by Julie Cross
She shuffles down the hall and returns with two pillows and a blanket. “Are you okay with sleeping on the couch?”
“Totally,” I say. “Thanks for letting me stay.”
She sits down on the sofa, her hands now wrapped around a mug of tea. “I called your dad. He’s really worried about you, but I told him it was too late to come over here and start a family feud.”
I swallow back my anger and tears, putting the excess energy into snapping Lego pieces together. “Does Lily see her dad?”
Savannah’s eyebrows go up, indicating that I may have crossed the line and asked too personal of a question, but she answers me anyway, “Yes, she does. Not as often as she’d like. She’s not exactly a priority for him, unfortunately.”
“What made you want to get divorced, like officially? Is it so you or he could get married again?”
She stares over the top of my head and releases a breath. “I guess my reasons all revolved around him not being a very trustworthy person. I needed everything on paper—child support, visitation.”
I add more pieces to the sidewall of Lily’s house, keeping my eyes focused on the coffee table. “How did you meet him?”
“College,” she says with a sigh, relaxing back into the couch. “I got pregnant when I was twenty. We decided getting married was the best idea ever. I finished school by the time Lily was two and already it wasn’t working. We bought a house in another suburb not too far from here after I started working. By the time Lily was three, I knew it was over.”
“Did you just pack up and move one day?”
“Pretty much.” She takes a sip of her tea. “Once I made the decision to leave, I wanted it to happen fast. My parents came down from Chicago and helped me move here and helped me get a lawyer, and then it was done.”
“Do you ever regret it?”
“Which part?” She laughs. “Getting married or getting divorced?”
I finally get brave enough to peel my eyes from the toys. “Both.”
“I don’t regret meeting Lily’s dad because then I wouldn’t have her, and she’s amazing,” she says. “But I suppose I didn’t have to get married. And no, I don’t regret the divorce.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Now tell me what this feud with your dad is about. Obviously it’s not another PR issue or else we’d all have our noses in it, right?”
My focus is back on the Lego house, which I’ve decided is supposed to be a beauty shop. “My mom’s here.” I take a deep breath. “I came home from my community service and there she was, lounging on the couch with Dad and Grams like she belonged.”
Confusion fills Savannah’s face. “They’re not divorced?”
“Nope.” I pound my fist into a stubborn piece, forcing it to mold together. I explain to her about the show she’s auditioned for and been granted a part in and through a bit more prodding Savannah gets me to spill almost as many details to her as I told to Brody about Mom.
“Do you think she wants a second chance? Maybe things aren’t going well with her pursuit for fame.”
I laugh bitterly. “Second chance? Try five hundredth chance. And she’s only here because she knows about my dad’s job now. She probably caught a game on TV or had an old friend call her up to tell her, but that would only provide her with a city. He had to have told her where we live, and he promised me he wouldn’t do that.”
“Have you ever really tried with her?” Savannah asks. “Tried to understand your mom’s perspective or at least confronted her about why she keeps leaving?”
I shrug. “When I was younger, probably. I always wanted her to stay because it made Dad happy but never for me. I don’t think she’s ever known what to do with a kid besides dress them up for other people to admire. I was always in her way. Always bugging her and asking questions she didn’t want to answer. Everything to do with taking care of me was too hard and too messy. Nothing like her idealistic version of motherhood, which probably included my dad signing multimillion dollar contracts with the Yankees and her hiring five nannys to take care of the kid she never wanted to have.” I sniffle and discreetly wipe away a couple tears from my cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Annie,” Savannah says. “But honestly, you’re doing fine without her so if you want to write her off, go for it. And maybe if your dad doesn’t, let him make his choice?”
“I’d do that,” I say. “I totally would, but you haven’t seen him after she takes off. He’s a wreck, and I’m left to deal with it. And you heard Frank last month. Dad’s got a lot on the line right now. He can’t afford a breakdown.”
Savannah pats my shoulder. “Well, you don’t have to handle it alone anymore. A big part of my job is to deal with my players’ and coaches’ breakdowns and scandals. I do whatever I have to to get them in proper working order again.”
