by Annie Adams
My face burned so hot I just knew my cheeks would scar. “I’m so um,” my tongue was thick, I couldn’t swallow, there was no moisture. The sounds coming out of my mouth couldn’t be described as words. After a few throat clearings I gave it another try. “I’m so Quincy. I mean… so sorry.” I held up my pinched thumb and pointer finger. “I’m just a tad um-nervous. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, I’m so pleased to meet you.” I went to shake both of their hands. Alex’s father laughed and shook my hand vigorously.
“Call me Jack. We’re so glad to finally meet you. You must be somebody special, the way this guy has been acting lately.” He playfully jerked his thumb toward his son. His eyes were the same warm brown as Alex’s. For just a moment I forgot how embarrassed I was.
Then Mrs. Cooper took my hand. My temporary amnesia was immediately cured and the embarrassment came back with full strength. Her weak grasp reminded me of a wilted flower. She must have been channeling all her strength into the creation of the daggers she glared at me. Her expression shifted. Her eyes widened, then narrowed to slits. “You’re the girl with the horns,” she said.
CHAPTER SIX
I stood there staring at Mrs. Cooper, my mouth hanging open.
And then it all came flooding in. The man at the warehouse store had had such remarkable brown eyes. I glanced down at the jackets on the floor. Daffodil-yellow, Moab-brown clay, “Ski Utah!”
Alex laughed nervously. “Mom, what are you talking about?” he said through closed teeth.
“At the store, you showed us your horns.” She pointed at me. Her glance shot to the top of my head, then moved to the bottom of the length of my hair. I recalled the mischievous detail—okay lie—I had given about my camouflaging hairstyle.
I looked at one perplexed face after another.
“What horns, Quincy?” Uh-oh. My mother had probably caught on, at least to the Mormon/horn thing. And it didn’t sound like she was laughing at the joke.
“Alex, let me show you where to put those coats. Please excuse us for just a minute.” I left my dad to do damage control. He could come up with some kind of performance to distract everyone. I snatched the jackets off the floor, grabbed Alex’s wrist and ran.
“You showed her your…what?” Alex said, looking as if his head would explode.
“Well, my horns, of course. What else could I do?” I shrugged innocently.
“Oh, I don’t know—politely say hello? What is she even talking about?”
I explained the tired old myth which unfortunately had been given new life. While it seemed a silly novelty now, it had been used as a hurtful tool of religious bigotry and discrimination against my ancestors.
“Why would my mom do something so—weird? And why would you do something so mean to her?”
“Hey. Your mother asked to see my Mormon horns, so don’t get on my case about hurting someone’s feelings.”
I swiped my hands up my face and felt the loose chunks of hair. “Look, I’m sorry. But you must realize I didn’t know that they were your parents. And if someone asked if you had a physical abnormality based on your religion, in the middle of the feminine products aisle—”
“Okay, stop right there. There will be no discussions of—”
“What? You mean tampons? Maxi-pads?” He looked ill. I smiled wickedly. “Anyway, what would you have done? I thought I handled it with humor and grace.” Okay, maybe the grace part was a little over the top.
“She literally asked if you had horns?”
“Yes! And how could anyone expect me to think she was your mother when she didn’t even know I was a florist?”
“What?”
“At the store. We were looking at flowers when two people came over and asked our opinions of the bouquets in the cooler. I recommended going to a local florist and your mother proceeded to tell me how awful and expensive florists are. Why in the world would I think that woman would be my boyfriend’s mother? I didn’t realize my profession was so embarrassing that you couldn’t tell your parents about it.”
“Quincy. It’s not like that. Of course I’ve told them about you. You work hard, I’m always bragging about it. All I could talk about when I went home the last time was you. I don’t know why she would say that. I promise. I’m proud of you, babe. And so are they.”
“I don’t know if I believe the last part.”
He sighed and jammed his hands in his pockets. “It doesn’t make any sense. She knows you’re a florist. She probably feels really silly right now.”
