***
I am looking at Anthony Morelli and thinking what did I ever see in this guy? And I am wondering do grown-ups ever step back and think the same thing? God help them. They are more likely to act on their impulses, whereas teenagers have restraint, because of our lack of freedom. It’s called “parents.” We are limited in our responses to our choices, but what about grown-ups? What do they have? That is a very good question. A big fat nothing and that’s why they end up in trouble. Take my father. He is still all over Donna without any consideration as to what this could do to his marriage, our family, life for all of us in general. He’s just full steam ahead.
I keep watching Anthony, carrying the cross up to the altar. It’s our last rehearsal this week before the first Mass after Easter, known as Prudence, when Jesus showed his wounds to the world. At least I think it is. Half the time I don’t listen while I’m here. If someone asked me if I find all of this boring—right now while I’m standing in front of the altar—I’d have to say a big fat YES.
Anthony is doing a good job. “Very nice,” Father Murphy says.
Anthony’s holding the cross up above his shoulders but just at the right angle so it looks very majestic without being showy. He’s a good cross-bearer. I will give him that. But do you think he even cares that I am no longer looking at him with great longing? Not one bit. He is all over Melanie Morrison, who I should really have a talk with. At least I should warn her about the balcony.
Chapter Thirty-two
Rosa’s in the kitchen preparing dinner. It’s very interesting to watch her. She can have four things going on at once on the stove and in the oven and it always comes out perfect. Her face is dotted with perspiration and her cheeks are flushed, like always, but she is smiling and singing along with the radio, also like always. It is possible that she is the sunniest person I know. She has on the Spanish channel. I love Spanish music. It always sounds like they’re having a party, no matter the song. Maybe that is why Rosa’s so happy. You can’t listen to that type of music all day and stay sad.
The kitchen is filled with savory spices. I take a deep breath. Garlic, cumin, cinnamon, saffron and paprika are holding hands and floating in the air. It’s like walking into a fine Mexican restaurant. Rosa waddles back and forth between the pantry and the cooktop.
“Oh, Miss Andi,” she says when she sees me. “You give me a fright, no?”
“Sorry,” I say, then explain to her that it is major important that I learn to cook, immediately.
“I might be getting married much sooner than I planned,” I say.
“Married? Too young be married,” she says, and pats my arm. “But learn to cook is good. I teach you make enchiladas.”
She points to a pile of fresh ground beef sitting on the counter. It’s a brilliant red color and still oozing blood.
“I want to learn to cook,” I say eagerly, though I’m not quite sure my stomach does. I’m used to seeing food when it’s time to eat it.
“First we make beef recipe,” Rosa says, picking up a large frying pan.
She heats three tablespoons of vegetable oil over medium heat, then adds a whole yellow onion. It’s already finely chopped.
“Now cook three, maybe four minute, yes?” she says and hands me the spatula. This is easy. I’ll be an expert in no time. Rosa adds the ground beef along with a teaspoon and a half of salt. When the beef is almost done she adds four cloves of minced garlic.
“Now cook three more minute,” Rosa explains. “Is good.”
Once I do as she says, she pours in one cup of tomato sauce and two-and-a-quarter teaspoons of ground cumin. I haven’t written any of this down and now I realize it’s a bit more complicated than I anticipated. I’m not sure I remember the order we’ve added the different ingredients and wonder if it will be okay if I just add them all at once and cook it an extra minute or two when I make this recipe on my own. Surely, it will taste the same; it will be the same ingredients. Rosa puts three-quarters of a cup of water and one-quarter of a cup of oregano leaves into the blender. After it’s blended she motions that I should pour this onto the meat mixture.
“Now cook ten minute, yes?” Rosa nods her head.
I continue to follow her instructions.
“Turn down fire and cook ten more minute.” I do precisely what she says.
“Is good,” Rosa says smiling. “Is ready.”
She sets the dish aside. “Now we make enchilada and Spanish rice and refried beans, sí?”
