by Debby Mayne
The bell on the door jingles. “Hey Puddin’.”
I spin around and see a regular customer who buys a new dress every single month. “Hi, Ms. Bailey.”
“Got anything new?” She takes a quick look around before making a beeline for a round rack of dresses. “Looks like you do.”
“I’m making room for even more stock we’re getting in tomorrow.” I put down the tops I’m holding and walk over to where she’s already thumbing through the dresses. “Did you see that yellow one?”
She pulls out the dress and holds it up. “This one?” Before I have a chance to respond, she grins. “It’s gorgeous. Here, be a dear and start me a room.”
“I’ll be happy to.”
“If you see anything in a size large—”
I interrupt her. “You mean a size lovely?” I grin. “I prefer to call them sizes sweet, marvelous, lovely, and extra lovely.”
She smiles back. “Why, yes, dahlin’. I like how you think.”
An hour later, Ms. Bailey walks out with the yellow dress, a green one, and accessories to go with both of them. Amanda comes out of the back room and shakes her head.
“Ever since you started selling, my profit has gone up by about twenty percent.”
I smile at her. “That’s because I understand the value of accessorizing.”
“Well, you’re good at it, which is why I’m thinking about hiring another bookkeeper so you can always be out here.”
My heart sinks. Even though I enjoy the change of pace that helping customers gives me, I still love making the numbers balance. “I really don’t want you to do that.”
She frowns. “But”—she shakes her head—“so you like bookkeeping?”
I smile and nod. “I don’t just like it, I love it. In fact, it’s like a game to me, making all the columns balance.”
Amanda purses her lips and looks out over her store before turning her attention back to me. “I suppose I can let you do both, depending on where you’re needed.”
“That would suit me just fine.” I sigh. “Sometimes I feel like this is my store, but I don’t have to worry about paying the rent or staffing.”
She laughs. “Actually, you are the one paying the rent, and since we only have one other person working here now, staffing isn’t an issue.”
“I’m just writing the check,” I say.
Now that I think about it, Amanda is right. She owns the place, but with me here, all she has to do is show up and sign stuff that I don’t have the authority to sign.
“What day did you say your family reunion is on?”
“This coming Saturday. Why?”
“Saturdays can be pretty busy. I’ll try to get Helen to work that day.”
“Haven’t you already asked her?”
She shakes her head. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I forgot.”
I can tell she’s been preoccupied lately. “Is everything okay?” Most of the time, Amanda maintains a professional distance, in spite of the fact that we used to be friends, but every once in a while she forgets she’s my boss, and she vents. I try my best to be a good listener.
“There’ve been rumors that Ted might be transferred, and he just heard from the higher-ups that it’s happening by the end of the year.”
“Can’t he ask to stay here?”
“He did that last year, and his boss told him that if he wants to move up with the company, he’ll eventually have to take a transfer.” She grimaces. “And apparently, eventually is now.”
This is a problem, since Amanda will want to move with her husband. “What are you going to do about this place?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll probably have to sell the shop.”
My heart sinks. Right when everything is just like I like it, this has to happen. “When will you know for sure?”
“Next week.”
I stare at her in disbelief as she turns and walks back to the office, leaving me standing on the sales floor wondering about my own future. I’ve managed to save money from the job, but the job has saved me from worry and boredom. Now I have to decide what to do if she does sell. Maybe the new owner will want to keep me on, but there’s no guarantee that’d work out.
Why can’t things stay as they are? I don’t like change, but it keeps happening. I should have known that my life was too good to be true.
I get ready for the reunion with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. I have my outfit picked out, the dishes I’m taking planned and shopped for, and my date with Elliot all set. He acts excited about going, but deep down in my insecure self, I’m not sure. In fact, I’m not sure about anything anymore.
Until recently, I’ve been content in my old condo, the job I’ve had forever, and being single and on my own. Now that has all changed in what seems like the blink of an eye, but in reality, I think my dissatisfaction has been brewing for a while.
I wish I could be more like Sara and Sally, who both take life as it comes—sometimes with a smile, other times fighting back. I plan first, and when something I don’t expect happens, I just take it and wonder how on earth I might have missed something.
For the past week, Mama has called me several times a day. She wants to know if I’m sure it’s a good idea to bring Elliot, how I’m doing with the dishes I’m bringing, and what I’m wearing.
And this morning, she wanted to know if I’ve thought about what to do for my grandparents. That’s the only thing I don’t have covered, but I know it’s important to do something special. After all, as Mama says, they’re not getting any younger.
I sit down with a pen and paper, jotting down ideas and crossing them out. Granny Marge and Grandpa Jay already have plenty of family portraits with the grandkids and great-grandkids lined up in awkward poses, wishing the person would hurry and snap the camera so we could let go of our fake, plastered smiles. They have more knickknacks than Granny Marge will be able to dust in her remaining lifetime if she starts now.