“Maybe so. I’m sorry if I hurt her feelings. If it’s any consolation, my feelings weren’t hurt at all.”
“Oh, geez, Quincy.”
“Okay, that was too much.” I rested my hand on his forearm. “Honestly, I’m really sorry about the way things have gone with them. I’ve worried so much about making them like me and I’ve already blown it. I’ll go out there and apologize, okay?”
“No. Wait. You don’t need to apologize. If anyone should apologize it’s me. I couldn’t control myself in the kitchen. I can only imagine what your parents must think of me.”
“I think we were mutually offensive in the kitchen,” I said. I glanced up at the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and gasped. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like this?” With my black t-shirt and dark jeans, ragged hair, and that special touch of smeared mascara, I looked like Alice Cooper. “Your parents saw me like this. I actually looked good when I left my house.”
“You looked great when I first saw you in the kitchen.”
I frowned.
“And you still do,” he said.
I gave him an eye roll.
He pulled me into him, then smoothed and tucked my hair. His eyes softened and he looked at me like he had in the kitchen, which was good but also very bad. He leaned down and whispered, “You know, we are alone. In your bedroom.” He brushed his lips just under my ear. “And I noticed,” he kissed the very corner of my mouth—the most pleasurable tease there ever was— “that you’re wearing the t-shirt I gave you. Remember what we were doing the last time you wore that shirt?”
Oh boy. I closed my eyes and sighed. This couldn’t happen here. Or now. But we hadn’t been alone in a room for longer than five minutes in what seemed like years. Even when we’d been alone we hadn’t really been because one of our mothers would inevitably call. But his arms were around me and they were so strong and masculine and warm. And his mouth was so perfect with those lips that knew when to be soft or firm at all the right times. That perfect mouth was leaving a trail of heat down my neck at the moment. Whoops! How did my hands get under his sweater?
I groaned and leaned back. “What are we doing? We can’t do this.”
“Aww,” he said, obviously disappointed.
“You’d rather my mother walk in on us naked in my twin bed? That would really impress your parents.”
He laughed, then gave me a bear hug. I think he was trying to squeeze the lust out of the both of us.
“Quincy?” My mother’s voice called out from down the hall.
We busted up laughing.
“We’re ready to eat,” she said. “Are you still in there?”
“Alex?” His mother’s voice came from the same direction. “Honey, did you say Quincy brought the stuffing?” He closed his eyes and cringed.
“Three weeks,” he whispered, the strain evident in his voice. “Only two weeks, five days, and four hours until their plane lifts off.”
We gave each other a quick kiss and he took my sweater into the adjoining bathroom to rinse it out. I made a quick swipe at my raccoon eyes and unfastened the rest of my hair, letting it hang down past my shoulders, then went out to face our superior officers.
***
I met my mom and Mrs. Cooper in the hall. Apologies were issued from both parties and accepted with reciprocal half-heartedness. My mother pulled me aside to the kitchen to help serve the meal.
“Ned Bunchkin and his friend are here.”
�
��You invited Nasty Ned?” I shuddered. “How’s his booger collection?”
“Quinella McKay,” mom snapped at me with her power whisper. “How could you say such mean things about our neighbor? His parents are snowbirds. They’re living in Arizona until March and poor Ned is all alone for Christmas. I couldn’t let him sit over there while we whooped it up over here. It wouldn’t be charitable.” One of my mother’s new catch-phrases.
“Did you say he brought a friend?” I asked. “Did his friend bring along his twelve-sided dice?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mom said as she shoved two giant bowls of rolls at me, “but I’m sure it’s not charitable at all, so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear. Alex will sit next to her and you next to Alex. Jack and Eleanor are across from you.”
Oh good, Alex’s mother would have a clear path for plunging the carving knife into my chest. And Ned’s friend was a her? I’m surprised my mother didn’t protest to a life-size doll dressed as Wonder Woman sitting at our dinner table.