I thought we just made the enchilada. Rosa explains that we’ve only made the first step. There are three steps before we even get to the Spanish rice or refried beans. First we make the ground beef mixture, which we have just done, next we are to make the enchilada sauce, and then we will make the actual enchiladas. Only then are we able to move onto the Spanish rice and refried beans. In a Mexican restaurant you make your selection and before you even finish munching on the chips and salsa, presto!—a large platter is before you with refried beans, Spanish rice, and your choice of entrée. I had no idea they went to so much trouble to place it there. I will never again take Mexican food for granted.
Rosa assembles the ingredients for the sauce which consists of two cups of chicken broth, four tablespoons of chili powder, one teaspoon of ground cumin, two heaping teaspoons of garlic powder, three-quarters of a teaspoon of salt, one pinch of ground cinnamon, one-third of a teaspoon sugar, five tablespoons of cold water, and five tablespoons of white flour. And that’s just the ingredients, not the steps that go along with actually making the sauce.
“We start sauce, yes?” Rosa says.
I don’t think so. “Not today,” I say, no longer interested in learning to cook. It’s far more work than I imagined. Maybe Rodney and I can eat our dinners out and I’ll fix breakfast. Breakfast is so much easier—eggs and bacon. Anyone can do that. You just crack an egg and fry it. And bacon—anyone can make that. Put it on paper towels in the microwave and voilá: bacon!
Chapter Thirty-three
I know now why Bridget was getting all As. She was copying Madeline’s work. Now that she is back at Parker Junior High, she’s in real trouble academically. Her father has hired a tutor. Every day after school this college student Ben Riley—from Georgia State—comes by and spends two hours with her. He is all business, this young man, and looks like Bill Gates, only younger.
“I’m so far behind,” Bridget laments. “I’ll never catch up.”
“Sure you will,” I say, hoping I’m right. I can’t imagine starting high school next year without her. What if they hold her back? It’s too depressing to even think about.
“How about I quiz you with what Ben went over yesterday? How about that?” I smile brightly, hoping she’ll see all is not lost. Bridget has always been there for me, except for the months she got sidetracked with Madeline. But that’s all behind us now. And something good came of it, like Bridget and I both helping out at Table Grace Kitchen. It’s very rewarding. Even Beth congratulated me and said all good women must be stewards to others. That line was really a shocker. Where did that come from?
Donna taps on Bridget’s door. “Ben’s here,” she says.
“We’ll go over everything later,” I say, picking up my books. Bridget nods her head and purses her lips together. She’s not really into her sessions with Ben and who can blame her? We’ve been in school all day. What a bummer to add two more hours on to that every day. It’s enough to make a body want to jump out the window. I realize Bridget’s bedroom is two stories up.
“You’re not going to jump out the window, are you?” I ask.
“’Course not,” she says. “We’ve got the dance next weekend. I’m not about to miss that.”
I almost forgot. It’s the annual Sadie Hawkins dance. I haven’t invited anybody yet. Neither has Bridget. We’ll probably end up going alone, which is like announcing: Hey, look at us. We’re losers.
“Maybe we could ask the Hanson twins,” I say. “They’re not so bad.”
The Hanson boys don’t look like twins. They’re fraternal and Joey is much cuter than David. Bridget will pick him, and I’ll let her. It’s bad enough she has to do school double-time. The least I can do is let her have the better looking guy for the dance.
“I’ll take Joey,” Bridget says brightly. “Is that alright?”
Do I know Bridget or do I know Bridget?
“Sure,” I say.
It won’t be so bad. David is kind of interesting. He follows true crime stories and always has some interesting things to share, like the ways people kill each other and how they almost get away with it.
Chapter Thirty-four
When I get home my mother is sitting in the living room and who do you think is there with her? Rodney Hall! I almost keel over.
“Andréa,” my mother says. She only calls me Andréa when something important is going on. I feel a tingle climb up my spine. He’s asking for my hand in marriage, but why my mother? Isn’t he supposed to speak with my father?
