by Gina Henning
I brush my fingers along the fabric of the couch and stare at my grandmother. She is making us a “spot of tea”. Eventually, she brings over the pot with two cups on a silver tray. I love having tea with my grandmother, especially from her rose-printed tea cups.
I pick up my cup and take a sip. Lady Earl is one of my grandmother’s special teas, she prefers Twining’s from London. “The English know tea, darling.” Is one of my grandmother’s sayings. One time an old friend of hers stated, “Americans make tea that tastes like cats piss”, which always makes me wonder how she would know.
The tea is warm and reminds me of a summer vacation with its lemon and orange fragrance. My grandmother is sipping her tea and watching me. We are at a standstill. I’m not sure how to begin or what to say. I’m uncomfortable. I haven’t talked to her since Thanksgiving and I’m sure she is wondering if anything became of Jack and me.
“How are things going?” I ask and take in a deep breath. The tea is soothing.
“Darling, you do know about how things are going here, right?” My grandmother raises an eyebrow at me.
“Yes, Jack filled me in a little. Are you worried?” I don’t want my grandmother to have any worries at her age.
“Yes, darling, I am concerned. All of my friends are here. If Vintage Estates goes under, who knows what will happen to all of us. Even if everyone found another place to be, it wouldn’t be the same anywhere else.” My grandmother takes a sip of her tea and gives me a once over glance.
“That’s true, but nothing has happened yet, and I think Jack is working on fixing things.”
A smile dances across my grandmother’s face and her eyes sparkle, they’re not the eyes of a seventy-something-year-old woman. They hide her years and show her youth-like attitude. A no fear, carpe diem, type of approach to life.
“Darling, you do realize that the only reason you know Jack is because of me?” She lifts her chin and her eyes are probing mine for a response. I know what she’s talking about, even though we never actually spoke about it. I had somewhat of an understanding of how Jack and I came to be, but I hadn’t had a chance to discuss this with her, yet.
“Well, Jack told me that you had sent him to get the pecans and made a big deal about it.” I pick up my cup again, relaxing as the tea worked its magic.
“Right, and I also sent you to get pecans as well,” My grandmother’s eyes are steady as she stares at me. “Lauren, I arranged for both of you to meet at Tibor’s Pecan Farm.” My grandmother smiles at me. The same Cheshire grin I saw on Thanksgiving.
I bite my lip. I need to think before I speak, especially to my grandmother. The cup of tea will help me bide my time. I sip my tea slowly.
“So, was the pecan pie recipe for real, or was it made up, so that Jack and I could meet?” I rub my chin and wait for my grandmother to respond.
I’m not entirely bothered that she arranged for Jack and me to meet. But I had hoped that the recipe she had given me was her special prize winning pecan pie recipe. Upon my arrival at Thanksgiving, my mother had given me a letter from my grandmother. In this letter my grandmother gave me her special pecan pie recipe and told me that this was the year that I was to make the pecan pie. Along with the recipe was a note that I had to get the pecans from a specific pecan farm and, as it turned out, Jack had been instructed to do the same by my grandmother. We met at Tibor’s Pecan Farm, but our first encounter did not go well. But then he “rescued” me from a flat tire cold front experience.
“Lauren, yes, I made up the recipe. And was it not a tasty pie?” My grandmother peers at me with eyes that require one answer only.
“Yes, it was delicious.” I nod in further agreement with my grandmother. There is no way I would insult her baking, and it was a tasty pie. Very tasty.
“Darling, your grandmother still has all her marbles. Jack’s brother Lewis was a very nice man, and he left this place for Jack to run alongside of his widowed wife Sherry.” My grandmother shakes her head with disgust and a scowl comes across her face. “But you know now that she took off with the all of the money from this place and poor Jack has been left to clean up the mess.” My grandmother shakes her head again and this time her expression is one of sadness. The wrinkles along her eyes seem to thicken. Is this because of Jack and his situation? My grandmother has always helped others, but it doesn’t mean she needs to get wrapped up in the financial state of Vintage Estates.
