by Debby Mayne
“I hate to go to something like this empty-handed.” He walks me to the door and stops. “I’m delighted to know you’ll be there. At least I’ll have someone a little closer to my age to talk to.”
I leave his place with strange feelings surging through me. I’m not sure whether I should be happy or sad that he’ll be at the reunion, since I’d like to get to know him better. For the first time ever, I have two interesting guys in my life, and I find it confusing.
Then I kick myself back to reality. I just met Joe. Besides, Elliot is my date, so I need to stop thinking like this. I let out a sigh. I need to focus on all the work I have ahead of me tonight and stop thinking about all the what-ifs.
As soon as I open the door to my condo, I see water trailing out of the kitchen and onto the brand-new wood floors. I drop my purse and rush into the kitchen, where I wade across the lake covering the floor and open the dishwasher. What on earth? The whole thing is filled with suds.
I grab the closest dish towel and drop it onto the floor. A lot of good it does, so I tiptoe out of the kitchen and to the linen closet, where I pull out all the towels to sop up the mess. It takes me almost an hour to get all the water off the floor. When I open the cupboard beneath the sink, I realize what happened. In my haste, I reached for the regular dishwashing detergent rather than the kind for dishwashers. The bottles are similar, and I’ve been so absentminded lately, I haven’t paid close enough attention to what I’m doing.
The whole time I clean up the mess, I fuss at myself. This is one of the reasons I shouldn’t have let myself get mixed up with men. They mess with your mind. It’s a man who stepped into Sally and Sara’s life and disrupted it. It’s a man who has Sally wanting to suddenly get all domestic, even though he’ll be sorely disappointed when he finds out she doesn’t have a homemaking bone in her body. And it’s a man who has me doing crazy stuff. Well, actually, it’s now two men. Who’d have thought?
Two hours later, I have the mess cleaned up, a couple of respectable casseroles ready to be heated, and some cookies baked. I’ll make the deviled eggs in the morning because I want them to be fresh. I don’t think all this work will impress anyone in my family, but at least I won’t be going empty-handed, or worse, be the person who brings bagged potato chips and napkins.
“Mommy, I want some dat.” Jeremy points to the batter I’m mixing for his birthday cake I’m bringing to the reunion.
It’s late. I’ve already served Jeremy his supper, but Digger called and said he won’t be home for a while. It’s much later than Jeremy should be up, but he napped longer than usual this afternoon. Besides, I’m enjoying his company.
I smile down at Jeremy, and it dawns on me. He just said a complete sentence. Excitement courses through my body as I bend over and look him in the eyes. “Jeremy! What did you just say?”
He points. “Dat.”
“No, say the whole thing, Jeremy.”
His little face scrunches with confusion. “Dat!”
“You said, ‘Mommy, I want some dat.’” I push my face closer to his. “Can you say it again?”
His little chin quivers before I realize I’m holding onto his arm and squeezing so tight it’s bound to leave a bruise. I quickly let go.
“Okay, sweetie, you can lick the bowl when I’m all done.”
His near-tears face now beams. “Kankoo, Mommy.”
I try not to show my joy over the fact that he’s at least given me more than one-word commands. Twice now. That’s twice more than . . . well, ever.
After I pour the batter into the cake pans and swirl them around to level it out, I set the bowl on the table in front of his booster seat. He climbs up like a little monkey, gets into position, and grins before turning his attention to the bowl. Before I have a chance to give him the spoon, he sticks his hand into the bowl, scrapes a bunch of batter off the sides, and shoves it into his mouth.
I know I’m not supposed to give my young’un cake batter with raw eggs, but I’ve done it for all four of them, and nothing bad has ever happened. In fact, I’ve never known anyone who’s gotten sick from it. If I ever tried to wash the bowl before offering it to whoever’s in the kitchen, I’d have more squawking than you hear in a hen house.
After he’s all done, I lift him off the booster seat and carry him to the sink. He sticks his hands under the running water, rubs them together, and holds them up.
“See, Mommy? All keen.”
“Jeremy!” Now I want to fist-pump all over the place, but I don’t want to scare my little guy. So I just smile at him and place him on the floor. “Yes, sweetie, all clean.”
“Go pay now?”
“Sure, go ahead and play while I clean up the rest of the kitchen.”
As soon as Jeremy leaves the kitchen and goes to his toy box in the corner of the dining room, I grab my cell phone and call Digger. It rings twice before he answers.
“Whatcha need, Puddin’? I’m in the middle of a delivery.”
“I just wanted to tell you that Jeremy has been making sentences.”
“I know. He’s been doing that for several days. Look, hon, I’d love to chat, but I really need to go. The lady is waiting for me at the door.”
Now that my bubble is burst, I fold my arms and rock back on my heels. Why am I just now hearing about Jeremy making sentences?
After I allow myself to wallow in self-pity and a little bit of guilt for a few minutes, I get to work on the casserole I’m taking to the reunion tomorrow. Digger has been getting on my nerves more than usual lately. I’m doing all this work for his family reunion, making sure the house is clean, doing all the laundry, and cooking all the meals. I have supper on the table within five minutes of when he walks in the door every evening, giving him just enough time to change clothes.