“Rodney needs your help,” my mother explains and folds her hands neatly in her lap. The phone rings and my mother goes to answer it. Rosa is at the grocery store.
“I’ll just leave Rodney to explain,” she says.
The phone is ringing again. It sounds more urgent. Phones do that when you don’t answer. They just get louder with every ring. But phones don’t matter to me right now. I won’t talk even if it’s for me. It is. “I’ll just call them later,” I say to my mother all casual-like, but really my heart is bouncing in my chest like it’s on a trampoline.
“You need my help?” I turn to Rodney trying to act perfectly normal, but my voice is at least an octave higher than normal. God! I hate myself when that happens. It did that the first time I talked to Anthony, too. Maybe I have a defect and my larynx is connected to my heart.
“Are you alright?” Rodney asks.
I shake my head, and clear my throat.
“Frog,” I explain, then, “What do you need my help with?” Talk of marriage will have to wait.
“With my grandmother’s things. My mother can’t stand the thought of going through them and my aunts have left it up to her.” Rodney stands up and rubs his chin.
“Think you could help me out?”
Could I?
“It won’t take long,” he says.
It can take forever, gladly! I see myself sorting through Mrs. Reed’s things for the rest of my life: Rodney is beside me, there’s streaks of gray in my hair, thick-soled shoes on my feet, an apron around my waist.
“No problem,” I say, pretending I’m my same old self and really my insides are jumping in circles.
My mother walks back into the room.
“So, do you mind helping Rodney?” she asks.
“Not at all.”
“I can go with you, if you like.”
“Oh no,” I say. “I’m—I’m fine. Really.” If she goes along it will ruin everything.
I’m not exactly sure what we’ll be doing while we sort through her things, but I don’t care, I’ll act like I’m well versed in it.
“Well then,” my mother says. “We’ll see you two later. I’ve invited Rodney to dinner.”
She’s invited Rodney to dinner! My mother’s invited Rodney to dinner! My mother has absolutely, positively invited Rodney to dinner. My brain is stuck in one gear.
“You ready?” Rodney says and motions with one hand toward the door. I follow him across the street to his grandmother’s house. There’s a large moving van parked in the driveway.
“We’re just going to sort through her clothes. They’ll get the rest,” he says.
I nod my head.
“You can show me what you think my mother might like to keep, for later, when she’s feeling better.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure if I’ll know what that might be.
***
“Handkerchiefs,” I say.
“Beg your pardon?”
“Your mother, she might like to keep these,” I say and point to the small stacks of hankies resting in neat little rows in Mrs. Reed’s top dresser drawer.
“Think so?” Rodney says, and I nod.
“And this,” I say, gently folding a lemon yellow shawl. “Whenever I saw your grandmother she usually had this on,” I explain. “I’m sure you’re mother will appreciate having it.”
Rodney smiles. “Then she shall have it.” He takes the shawl and places it in the small box on the bed. The handkerchiefs go in next. I don’t want this to end.
“I think the jewelry case is something your mother will want to go through on her own.” I hand him the case which is encrusted with little pearls and shells in all different sizes.
“Alright,” Rodney says. “I think that about does it.”
It’s taken hours but we’ve managed to sort through all of her clothing. Rodney decides Mrs. Reed’s church can distribute them as they see fit. We grouped them by seasons, the heavier ones on the bed, the lighter items draped on the chair with the matching ottoman. Sweaters are on the dresser. Blouses are neatly folded and sitting right next to them.
“She had a lot of pretty things,” I say.
Rodney nods his head. “She was a fine old woman. I’ll miss her.” He closes the closet door and turns to me.
“And you’re a fine young woman, Andi, and I’ll miss you, too.”
The word woman grabs my heart and says, Here! Have a little more happiness! He called me a woman. For sure he is falling under my spell. And he will miss me. When will this missing part start? When does he have to return to Iraq? I hate that war worse than before, but I only say, “You will?”