“Grandmother, I do know about the Sherry situation, but what are you concerned with? Jack is successful business man and is going to resolve things.” I shrug my shoulders.
“I like Jack and I think you do as well, am I correct?” My grandmother raises an eyebrow at me.
“Yes, I do, but that doesn’t mean you have to be worried about him,” My head hurts from trying to figure out my grandmother’s motives.
“I know that, darling, but I can’t help my concern, it’s who I am.” She clutches the brooch on her blouse.
“Grandmother, I know that, we all know that.” I scan the room for answers. “I just don’t see where this is going.”
“Where what is going? Have you had a falling out already?” My grandmother’s eyebrows draw together, forming little horizontal lines along her forehead.
“No, but who’s to say that we won’t? We don’t live in the same state and we have been seeing each other less than a month.” I blink several times. Surely, my grandmother understands the reality of the situation.
“I think there is a way to remedy both situations with one solution.” My grandmother is smiling her Cheshire grin again. I’m getting the idea that this solution is not a recently-popped-up-in-her-head notion. Is my grandmother playing me? I know she created a pecan pie situation over Thanksgiving, but is she up to some new scheme? I purse my lips to the side and put my cup back on the saucer on the coffee table in front of us and clasp my hands together.
“And what would that be?” I raise an eyebrow at her. I’m not okay with questioning my grandmother or thinking she has ulterior motives, but as the saying goes, fool me once…etc.
“You could move here and take over the finances of this place. You have the business skills and being here would solve the location issue with your love life.” The sides of my grandmother’s lips pull up into a wide grin, a salesperson grin. She has laid out her plan for me. It’s a nice one in theory, except for a few things. A few big things. Things which are also conflicts of interest, perhaps, and definitely things which would change my career course.
“Grandmother, I have my career and home in Maryland.” I smooth my eyebrows out with my fingers. I have to focus on not frowning, I want to delay aging as much as possible. But the idea of botox, of injecting poison into my skin really grosses me out. Can’t I just smack on some good moisturizer and call it a day? I try and relax my face and show no emotion. But then it’s like I’m a robot. I don’t want to be a robot, arghh…Is there really a solution to any of this? Crap. My grandmother is talking and yet again, I’m off in Lauren-land as my mother used to refer to my daydreaming moments. I give my grandmother my full attention.
“I know that, darling, but sometimes, with love, you do things like move mountains, and if those mountains mean changing your career path and where you store your purse, well then, so be it.” My grandmother raises her chin at me with a look of conviction. The conviction of wisdom.
“Love?” I question her. “How do you know if I love him or not?” I’m torn by even saying this out loud. Jack and I haven’t exactly been sharing the “l” word, not until this weekend, but it’s all so new and I’m still nervous about even using it now.
“I don’t know, that is something only you will know, Lauren, but I do know that you love me, and I’m asking you to give this idea some thought.” She scoots closer to me, pulls some hair off my face and pushes it over my shoulder. My grandmother is watching me, waiting for my reaction. She has given me more than enough to think about.
“Wow, I don’t know. I will think abo
ut it. But it’s really a lot to think about. Even if Jack wasn’t in the picture, it would be a lot to think about.” I exhale. I need something to drink. Something stronger than this tea.
“Very true, Lauren, but remember that he is in the picture and sometimes a leap of faith is better than a lock on the door.” My grandmother stands up. This is my signal. She guides me to the door, we hug each other with a kiss, kiss on the cheek and I leave the biggest business/life meeting of my life.
I close the door to my grandmother’s apartment and hit the down arrow on the elevator outside her door. I robotically hit the number one button. I’m alone with my thoughts. My grandmother is seriously asking me to drop my life in Baltimore to come and help Jack fix Vintage Estates. This is something Jack has not asked me and, even if he had, I would most likely say no. With my grandmother asking - and I’m not sure if it’s out of respect for her hierarchal position in our family or just the respect I’ve always had for her decision-making advice - there is now a small, tiny piece of my mind thinking about the possibility of moving back home and helping Jack fix Vintage Estates. It’s only a small particle, nothing huge. I shake my head and exit the elevator.