Allie came in through the side door of the kitchen from the garage. “Sorry I’m late.” She looked at me pointedly. “I had to meet with my school advisor…about a class.” I clamped my lips shut, signaling to her that I hadn’t shared her news with anyone.
“You’re just in time, honey,” Mom said. “Here, wash your hands and then take this bowl of stuffing into the living room.” I took in a sharp breath. It was time to share my masterpiece.
I leaned over to Allie at the sink, my arms full of rolls. “Gird your loins. Nasty Ned is here and he’s got a friend with him.”
She grimaced. “What was Mom thinking?”
I shrugged and rolled my eyes. I turned sideways to fit through the doorway with my giant roll bowls, then turned to face the table. What fresh hell…
Elma the waitress sat next to Nasty Ned at my family’s dinner table.
“Elma,” I said. “I didn’t know…so Ned is…you’re here…at our house.”
“Hello, Quincy. You’re mom’s done it up nice for Christmas.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Alex came from the hallway with his mother and I pointed him to his seat. I had to hand it to him, he took his place next to Elma like a champ. Ever the gallant one, he didn’t even flinch when he saw the seating arrangement, despite knowing the possibilities of her reaching out and touching someone—actually just him—were high and likely.
The shock of Elma’s violation of the safe haven of my parent’s home had just begun to wear off when I noticed the table decorations. Instead of the tissue paper accordion finials and evergreen trees Mom had used every year that I could remember, there were two large fresh floral centerpieces.
Eleanor sat across from me, and replaced her grumpy expression with a plastered smile once she saw that I’d noticed the flowers.
“Are these pretty flowers from your shop, Quincy?” Aunt Jeanette asked from the other end of the table.
“Uh…no,” my sister Sandy interjected. “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper brought them.” Sandy glanced at me as if to tell me not to speak.
“They’re lovely,” Aunt Lynette said. “Sandy, are you sure you’re expecting, honey? You’re not showing at all.”
Sandy glowed while she fielded pregnancy questions and provided a nice distraction from the intentional slight Eleanor Cooper and thrown my way. She didn’t want me making her family stuffing and she definitely didn’t want me making her Christmas centerpiece gifts either. She was making it clear she didn’t want anything to do with me and I’m sure my relationship with her son was the next thing she intended to eliminate from her life.
“At least she didn’t buy them from another florist. They’re too expensive,” I muttered.
“I didn’t know,” Alex whispered. “She already had them when I got home from work. Sorry.”
I flashed a quick smile. “I know, it’s not your fault.”
Once all the food was placed on the table, my father, who sat at the end, offered to say the prayer. The silence once everyone quieted for the blessing on the food was startling and peaceful. The perfect tranquility was shattered about halfway through the prayer when Ned broke wind in a high-pitched screech that rapped about on his wooden chair. Not to be outdone, Great Aunt Sadie threw her hat into the ring with a thunderous expulsion that surprisingly, didn’t knock her out of her seat. My eyes flew open and I watched my father struggle to maintain a straight face. His eyebrows were peaked and he increased the volume as his nearly deaf aunt mumbled about how something smelled.
I stole a glance at Alex. His mouth twisted and his eyes squinted shut as he tried not to laugh. The sight of it made me giggle. Allie looked at me and shook with silent laughter. Finally, my father said amen, sweat pouring down either side of his bright red face and the rest of the table shouted their amens with the force of all the pent up laughter.
Ned didn’t look like he was hiding from embarrassment. It seemed more like he beamed with pride at his accomplishment and even Alex’s father grinned despite his wife’s chiding. My mother switched on “The Little Drummer Boy,” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, loud enough that we had to shout to speak to the person across the table.
I watched Alex and his parents exchange reluctant glances as the parade of Jell-O salads began. Troopers that they were, they dished a little of everything onto their plates with one exception. As the stuffing made the rounds I noticed that everyone but Eleanor tried a spoonful.