Rodney nods his head and smiles and reaches over and ruffles the top of my hair. And my head starts shouting, this is great! And my future is screaming, Andi, you are right! And my lungs forget they’re supposed to breathe. And my heart beats faster than it’s meant to. And my feet are no longer on the ground—they’re doing a little two-step. And entire world is spinning around me. And there it is again, that feeling that I don’t want this to end. I want to grab time and hold it tight and make it stop.
Chapter Thirty-five
I know I have to carry on with my life while Rodney’s gone. It’s the only way, so I resign myself to everyday things. Here’s how it goes with Joey and David. I decide to call David and ask him to go with me to the dance, and then ask him to ask Joey if he would like to go with Bridget. Calling them on the phone means I won’t be as embarrassed if he says no, or if they both say no. At least they won’t see that I’m embarrassed. If my face turns red they’ll never know.
I make the call, but it’s Joey that answers the phone when I call. That’s where the trouble begins. Why can’t this be easy? It’s a stupid dance, not a marriage proposal. I’m already covered in that regard.
“What do you want David for?” Joey says.
“Ah, well,” I say. Already I’m bungling this phone call. “It’s kind of personal,” I say.
“You’re gonna ask him to the dance, aren’t you?” Joey says.
“No, that’s not it,” I say, hitting the side of my head with the palm of my hand.
“Why’d you call then?” he says.
Silence. During a phone call, silence is even louder than it normally sounds.
“I’m calling to ask David if he wants to go to the dance with Bridget. She’s got laryngitis.”
One lie after another jumps out of my mouth. Just like that. I could win the shot put of lying in the Olympics. The problem with this lie is now Bridget will be stuck with David, if Joey agrees to ask David and David tells Joey to say yes for him, and it’s Joey that Bridget wanted me to ask in the first place.
“I don’t know,” Joey says. “Hey, David. Andi St. James wants to know if you want to go to the dance with Bridget Harman! Can you hear me?” His voice is a loudspeaker. Everyone on the block can hear him.
Joey comes back on the line.
“Tell her yes,” he says.
“
Yes?” I repeat.
“Yeah, David will go.”
Here we go, just like I figured.
“Actually, Joey,” I say. “Bridget wanted me to ask you to go and I was supposed to ask David. I got it all mixed up.”
“Oh,” Joey says.
“So, you want to?”
“Go with Bridget?”
“Yes,” I say
“Sure. It doesn’t matter to me.”
Great, Bridget and I are interchangeable, like Tupperware lids.
“And David? He’ll go with me?”
I hear a muffling over the mouthpiece on Joey’s end. The phone piece is being dragged over some type of hard surface. He’s back on the line three minutes later. I timed it.
“Yeah,” Joey says.
“David will go?”
“Uh-huh.”
I won’t tell Bridget it took so long for David to decide on me. It’s bad enough Joey didn’t care who went with who. The important thing is they said yes. But I’m glad I’m marrying an older man. They make more sense.
Chapter Thirty-six
Bridget and I are at her house, doing nothing really when we get this great idea. When we were at Table Grace Kitchen this morning this girl came in with her mother and she was just waiting around for her mother to fill out her form to get her groceries and this girl says to Bridget that she really likes her top and where did she get it and Bridget pops off, “Neiman Marcus,” without thinking, like this girl could march right over there and get herself one. And then the girl just nods her head soft-like, but you could see she was disappointed like maybe Bridget was going to say Kmart and she’d just march over there and beg her mother to buy one for her. She was wearing blue jeans, but not any kind you can be proud of, no name or anything, and a T-shirt with butterflies on the front; not exactly a fashion statement. So Bridget and I were talking about how lucky we are not to have to shop at Kmart and not really have to worry about where we shop at all and Bridget says, “I wish I would’ve had another top with me. For truth I would have given her this shirt,” she says yanking a piece of it away from her body. “I’ve worn it like a dozen times already.”
All That's True Page 8