by Debby Mayne
“Thanks for dropping everything and coming,” Puddin’ says. “I can take it from here.”
“You’re welcome.” I pick up my work tote and head for the door, slowing down momentarily as I pass the bank of mirrors.
Puddin’s right. I need to start thinking about my own fashion—or lack of it.
“I don’t need to get my hearing tested.” Foster looks me in the eyes with an expression of utter defiance.
I have to stand my ground. “Maybe not, and if that’s the case, you can say, ‘I told you so.’”
Foster’s forehead creases. “I don’t want to wear one of those ugly hearing aids.”
“Some of them aren’t ugly.”
He gives me one of those you’ve-got-to-be-kidding looks. “They are all ugly.”
“Some of them you can’t even see.” I pause for a moment. “Did you know that my brother wears a hearing aid?”
“You’ve said that, but he never wears it when we’re around him.”
I fold my arms and grin. “George always wears it when he’s awake. It’s one of those that fits inside the ear, and you can’t see it unless you’re looking for it, and even then it’s hard to see.”
“But what if I need the other kind?”
I close my eyes and count to ten before focusing my attention on my very stubborn, very proud husband. “We’ll deal with that if it happens. The most important thing is to find out if you have a hearing problem, and if so, how bad it is.” I place my hand on his. “Foster, I know this is difficult for you, but your lack of hearing is causing a lot of problems.” I swallow hard and try to give him a loving look, even though I’m extremely frustrated. “I don’t think you hear well at all, and the only way we’ll know is to get it tested.”
I’m pretty sure his hearing is about as bad as it gets, just this side of being deaf. Right now I have to face him and shout for him to hear me. When I turn away, he doesn’t respond. I can’t believe I’m just now figuring it out. All these years, I’ve thought he was ignoring me because he didn’t think anything I said was important. It started so long ago that it’ll take a long time for my resentment to subside.
He purses his lips and slowly shakes his head. My heart tightens as I see that he’s on the brink of tears. “Will you still love me, even if I have hearing aids?”
Now my heart melts. “Of course I will.”
Finally, he lifts his hands and lets them fall to his sides, making a slapping sound. “Okay, I’ll get checked if you’ll make the appointment for me.”
Some women I know might think it’s ridiculous to be asked to make their husbands’ doctor appointments, but I don’t. Foster never went to the doctor until we got married, and the only reason he goes now is to make me happy—or, more likely, to keep me from nagging. And I’ve made every single doctor and dentist appointment he’s ever had.
“What’s for supper?” He opens the oven door and looks inside. “There’s nothing in there.”
“That’s because I’m making salads tonight.”
“Salad?” A look of disappointment covers his face. “What kind of supper is that?”
“A healthy one.”
“Can’t you fry some chicken or something to go with it?”
I fold my arms and lift my chin before looking him in the eyes. He’s a good foot taller than me, but I have to take a strong stance on this issue. His blood work came back showing that his cholesterol is slightly elevated.
“What?” He leans against the kitchen counter and tries to stare me down, but he quickly realizes he’s no match for me when I’m this determined.
“Frying chicken or something would defeat the purpose of having salad.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry, Foster. I’m putting meat in the salad. And eggs.”
“I thought eggs were bad for you.”
“Nope.” I brush my hands together. “That’s old medical news. Eggs are actually good for you.”
“Says who?”
I think for a minute before shrugging. “Whoever decides those things.”
He lets out a sardonic chuckle. “If they keep doing like this, we’ll eventually find out that salads are bad for you and fried food is good.” He rolls his eyes. “Or candy will keep you strong and make you live longer.”
“Actually—” I stop myself before telling him that some fried food actually is good for you, if you fry it in the right kind of oil. And dark chocolate has something in it that is good for your heart. There’s no point in confusing the issue right now, especially since I’m still trying to make a point that we need to improve our diets. When Wendy was younger, he told her that candy corn was a vegetable. I know he was teasing, but I worried she’d actually believe him.
“Is Wendy gonna be home for supper?” He opens the fridge and takes a long look at the contents before pulling out a block of cheese.
“No, she’s working, and after she gets off, she’s going out with some friends.”
I walk over to him and take the cheese from him. But as I open the refrigerator, he grabs it out of my hand and gives me a look that lets me know he’s not stopping until he wins this battle, so I back away.
“What did you say? Speak up.”
I repeat myself, only louder.
“She needs to spend more time at home.” Foster puts the cheese on the counter and goes over to the pantry, where he grabs a box of crackers. “Tell her she can’t go out so much.”
“You tell her. She’s your daughter, too.”
“But she listens to you. I’m her fun person.” He fakes a grin before picking up the cheese slicer.
I feel the same way he does about Wendy, but how do you tell your daughter, who is an adult—although barely—and about to go off to college, that she can’t do something that’s harmless? We’ve never had a lick of trouble out of Wendy. She was a wonderful baby who napped twice a day from birth and slept through the night when she was a couple months old. She was cute and funny as a toddler and only rarely threw a temper tantrum, unlike my brother’s twins, who ganged up on him and his wife when they didn’t get what they wanted. I used to watch in horror as Sally and Sara got the best of him and his wife.