Jack is in the kitchen, stirring something at the stove. He seems to be in his own world and doesn’t even turn around when I push open the kitchen doors.
“What are you making?” I move closer to see what is in the pot. Oregano, basil and tomatoes fill my nostrils as I stare down into the bubbling red sauce.
“Spaghetti, I thought you might be hungry.” Jack glances over to me. “I know I am.” He raises his eyebrows. The movement indicates that his hunger is for something spaghetti can’t quench.
A buzzing vibrates from his pants pocket. He throws his head back and he reaches into his pocket. He inspects his phone. “I’m sorry, it’ll only take a minute.” Jack storms out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I go to the stove, pick up the spoon and stir the sauce. I lift it up and taste it. It’s incredible. I scan the counters for an empty jar. Nope. I look for the trash and lift up the white lid. Inside is onion peelings, tops of tomatoes…he made this sauce from scratch.
“Sorry about that. In a week’s time I won’t be dealing with anymore random phone calls.” Jack pulls me in close and kisses my nose.
“Why in a week?” I lean back.
“I’ve just made a few arrangements to solve this situation. Let’s not talk about it.”
He offers me the wooden spoon with a bit of sauce on it. I lean in and lick it, pretending it’s the first time. I admire the flavor, savory with a hint of sweetness.
“Mmm, that’s really good. I thought you said you have a cook on staff?” I squint my eyes at him. Maybe they had to let the cook go after Sherry took off with all the cash.
“We do. Lauren, I told you…the grilled cheese sandwich was just an ounce of the amount of things I want to make for you.” He stirs the sauce and then licks a bit of the marinara off the spoon, nodding with pleasure.
He did tell me this, over Thanksgiving. But it doesn’t mean, I expect him to be such a talented chef. I’m fascinated by him. Underneath his business exterior is a Renaissance man. Standing before me, this man who creates such exquisite cuisine and on top of it gives me such sentimental gifts. Could he be the real deal? I can’t help but wonder if he is too good to be true.
“Do you have any wine?” I’m frazzled emotionally. A glass of red can do wonders for the soul. All I want to do is sip on some wine and enjoy both this pasta and Jack. I don’t want to think about anything business-wise, at least not today. I’m going to have to pull a Scarlet O’Hara and worry about that tomorrow. Tonight I’ll be a true Roman and veni, vidi, vici…Jack.
“Yes, do you need a drink?” Jack strides to the opposite wall and opens the white cupboard filled with wine. This makes me happy. I like seeing a stocked wine cabinet, even if it’s at a retirement community. Jack takes out a small package from the shelf and turns around.
“Oh, look at this, it’s addressed to you?” Jack cocks his head as if he is surprised to see the package.
He hands it to me. “Thank you.” I lay it down on the counter, reluctant to open it in front of him.
“Well go on…no drum roll is necessary. Open it!” Jack wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Okay.” I pull off the silver ribbon, rip off the paper and pull out a white box. I lift the lid. Inside the box is an ornament with two swans with linked necks forming a heart and five baby swans swimming behind them. I smile.
“Awe, little baby swans. Very cute. Thank you.” I lean in to kiss his cheek. He turns and our lips meet.
Jack pulls back an inch from my lips. “Read the back.”
I take in a deep breath. I should have known it was not going to be a simple ornament of seven swans swimming. I’m hesitant about reading the message. I flip it over quickly, like I’m ripping a Band-Aid off. On the back of the ornament reads “Swans mate for life.” My eyes bulge out and my chest is constricted. I let out a bit of air. I can’t breathe. I focus on Jack. His eyes are sending me a lifeline of oxygen. I exhale. Wow. Jack’s really wooing me.
Jack grabs two glasses from the cupboard next to the wine cabinet and pulls out a corkscrew from the drawer. He twists open a bottle of Carmenere, El Secreto.