A tiny smidge of relief washes over me. From my time spent around this woman, I’ve quickly learned that she gets things done, even when it seems impossible. And based on that list Brody referenced of all the actual past scandals, maybe she’s cleaned up bigger messes than Dad after a visit from Mom.
“Why do you think he can’t let go?” I ask. “It’s not like she’s the only option for him. He’s a good-looking guy, right? He’s not super old and he’s fit and still has all his hair, and he has that Kevin Costner, brooding silence thing going on. Women would probably go crazy over that.”
Color has crept up to Savannah’s cheeks, and she smiles down at her mug. “He’s not a hopeless cause, if that’s what you’re asking. And I can’t tell you why he won’t let her go, but that doesn’t change how he feels about you. He’s the one shouldering the responsibility of raising you, and I can tell you from experience, keeping a little girl out of trouble and preparing her for the world is no easy feat and Lily isn’t even seven yet. I think it’s all uphill from here.”
I lean against the couch, resting my head on the cushion. “I’m so scared of being like him and at the same time I’m petrified of being like her. The way I see it, I’m doomed when it comes to relationships. I’m destined to end up like one of them, right?”
“Maybe not.” Savannah smiles at me and pats my leg before standing up. “I better get some sleep. Lily’s got to be at art camp at seven thirty.”
I lie on the couch for nearly an hour, unable to fall asleep. I finally reach for my phone and turn it back on. Ignoring the texts and missed calls from Dad, I read the message Brody’s sent since I left his place.
BRODY: Can you post this on FB for me? “if u r lucky enough to get a pretty girl alone in ur apartment, don’t be stupid and make her leave.”
ME: You really want me to post that?
BRODY: Its good advice. I want to have a positive impact on others.
ME: What about pretty girls with big bags of equipment? Should you warn people about them?
BRODY: Shouldve kept that story to myself. btw my couch smells like u. Can’t get myself to stop sniffing the cushion. Is that weird?
ME: last night after you hugged me, I kept sniffing my shirt all the way home
BRODY: well I did reek of booze. And I’m pretty sure u hugged me
ME: but you were the one who lingered past the allotted friend time limit
BRODY: Yes I did
ME: Can I ask you something? You probably don’t even remember what you said, but I’m wondering about that random Spanish…
BRODY: The tornado warning?
ME: Yes. That. I couldn’t recall it well enough to translate later. Do you remember what you said?
BRODY: Yes.
ME: ????
BRODY: How bad do u want to know?
ME: Really bad now that I know you’re trying to keep it from me!!
BRODY: You make me happy
ME: I like that
BRODY: I want to tell you all my secrets
ME: Like this secret?
BRODY: Yeah, like this. I’ll tell you the rest in Spanish next time and you can figure it out. Tutoring at its best
ME: I can l
ive with that
I’m grinning at my phone like an idiot. Yes, I could definitely become attached to Jason Brody in a dangerous way.
After being woken up at seven in the morning by Lily, who offered up several words of praise about last night’s Lego building efforts, I headed home to face Dad and probably Mom, too. I wanted to put it off longer, but decided that Savannah had enough to deal with without having me and my drama hanging around her apartment all morning.
Dad’s car is already gone, and I find Grams walking in circles around the yard. “Ginny,” she says when she sees me. “Where have you been? I couldn’t get that damn stove to work.”
My heart plummets down to my stomach. I reach for Grams and guide her by her yellow nightgown back onto the porch and force her to sit in the swing. I race into the house. My tennis shoes, wet from morning dew on the grass, squeak across the tile floor. Sure enough, smoke is filling the kitchen, the detector beeping like crazy. I yank the frying pan from the burner, toss it into the sink and hit the lever, allowing a stream of cold water to land on top of the blackened egg in the center of the pan.
I jump back when the water hits the heated pan and sizzles loudly, producing flying bits of hot and cold water and more smoke and steam. I yank a chair under the smoke detector and climb on top, shutting the thing off by pulling out the battery. Once I get the kitchen windows open and about 10 percent of the smoke drifts outside, I take in the demolished kitchen.