Wendy has always been a straight-A student, and she just graduated from high school with honors. I look at Foster, who has neatly stacked a little square of cheese on each cracker. He gives me another closed-mouth grin before shoving a whole cracker into his mouth, one of his ways of letting me know he doesn’t have anything else to say.
“I’ll talk to her, but I don’t know that she’ll want to hang out here with her boring mama and daddy.”
He sits down at the kitchen table, swallows his cheese and cracker, and shakes his head. “She’s never complained about us being boring.”
“She’s never complained about anything,” I remind him as I walk over to the table and sit down across from him. “When you were eighteen, did you enjoy staying home with your family?”
“I moved out when I was eighteen.” He lifts another cracker, repositions the cheese, and inspects it. “But she’s a girl. It’s different for her.”
I laugh. “At least you admit to a double standard. I’ll talk to her and let her know we’d like her to spend more time with us. Any idea what we might do with her?”
He shrugs. “Same thing we always do. Watch TV.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’ll make her want to stick around more. Come on, Foster, let’s do something fun as a family.”
“We’re going to your family reunion, remember?”
“I said something fun.”
He snorts. “I hear ya. Let me think about it.”
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway quiets us. A few seconds later, Wendy comes storming into the house, nostrils flaring, eyes red-rimmed, and chin quivering.
“What happened?” I jump to my feet and put my arm around her.
She yanks loose and runs out of the kitchen. I turn to Foster and see he’s just as confused as I am.
All sorts of things run through my mind as I head to Wendy’s room. I knock. She doesn’t answer, but I hear a muffled sob.
I knock again and try to open her door, but it’s locked. “Wendy, honey, can we talk?”
“No.”
“Please? I really want to help with whatever is upsetting you.” Could I sound any lamer?
“There’s nothing you can do about it.” Her harsh tone shocks me. She’s never spoken to me like this before.
“Wendy, open this door right now.”
I half expect her to tell me to buzz off, but instead, I hear her footsteps padding toward me. She opens the door a couple of inches, runs toward her bed, and flings herself across it face down.
A lump forms in my throat at the very thought of something upsetting my near-perfect child this much. I walk over to the edge of her bed, sit down, and start rubbing her back. Her muscles tighten.
“Stop.”
I pull my hand back. “Just tell me what’s going on, Wendy. I might be able to help you.”
Her sobs stop, and she slowly turns her face toward me. “There’s nothing you can do about it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m such a loser no one can help me.”
This is the first time I’ve ever heard such negative words come out of my daughter’s mouth. “Please, tell me what happened.”
“Jake thinks I’m a dork, and my friends all hate me.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sure your friends don’t hate you. If there’s been a misunderstanding . . . My voice trails off as I realize she mentioned a name I haven’t heard before. “Who’s Jake?”
She slowly sits up, picks up the corner of her sheet, and wipes her eyes before finally looking directly at me. “Jake is the guy I’ve been in love with for the past year. Melanie posted a picture of him and Tabitha on Facebook.”
“Maybe they’re just friends.” I have no idea what I’m doing, since this is totally unfamiliar territory for me.
“They were making out.”
“Well, maybe . . .” My heart feels like it’s about to rip in two. For the first time ever, I have no answer for my brokenhearted daughter.
I pick up my phone during lunch on Friday, search for Elliot’s number, and start to press it. But then the old doubts resurface. Our coffee chats have been fun, but in spite of the butterflies I feel every time I’m with him, he’s been treating me like a friend rather than someone he’s interested in dating.
The old self-doubts creep back into my head. I think back to all the times when I wanted nothing more than to be with him, but I let my own feelings of inadequacy in the social department hold me back. Then I remember what he said about his feelings toward me. Is it possible that everyone is filled with insecurities in high school?
Nah. Not everyone. Just people like me. Elliot said that because he was trying to be nice. Or maybe not.
Okay, this is ridiculous. I have never been indecisive in my whole entire life, and I don’t plan to start now. I’m calling, and if he takes issue with that, it’s not my problem.
Oh man, I wish I could believe that. But regardless, I’m going to ask if he wants to go to my family reunion, and the ball will be in his court. He can say yes, and everything will be just fine. Or he can say no, and then I’ll wait for him to make the next move.
Before I have another chance to chicken out, I press the number, knowing that if I end the call, he’ll know I tried to get in touch with him because my name will show up on caller ID. I hold my breath as his phone rings once . . . twice . . .
“Hey Shay, I was hoping you’d call. Do you think enough time has passed for us to get together again, only this time as more than friends? I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
I slowly let out the breath I’ve been holding. “I think so.”
“Would you like to go out tonight?”
Be still my heart. “I would love to.” Then I remember why I called. “Speaking of going out, I was wondering . . .” I cough. Maybe a family reunion isn’t the best place to take him.
“What were you wondering?”