“Interesting choice.” I trace my chin with my finger. Jack raises an eyebrow at me as he hands me a glass. “Jack, do you have any secrets?” I sip my wine. It’s woodsy and rough, the notes are untamed and unruly like a bull trying to escape a rodeo. I saddle up for another sip and let the flavors run wild in my mouth. Jack is studying me.
“Everyone has secrets.” Jack takes a sip of his wine and stares at me. He is tempting me to respond with his eyes, so I flitter my eyelashes. What does that mean? Does Jack have some secrets? Something he has been withholding from me?
My eyes strain, trying to reach inside his brain and figure out what he means.
“What kind of secrets do you have, Jack?” I stare at him, patiently waiting for his response. I’m not actually being patient, in my mind 80,000 scenarios are running rampant in my brain, dinging off the sides of my skull, bumping into each other and creating even more possibilities and theories. Theories about Jack playing me, theories about why my grandmother suggested I move back, and then, in the very back of my mind, there are other theories, well, really only one. This one is different. It’s one quietly suggesting that perhaps Jack is genuine and his actions of how he feels towards me are real. I bite my lip. If he hadn’t been a no show at the airport would I still be questioning him? I don’t know. Our relationship began at the same time that the situation with Sherry occurred. It makes it seem somehow tainted.
I’m afraid. Afraid to take the leap. Afraid of what will happen next. I’m afraid my heart is clouding my mind and I’m being stupid and naive. All these thoughts, all these fears, are holding me captive. And I won’t be anyone’s prisoner, especially not fear. I take a deep breath. And consider that there are only two items to put on a list to determine where we stand.
Jack really is into me for the long haul
Jack is just into right now.
I sigh. Jack grabs my hand and pulls it to his mouth. “I don’t want to have any secrets from you.” He kisses my hand softly, locking my eyes to his so I can’t glance away.
“My life is an open book to you.” He kisses my knuckles. “You can have full access to whatever you need, including me.” And with this I’m gone. His lips are on mine and I’m letting him into my mouth - and my heart.
Chapter Ten
I park my mom’s car in front of the garage and hop out. Jack pulls up alongside the curb in front of my parent’s house. I strut down the driveway to meet him.
“Ready?’ I raise my eyebrows at him.
“I’m always ready, what are we playing, Go Fish?” Jack squeezes my arm.
“Ha, you wish you had it that easy. The Hauser family are professional game players. You have been warned.” I flip my hair over my shoul
ders and we stroll up the sidewalk together. My mom and dad have already decorated the lawn with our Christmas lights and Santa scenes. There is everything from Elvis Santa to Emo Santa, even I can’t take it all in. Knowing my parents even get the concept of emo and then to find an Emo Santa…I don’t understand. It’s almost like Will Smith is rapping in my ear, except the lyrics have been changed to kids just don’t understand.
“Merry Christmas, Jack, so nice to see you again.” Megan pulls open the door wider. We file into the room.
“You as well.” Jack hands Megan a bottle of wine.
“Points in my book, thank you.” She winks at me and takes off towards the kitchen.
My mom dances into the room, she is wearing a Christmas tree on her head and a fairly tame Christmas top, but has paired it with a skirt made out of satin bows. Her stockings are blinking and on her feet are some sort of garland light elf-shaped shoe, which are no doubt custom made.
“Merry Christmas Jack! I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Merry Christmas to you, Lauren said tonight was game night?” He cocks his head to the right.
“It is indeed. However, since it’s your first time and the little ones are still awake, we are going to keep it to Christmas charades tonight.” My mom waves a stack of cards in her hands. “Martin, are you ready? You’re up first.” My mom pokes my dad with the cards.
He jumps, he was obviously trying to sneak in a quick nap. “Yes! Give me the cards, I’m ready.”
“Luke, Aurora, Brian, come on! Game time!” My mom has grabbed her jingle bell bracelet off the mantel and is shaking it furiously.