A carton of eggs lies open on the counter and several cracked eggs and shells are dripping down the dark wood cabinets and onto the floor. An open bag of flour on the stove is tipped over, white powder scattered everywhere. A lump of raw ground sausage is plopped in the center of another frying pan, though luckily that burner hasn’t been turned on. I gasp when I see the sharp knife and the plastic casing the sausage came in lying beside the frying pan.
What the hell was Dad thinking leaving her alone?
But there’s no time to ponder this poor decision or even to be pissed off. I ignore the mess and the dripping eggs for now and get a pot to make Grams’ oatmeal. It takes until the water starts boiling for my heart to finally slow down. A few minutes later, I bring Grams into the kitchen and set the bowl of oatmeal in front of her and then begin to tackle the train-wreck kitchen.
I’m scooping runny eggs and shells into the garbage disposal when Grams starts banging her spoon against the table. Her face is twisted with anger. “What is this shit? I made sausage gravy and biscuits!”
“Remember what your doctor said?” Who am I kidding? She doesn’t remember my name. There’s zero chance of her recalling the results of her yearly cholesterol screening. “You can’t eat eggs or gravy and biscuits. They make your cholesterol too high.”
“Horse shit!” She pelts the glass bowl at the wall. It shatters, spraying oatmeal and brown sugar everywhere. And unlike Dad, I added extra extra brown sugar to make it taste better. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with my cholesterol.” She points a finger at me, tipping her chair backward and walking in my direction, her wild gray hair sticking out in every direction. “You little liar. You’ve always been up to no good.”
The front door opens just as Grams jabs me in the chest with her finger. My hands are shaking. I’ve never seen her this angry and even though I’m pissed as hell at Dad I want him here to help. I’m not sure I can handle this.
But it’s not Dad who walks through the door, it’s Caroline, Grams’ babysitter. The sixty-five-year-old Hispanic lady glances around at the kitchen and at Grams, then gives me a tiny smile. “Rough morning?”
I let out a shaky breath, making sure my voice will come out steady. “I got home from…from a sleepover and Dad was gone. Grams was cooking, and now she won’t eat the oatmeal—”
“You’re goddamn right I won’t,” Grams snaps. “I’ll fix my own damn breakfast you conniving little—”
“Annie?” a new voice comes from the other side of the screen door. Before I can check to see who it is, Savannah walks in, her eyes sweeping the kitchen and Grams’ angry face. “I just wanted to stop by after I dropped Lily off to see if everything was okay?”
“What happened to your mother?” Caroline asks, her voice heavy with concern and her accent. “Your father said she would be here this morning, and I could wait until nine to come in. I’m sorry, honey.”
“No freakin’ way.” I squeeze my hands into tight fists and stalk down the hall toward Dad’s room. The curtains are drawn tightly closed but even in the dark, a long lump under the covers is clearly visible. I flip on the light switch and even then it takes Mom several seconds to raise her head and look around. Her gaze lands on the clock beside the bed. “It’s early, Annie…give me a little longer to wake up. I’ve got rehearsal until midnight tonight.”
“How could you sleep through the smoke alarm?” I demand, not making any attempt to turn off the light or lower my voice. “Grams almost burned the whole house down, and she could have sliced her finger off using a fucking knife!”
Mom sits up, rolls her eyes, and tosses the covers aside revealing an extremely skimpy piece of lingerie. “I didn’t know Mom was awake. How am I supposed to know? It’s not like she came in here and asked me for help.”
I make a mental note of the fact that she doesn’t point the blame at Dad or ask where he is. Which probably means that she knows he went to work and she may have even accepted the responsibility of keeping an eye on Grams during the two-hour gap of him leaving and Caroline arriving.
“God, you are completely incapable of doing anything for anyone!” I turn around and head back down the hall. Mom is quick at my heels, tying Dad’s long blue robe around her waist.