“Annette, who made the stuffing?” Uncle LaDell asked.
A large rock seemed to have settled in my stomach. Or perhaps it was a serving of Aunt Lynette’s version of “Ambrosia” salad. Mayonnaise in Jell-o? Really?
“Are those water chestnuts?” his wife, Marie asked.
Things started to rumble in my belly. I glanced sideways at Alex. I didn’t dare look at his mother or Aunt Marie’s probably grimacing face. He shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth and stared at his plate. He grabbed my hand under the table and put it on his leg after a reassuring squeeze.
I was too nervous to eat anything. Visions of later that evening, after the Christmas party, danced in my head, but the visions involved vomiting and trips to the ER rather than sugarplums.
“This is so good,” Marie said. “Can I get the recipe?”
I froze, unsure I’d heard her correctly. Once it sunk in, despite the desire to stand up and scream “In your face,” at Mrs. Cooper then pump my fists in triumph, I kept my composure.
“Quincy, isn’t this Eleanor’s delicious recipe?” Mom asked in an obvious attempt to keep things civil. The problem was, I’d changed a few things, added a new ingredient, left out one or two as well. It wasn’t Eleanor’s recipe and she knew it. In her opinion I should never have had it in the first place.
“Well, I…” I looked across the table. Mrs. Cooper’s lips were clamped into a razor straight line.
“Damn, woman! Would you keep your hands off of me?” Alex shot up from the table.
“You put it there!” I said, perplexed. Alex’s mother gasped and glared at me.
“Where? Who put what where?” Great Aunt Sadie shouted.
My mother looked heavenward, her lips moving in fervent prayer, pleading for divine intervention no doubt.
“Come on everyone,” my father said in his musical baritone. “This is a Christmas party. Where’s all the goodwill toward men?”
“This one’s got plenty of it,” Alex said, jerking a nod in Elma’s direction while rubbing his behind.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elma said then smiled at me with a smug, dimpled grin.
I looked over at Alex’s parents. They stared at their son like he was standing in the path of an oncoming train. I tried to say something to them but really, what could be said? The McKay family express was barreling down the tracks with no engineer on board.
I stood up for lack of a better idea and planned my exit.
“I think I just felt the baby kick!” my eldest
sister cried out.
I caught the sly wink from Sandy and I knew I owed her big-time. I decided against bolting, sat down and grabbed the stuffing bowl and shoveled like I was digging a well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I woke up in pain and gastric distress. I’d been beyond stressed out at the party the night before. And though most people claim not to feel like eating when they’re stressed out, I’m not most people. Hit me with a too much tension and I might as well attach a permanent feedbag. I’d filled my plate twice before dessert was even introduced.
I’d also never been a drinker, but I was sure my food hangover could’ve rivaled the morning after a frat party. I kicked off the covers in an attempt to shock myself awake. It didn’t work. I rolled off the side of the bed and lay there face down on the latch hook rug until the aching in my stomach propelled me into the bathroom.
It was a Saturday and despite our later weekend opening time at the shop, I rolled in half an hour late. We had orders for two different Christmas parties, each with centerpieces of winter pines and red and white carnations and chrysanthemums. There were three varieties of mums, including some in the shapes of cute little white buttons and some that had adorable, irregularly shaped petals called Tinsel mums.
“Hello, Boss. Boy, Allie, look what the cat dragged in,” K.C. said from behind the design table.
My head shook inside, like when Daffy Duck slams Elmer Fudd with a baseball bat in the old cartoons. The shaking started at my head and shimmied all the way down to my toes.
“Good morning to you too,” I said.
“Rough night, girls?” K.C. asked.
“I had a great time,” Allie said. She looked over at me and her sparkly expression cleared. “Are you okay, Quincy? You don’t look so hot.”
“Too much turkey I guess. I’ll be fine once I get to work.”