After racking my brain to the point of pain, I open my laptop and Google meaningful gift ideas for old people. Lap robe? No way. Personalized journals? I scrunch my nose as I try to imagine either of my grandparents sitting still long enough to write down what they do. A book on how to age gracefully? Eek! No way. Knitted scarves? I laugh at the image that brings to mind. Granny Marge and Grandpa Jay are both into jeans and wash-and-wear tops. They both have their favorite sweatshirts with goofy sayings, so that’s an option. It still doesn’t seem like the best gift for these two people who act half their age.
I call Sally. “Have you thought about what to get Granny Marge and Grandpa Jay?”
“What to get them? What’s the occasion? It’s not their birthday, is it?”
“No, but Mama reminded me that they’re not getting any younger.”
“No one is.” Sally pauses. “But I guess it’s not a bad idea to do something special for them. How about dance lessons?”
I laugh as I realize that suits them better than anything I’ve come up with. “They might like that.”
“I know they will. They’ve been talking about taking ballroom lessons at that new dance studio in Hattiesburg, so why don’t we all chip in and give them a series of lessons?”
“Know what? You’re pretty smart.”
She laughs. “I know. Sara got the looks, but I got the brains.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Not only are they identical twins, but their mama, my cousin Sheila, has made it clear that the twins not only look alike, they have the same IQ. They just choose to use it differently.
“Why don’t I send an email to everyone?” Sally says. “I’ll use the family loop and take Granny Marge and Grandpa Jay’s names off.”
“Good idea.” I reach over and close the lid on my laptop.
“The only problem I see is that everything in Granny Marge’s closet is casual or church clothes. She’ll need a pretty dress that moves with her.”
“I’ll call Puddin’ and see if there’s anything at La Chic we can
get her.” I’m glad I at least have one decent idea.
“Grandpa Jay has plenty of suits from back in the day.” Sally chuckles. “I remember thinking how goofy some of those suits looked, but now they’re back in style.”
“It happens.”
I call Puddin’ and talk about getting Granny Marge a dress, and she thinks it’s a great idea. “She’ll need one with a full skirt for twirlin’ on the dance floor,” she adds.
“Perfect.”
“What size do you think she wears?”
“A ten, maybe?”
“That sounds about right. I’ll pick out a pretty dress for her, and if it doesn’t fit, I’ll bring her into the store and help her get something else.”
After I hang up, I sit and stare at the table. Now that I’ve finished the busywork, all I have left to do is prepare myself for showing up at the reunion with Elliot. The second thoughts about inviting him are nibbling at my head and my heart. There’s no telling what some of my family members will say or do, and I would never want to embarrass Elliot or be embarrassed on his behalf.
I have two more days of work before I can devote all my time to getting ready for the reunion. I remember the days when all I had to do was show up. Of course, I spent an hour or so picking out something that I thought was cute, in case one of my cousins brought a friend. And someone always did, but it was always too awkward to see if there were any sparks.
After I get home from work on Thursday, my phone rings. It’s Elliot. “Hey, Shay, I almost forgot to ask what you want me to bring.”
“Just yourself.”
“Aw, come on. I know how these things work. Everyone brings something to share. I’m actually a decent cook.”
“Do you want to bring something?”
“I do. Besides, it’ll be less awkward if I have something in my hands when I arrive. I know it’ll be uncomfortable for you at first, so if I bring something with printed copies of the recipe, I’ll have something to talk about besides my divorce.”
I smile and realize I have nothing to worry about. He has this whole thing more figured out than I do. “Sure, if you think it would make things easier, by all means, bring something.”
“Which do you think would be better—peach cobbler or stuffed redfish?”
“You know how to make both of those?”
“I do. I had no choice but learn to cook, since my ex thought a home-cooked meal meant ordering something to be delivered.”
I laugh. “It doesn’t matter which you bring. My family will be duly impressed with either one.”
After a few seconds of silence, Elliot speaks up. “Shay, are you sure you want me to go to this thing with you? I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind.”
“Of course I’m sure.” I clear my throat to try to get rid of the tinny sound of my uncertain voice. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t want you to come.”
“Just making sure.”
What can you say to your daughter when she tells you she’s changed her mind about going to college because it’s a waste of time and money? She has enough scholarships to cover her tuition for two years at the community college, but she says it’ll be wasted on her.
“I’m such a loser.” Wendy’s words from a few days ago keep ringing through my head.
This has been going on for several days now, and nothing I say seems to work. Finally, I decide to just let her deal with whatever’s bothering her and try again after the reunion.
It’s Friday, the day before we’re all gathering at Grandpa Jay and Granny Marge’s house. I only worked a couple of hours this morning, so now I’m getting the salad ready for the reunion. I cooked several varieties of chili and froze them over the past week, so all I have to do in the morning is take them out to thaw. Foster went up to the attic to pull down my extra Crock-Pots to heat them up in.
I’ve just started tossing the salad when I hear footsteps behind me. “Mama?”