“Watch your mouth, young lady,” Mom says. “Being a bitch will get you nowhere fast.”
She stops when she sees that we aren’t alone. Her gaze freezes on Savannah, sizing her up from head to toe, taking in her usual black pencil skirt, blazer, and heels. Her conservatively styled auburn hair and natural makeup.
“Don’t tell me you’re a social worker?” Mom snaps at Savannah then she turns to me. “What did you do? Who did you call?”
Savannah’s and Caroline’s eyes are both wide, but Caroline stays focused on her job of taking care of Grams and she gets her to sit back down. “Evelyn, I’ll whip up some sausage gravy and biscuits for you right now, okay? Let’s just relax.”
Savannah extends a hand to Mom. “I’m Savannah Dawson, Jim’s assistant and a Royals’ PR rep.”
Mom’s eyebrows shoot way up. She flips her blond hair over her shoulder, straightens her back, then reaches out to shake Savannah’s hand. “Ginny Lucas…a pleasure to meet you. Sorry about the commotion this morning. I’m a bit jet-lagged and missed my cue to wake up and help Mom.”
Jet-lagged? Doesn’t that require a jet?
I release a much too loud frustrated groan. But Savannah just flashes Mom a polite smile. “Nice to finally meet you, too. I should head into work now. Looks like you’ve got everything under control.”
Yeah, right.
But I don’t blame Savannah for choosing the fastest way to exit and not get involved in her boss’s family drama. Even though she claims to clean up these kinds of messes all the time, she is the one who hired Caroline and made sure Grams had twenty-four-hour supervision. She’s done her duties already in the crazy mother-in-law of the boss department.
She glances over her shoulder at me before stepping outside. “See you in the office at noon, Annie?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there right after cross-country practice.” After she’s out the door, I ignore Mom and walk over to the stove where Caroline is making what looks like sausage gravy and biscuits. I lean in close to whisper, too afraid of causing another outburst from Grams. “My dad told you about her cholesterol problem, right?”
“Yes, he did.” Caroline continues to stir the white liquid in the pan without pause.
“I don’t mean to be bossy or anything,” I say. “But it’s just that I’ve
been feeling so guilty for getting her ice cream and milk shakes all the time.”
“No worries,” she says, flashing me a smile. “I make this with turkey sausage and skim milk…no grease. It’s a perfect compromise.”
I lower my voice even more. “She won’t know?”
“I fool her all the time,” Caroline says proudly. “Tomorrow if you’re around, I’ll show you how to make the healthy milk shake, all right?”
I smile with relief. “Thanks. You’re a genius.”
Grams is digging through a basket in the center of the table now. I walk behind her and put my arms around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Gramsie. You’re right. Your cholesterol is fine.”
She places a hand on my arm and gives it a little pat. “Enough hanging on me, Annie. Now help me find my needlepoint.”
I almost tear up again for like the fifth time in less than twenty-four hours. I give her one more squeeze and bury my face in her shoulder. I can’t remember the last time Grams called me Annie. After I locate her needlepoint, I hurry into my room and change for cross-country practice and pack a bag for work later.
When I return to the kitchen, Grams is happily enjoying her not-so-unhealthy sausage gravy and biscuits. And Mom is seated right beside her, allowing Caroline to serve her a plate of food along with coffee and juice. My mouth hangs open, but I wait until Caroline shuffles down the hall to get clothes for Grams before speaking.
“She’s not a maid,” I hiss at Mom. “She gets paid to take care of Grams, not to cook you breakfast.”
Mom shrugs and takes a dainty bite of scrambled eggs. “She offered, Annie. It would be rude to say no.”
I toss my gym bag onto the table and fling the dishwasher open, loading each dish with an unnecessary amount of force. By the time Caroline returns, I’ve got the dishes done and the counters cleaned.
“Sweetie, you go and do your running practice,” Caroline says. “Let me clean up.”
“It’s fine. I’m almost done.”
Mom sits there watching this exchange with mild interest. “This gravy is just fabulous. I’d love the recipe.”