Yeah, I’ve always done all of that, even after I started working. But he knows I have a paying job now. You’d think he might want to contribute to some of the household chores. But no, all he does is eat his supper, ask what’s for dessert, then go into the living room to watch TV, leaving the dirty dishes for me to do. By myself. Alone. While he relaxes. I’ve heard other wives with bigger things to complain about, so my guilt level rises again. This is something I’ll eventually need to discuss with him, but not now. I’m too busy.
I’ve just stuck the casserole in the oven when Jeremy comes running back into the kitchen. “Ook, Mommy. Airplane.”
“Yes, sweetie, I see your airplane.”
He zooms his little wooden airplane around me before running back to the dining room. I stare at the door as I think about how my baby is growing up and I’m the last to see it happening.
Amanda calls. “Do you know where the order form for the winter collection is?”
“Yes, I put it in the top drawer, in the pending order file.”
She laughs. “That’s logical. I’m afraid my brains aren’t working very well lately, with all the stuff I have to do to get ready for the move.”
“Did you hear back from the Realtor about that lady who is interested in buying the store?”
“She likes it, but she doesn’t want to give me what I think it’s worth.”
“You don’t have to sell, you know. I can run it for you, and we can hire another part-timer.”
Amanda clears her throat. “I know. I might have to do that, but I’d really like to sell it so I won’t have to think about it anymore.”
“I thought you liked having the store.”
“It was always my dream, but . . .” Her voice trails off.
“So you’re saying it wasn’t what you thought it would be like?”
“Pretty much. I envisioned being surrounded by fashion and pretty things all day. I thought people just like me would come in and buy everything I show them. But it’s nothing like that. It’s more . . . well, more businesslike than I ever thought.”
“And that’s the part I like.”
“I know you do. Too bad you can’t buy it.”
My
entire body goes numb. The thought of purchasing La Chic has never even crossed my mind. Until now.
“Who says I can’t buy it?”
She lets out a soft laugh. “You know Digger would never go along with that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Amanda sighs. “I have someone else looking at it tomorrow afternoon. It’s a man who owns a chain of different retail stores, and he says this will fit with his brand.”
“You don’t sound terribly excited about him.”
“I’m not. He plans to come in and completely redo everything, including staff.”
“Are you saying—?”
Before I can finish the rest of the sentence, she replies, “I’m afraid so. He told my Realtor he has his way of doing things, and it’s nothing like how we’re currently doing them.”
“Please don’t sell to him.”
“I’m so sorry, Puddin’, but if he offers my asking price, I’ll have to.”
Now I know I have to buy her store. It’s a matter of self-preservation. All I have to do is think of a way to bring it up to Digger without having him go ballistic.
I wake up the next morning feeling like someone hit me over the head with a two-by-four—not that I know what it feels like to be hit over the head with a piece of wood. Or with anything else, for that matter. It is just something Daddy used to say after a rough day, and now I get it.
Before I sit up, I squeeze my eyes shut again and pray that the day will be smooth and nothing terrible will happen. I know better than to pray for everything to be rosy because this is my family reunion, and that would be totally unrealistic. I’m fully aware of the drama some of the people in my family drag around with them everywhere they go. And being honest with myself, I realize that I’m more worried about taking Elliot to the event than I realized. It might be fine, but it can also turn out to be a total disaster. What was I thinking?
My thoughts drift to my new neighbor. Joe seems very comfortable about going to my family reunion, even though he doesn’t know most of my relatives. I have a feeling his confidence is more like mine—new but developed. And then I remember that sometimes my self-assuredness is a facade. Deep down, I know who I am and where I come from, and there’s no reason to be too full of myself based on that.
I wonder if Joe has a big family and whether or not he plans to stay in Pinewood very long. Some youth pastors go from church to church until they eventually move up to the lead position at the church, or burn out and go into another field altogether.
After a few more minutes of procrastination, I finally get up and head to the kitchen for coffee. One thing I’ve counted on since adulthood is the first sip of the first cup of coffee. There’s just something about it that lets me know I’m still alive. And it helps to have a shot of a special flavoring in my morning dose of caffeine.
I sit down and take a few sips while staring at the news page on the screen of my tablet. It reminds me that what I worry about is mostly first world problems, and that folks in other countries would give anything to have them. Even in my world, there are hungry people—folks who are down on their luck and haven’t had the advantages I’ve had in life.
Mama used to organize a group at church to help feed the homeless in Hattiesburg. We’d all convene at the church once a month and go through the donation boxes from people bringing in canned goods on Sundays. From that, we’d decide how many people we had food for and divide it as equally as possible. Then someone would pull the church van up to the multipurpose room’s door, and we’d load up. After that, I was never sure where it went, since Mama didn’t want me going wherever it was. She said she wanted to protect me, and now I wonder what she wanted to protect me from, since I never heard about any homeless person in Hattiesburg hurting someone.