Okay, it’s now or never. “Would you like to come to a little family gathering with me in a couple of weeks?”
“If you’re talking about one of the famous Bucklin reunions I’ve been hearing about practically all my life, yes, I absolutely would love to go.”
I let out a nervous but relieved laugh. “I don’t know about famous.”
“Oh, trust me, they are, at least in South Mississippi. I’ve been hearing stories about those events ever since I can remember.” He chuckles. “Is it true that your cousin Pete tried to ride one of the buffaloes at your grandparents’ farm?”
“Well, yeah, but it didn’t last long.”
“I know. I heard. How about your cousin going into labor and her baby being delivered by a couple of your aunts?”
“That was actually my brother Digger’s wife, Puddin’, who went into labor. We thought she’d give birth to Jeremy right there, but they managed to get her to the hospital on time before he made his entrance.”
“Or exit.” Elliot laughs. “I do know one thing for certain. I don’t want to go anywhere near Digger’s two older boys when they have bows and arrows.”
“I don’t think Julius does either. It took the doctors in the emergency room almost an hour to get that arrow out of his rear end.”
“As I said when you first asked, yeah, I would love to go. It sounds like a blast.”
“Good.” I chew on my bottom lip, hoping he’ll bring up tonight again.
“How about something casual tonight then?”
Whew. I’m relieved he mentioned it because I know I wouldn’t have. “Casual is fine.”
“I’ll pick you up around seven, if that’s okay.”
I normally eat earlier, but I’ll grab a snack so I’m not so hungry I eat like a pig when I’m with Elliot. “I’ll be ready.”
The afternoon gets crazy with all kinds of problems, from late deliveries to a life-and-death need for a dozen cases of Spam in one of the country grocery stores to be delivered before the end of the day. Top that off with the regular end-of-the-week reports, and I’m busy right up to quitting time.
I can’t remember a time when I’ve been so happy to greet the weekend. Not only has this been one of the craziest workweeks I’ve had since I started at Southern Foods, I have a date with my lifelong crush. Talk about a roller-coaster ride.
Once I arrive home, I grab some cheese from the fridge and crackers from the pantry and munch on them while standing in front of my closet trying to decide which top to wear with my favorite pair of jeans—the ones with the bling on the back pockets and waistband that doesn’t give me muffin top. I’m not heavy, but some of my jeans cut me off at the worst part of my waistline, making me self-conscious.
I opt for the peasant top that has a wide neckline and shows off my collarbone rather than my cleavage. Even though I want to hold Elliot’s attention, I want it the right way, and that doesn’t involve having him stare at my chest all evening.
My hair isn’t terrible, but it’s been a while since I had it trimmed. Puddin’s words about my tight hairdo play in my mind, so I put it up in a loose French twist and pull a few tendrils down to soften the effect even more.
I’m glad the twins spent a little time with me, teaching me the tips and tricks of contouring, bronzing, and highlighting my cheeks. Until they got hold of me, I never gave my high cheekbones a second thought. Now I know how to play them up with makeup.
In the back of my mind, I hear Sally’s directive to focus on the eyes or lips but not both. I take a step away from the mirror to get a better overall look and decide to add more eye shadow, liner, and mascara, which means I’ll need to go with a nude lip.
I pull out my cross-body handbag and transfer a few essentials from my eve
ryday purse. A quick glance at the clock lets me know I only have a few minutes before Elliot is due to arrive, so I slip into some wedges that add a couple inches of height without being too obvious. I’m average height, but being taller always seems more elegant.
Once I’m satisfied with my overall look, I go into the living room to wait. And wait. When he’s ten minutes late, I get up off the sofa and start pacing. Another ten minutes later, I go to the kitchen to get a drink of water. The knock finally comes at the door at seven thirty. Maybe I misunderstood the time.
I put my hand on the doorknob, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and open the door. His eyes widen as he looks me over.
“Come on in.” I take a step back.
He walks inside, never taking his gaze off me. “You look amazing, Shay.”
I nearly choke. No one has ever said anything like that about my looks before except Mama, who has always said I’m pretty to her.
“Um . . . thank you.” Heat flames in my cheeks. I have to look away to keep from being so flustered I can’t talk. “Would you like a drink?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Sweet tea.” I manage a smile. “That’s the strongest drink I have.”
“In that case, I think I’ll start drinking. Sweet tea sounds good.”
As I pour his tea, my stomach growls, reminding me that it’s way past my dinnertime. I should have had another cracker. I turn around to hand him the glass, and he grins.
“You’re really hungry, aren’t you?”
I nod. “Starving.”
“Me, too.” He downs the tea in just a few seconds flat before putting the empty glass in the sink. “Let’s go.”
On the way to his car, I think about the fact that this is my second real date with the man of my dreams, and I wonder if I can get away with saying that we’re dating. It’s probably a stretch at this point, so I decide to wait until we go out a third time.
Elliot gives me a choice of several places, and I pick Catfish Jack’s because it normally has the fastest service. He nods. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”