I turn around and see Wendy, her face pale, her eyes wide but without her usual raccoon makeup. “Hi, honey. Want to give me a hand with the salad?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I have some olives in the pantry. Can you open them for me?”
We work together in silence for about a minute before she starts talking. “Mama, do you think I could handle being a nurse?”
“Yes, I’ve always thought you’d be a good nurse.” I try to keep my voice on an even keel and not ask her all the questions that have been racing through my head. “Why?”
She hands me the open can of olives, plucks one out, and leans against the counter. “Do you know Carla Fitzsimmons?”
“Yes, her mother is a doctor at the Pinewood General Hospital, right?”
She nods. “She told me that I don’t have what it takes to be a nurse.”
I drop the tongs I’ve been tossing the salad with and spin around to face my superintelligent, supercaring daughter. “Why would she say such a thing?” Before Wendy can answer, I continue. “It ticks me off to think someone like Carla Fitzsimmons would say something so mean to you. Is she jealous or something?”
Wendy nods. “I didn’t realize it until last night. I thought she knew what she was talking about because her mother is a doctor and all.”
“What happened last night?”
“She didn’t get accepted to the community college, so when she found out I did, she tried to drag me down.” She pops the olive into her mouth, chews a couple of times, and swallows. She doesn’t appear as devastated as she did last time we talked.
But still, my heart sinks at the thought of anyone being mean to my baby. “Don’t let her do that to you, honey.”
Wendy gives me a comforting grin. “I won’t.”
“So you’re back on for college?”
She grabs another olive from the can and bobs her head. “Maybe.” And then she leaves.
It’s difficult that it has to happen this way, but I realize my daughter has just learned a valuable lesson about human nature. While some people sincerely care about their friends, others are fine as long as you don’t have more than they do. Once you get something they want, they’ll scratch and claw until they drag you down into the pit with them.
Foster calls. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it to the reunion. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“You know it is, Foster. What happened?”
“Some of the guys at work are going on a one-night hunting trip.”
“Foster . . .” Oh, what’s the use? I just clamp my mouth shut and fume.
“You know how I love to hunt.”
“If you don’t go to this reunion with me, you’ll have to go hunting for a place to stay.”
“Aw, come on, Missy. It’s not like anyone will know I’m not there.”
“I’ll know.”
“You also know I hate those things.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from telling him all the things I do that I hate. The pressure in my chest builds, but I manage to keep my mouth shut.
“Missy? Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“So you’re telling me I can’t go hunting?”
“No, Foster, I’m not telling you anything of the sort. You’re a grown man, and you can do whatever you feel you need to do.”
“Okay, thanks, Missy. I’ll tell the guys.”
After I hang up, I want to scream. The anger inside me has reached its tipping point, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I take a few slow, deep breaths, just like I saw that yoga woman on YouTube do when I went looking for a way to relieve stress and anger. It helps, but it doesn’t make it go away.
After I finish throwing the rest of the ingredients into the salad, I cover it and stick it in the fridge. I’ll make the dressing in the morning and toss it into the vegetables when I get there.
I spend the remainder of the day frantically straightening the house, folding the laundry that’s been sitting in the
dryer since early this morning, and plumping the sofa cushions. Since tomorrow’s the big day, I haven’t got anything special planned for supper tonight. I figure I can fix canned soup and sandwiches, or we can order a pizza.
Foster is due to come home soon, and I don’t want to be in the kitchen waiting for him, so I go to our closet and try to find the perfect outfit for the reunion. I shove all of my pants to one side and look at each one with a critical eye. Uncle Bubba made a comment at the last one about how my backside needed a “wide load” sign. That’s why I now have a slew of tunic tops that cover my seat.
Every now and then I glance at the clock to see how much longer before I have to face my husband. He’s always had a mind of his own and done whatever he wanted to do, regardless of how I felt about it. But I would think that a family reunion with a wife who has stuck by him through thick and thin would be more important to him than a bunch of smelly guys on a hunting trip.
At a little after three o’clock, I hear the door from the garage slam shut. Foster is home early. I hear the rattling of bottles as he rummages around inside the refrigerator looking for something to drink.
I take a deep breath, shut my eyes, and ask God for forgiveness for my thoughts. I know it’s wrong to be mad all the time. Lord, help me deal with Foster and not always be so angry. Then I head to the kitchen.
Before I have a chance to open my mouth, he looks over at me, grins, and opens his arms wide. I just stand there and stare at him.
He gives me a look of confusion. “Are you mad at me?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be. I told my buddies that I’m going to the reunion with my family.”
I blink. “You did?”
I’m glad I decided to make a variety of things for the reunion. After all, Elliot will be with me, and I want to show him a side of me he’s never seen.
I make another run to the grocery store, where I run into Aunt Willa Dean. She looks me up and down before settling her gaze on mine. “Hey, Shay. Looks like you’ve lost some weight since last time I saw you. Have you been dieting?”