After I finish my coffee, I take a shower and slip into some shorts and a T-shirt. I don’t want to mess up what I plan to wear to the reunion.
Most of the food I’ve cooked goes into the oven to be heated up, then I set about the task of cleaning the condo so it isn’t a mess when Elliot arrives. I’ve barely finished when my phone rings. When I see that it’s Elliot, I half hope he’s calling to say he can’t make it. Maybe this is the Lord’s way of reminding me that He’s in control.
“Hi, Shay. I just wondered if we might need extra ice.”
“Oh.” I think for a minute. “No, I’m pretty sure that’s covered.”
“I thought I’d ask since I’m at the store now.” He pauses. “I’ll see you in an hour and a half.” He lowers his voice. “I sure hope your family is okay with my being there.”
After we hang up, I head back to the kitchen to check on the food in the oven, boil the eggs, and put the finishing touches on the platters in the fridge. I got a little carried away last night and put together a few last-minute concoctions. With my family, more is always better.
As I work, I ponder my conversation with Elliot, and I’m ashamed of myself for half hoping he’d called to say he couldn’t make it. He did sound nervous, so at least he’s prepared. And then it makes me smile to think that this Pinewood golden boy might be insecure about anything. I’ve always thought of him as the most confident guy in our high school, but we’ve been out of high school for a long time now. I need to remember that things change. I’ve gained confidence, so why shouldn’t someone who seemed to have boatloads of it back then slide in the other direction? I’m sure that must be more common than I ever realized.
Before I finish getting ready, I turn off the oven and assemble the deviled eggs. As soon as Elliot arrives, I can get everything ready for transporting.
I start to put on the outfit I’d originally planned to wear but change my mind because it now seems too boring. Instead, I slip into some casual taupe linen slacks, a turquoise tank top, and a peach-and-cream striped overshirt. Then I put on a necklace that pulls all the summery colors together before sliding into my favorite jute sandals. I pull my hair up into a messy bun like the younger girls wear these days. It took watching several YouTube videos and lots of practice before I managed to master the technique, but I think I look pretty good.
I’m thankful that my skin is clear today because I don’t want to wear too much makeup on such a hot day. A swipe of coral lipstick gives me the finish I want. Then I stand back and take a good, long look at myself in the full-length mirror. Before I have a chance to get too caught up in self-admiration, my doorbell rings.
The instant I open the door, Elliot’s eyes widen. “Whoa. You look—” He lowers his head. “I’ve already told you this.”
“Told me what?”
“The fact that you look amazing.”
Yes, he has told me that. The first time I was embarrassed but flattered, but now it seems like overkill, and I’m a tad annoyed. I wonder if this is something he always says when he picks up a girl for a date.
My mind flashes back to Joe. I can’t help but think he’d have something more appropriate to say. Something more meaningful. Something less canned.
“Whatcha thinkin’?” Elliot asks.
“That I need to get the food out of the oven and fridge and put it in boxes so the hot food will stay hot and the cold food will stay cold.”
“Do you have the boxes, or do I need to go get them?” The eagerness in his voice touches my heart.
“I have them in the garage.” I hold up a finger as I back away. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you fix yourself a cup of coffee while you wait? It’s still hot.”
“What’s the worst that’ll happen if I don’t go?”
“You said you’d go with me. Are you going back on your word?” I’m super annoyed by the fact that Foster keeps changing his mind.
His lips form a straight line as he stares at me. “I didn’t say that.”
“Come on, Foster. It’s just one day out of your life.”
He places his fists on his hips and shakes his head. “I wish that’s all it was. Your family has more reunions in one year than mine has in a lifetim
e.”
“The most we have is two a year,” I remind him. “And you always have a good time when you go.”
He snickers. “Is that what you think?”
Tears spring to my eyes before I have a chance to stop them. I’ve always bent over backward to make sure Foster gets his way, and I’d like for him to at least be nice on these occasions.
He steps closer and cups my chin in his hand. “Missy, darlin’, you’re a wonderful wife, but you have to admit this is asking an awful lot from someone who hates crowds.”
“How about all your fishing and hunting trips? I can’t think of anything more crowded than six or eight grown men in a little cabin.”
Foster drops his hand and shakes his head. “That’s different.”
“It’s only different because you want to go.”
“There you have it. I like fishing and hunting. I don’t like family reunions and having to pretend.”
“But I do.” I step back, lower my head, and pull my lips between my teeth as I think about his last statement. “What do you mean, pretend?”
He makes a face. “I have to pretend to be having a good time.”
“That’s because you don’t allow yourself to have fun.”
“Then why don’t you go and have yourself a good time?”
“What will I tell everyone?”
He shrugs. “Maybe say I didn’t want to go, so I’m home watching a game on TV.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, that’ll go over like a lead balloon.”
“You sound just like my mama.”
Finally, I let out the loudest sigh I can manage. “Fine. Stay here and watch your stupid TV like you do every Saturday when you’re not hunting or fishing. I’ll go do something meaningful with the people who will always be there to support me no matter what.” I give him a harsh glare before walking out of the room. So much for my resolve to not be so mad all the time.