trade.” She sat back down and pulled Lisbet over to her. Sitting in her high chair made their heads on the same plane, which the baby seemed to enjoy. “Do you want to try your new sippy cup again? I think you’d be into it if it was filled with beer, but your mommy thinks water’s better for you.”
“We’ll celebrate her twenty-first birthday at the brewery,” Avery said, ruffling Casey’s hair as she removed the rest of the utensils from the table.
Friday Night Flights Page 26