Regina guided Maxine to the door, and closed it behind her.
Well, look at that. Her Regina had some teeth after all.
WHAT IS YOUR GREATEST HEARTBREAK?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
May spread the napkin on her lap and tried to look like she ate at such nice restaurants all the time. After helping out with her four cousins all afternoon, her aunt had decided to treat her to an extra special meal. Roza came over to watch the little ones and seemed oddly delighted to have a houseful of loud kids to watch. May just hoped they stayed out of her room, which didn’t have a lock. Aunt Vicky had declared she wanted real, grown-up food, so here they sat on a very packed Saturday night. May could see the cooks working in an open kitchen, where a short woman with a dark ponytail worked next to another woman with red braids. Flames shot up from the grill, flashing against the white walls.
Aunt Vicky set her phone on the table. “I just texted your mom to let her know we are up to shenanigans.” Aunt V sipped her wine. “God, this is amazing. Want some?”
Aunt Vicky held her wineglass out to May, the red liquid sloshing in the glass.
“No.” May’s stomach churned. She held her hand up as if to block even the scent.
“That’s right. You don’t like wine. Your mom told me about that.”
Of course she had. Her mom always seemed to share her most embarrassing stories with Aunt Vicky.
The blush breaking over her cheeks probably made her look like the flames in the kitchen. “Besides, I’m not old enough, either.”
“That never stopped me. It’s Wisconsin—you can drink with a parent. I’m close enough. Kidding, kidding.” Vicky took a long drink. “You’re my DD.”
“That might not be your best idea.”
Aunt Vicky swatted at the air, but May wasn’t worried she was upset with her sarcasm. “You have cars in your blood, you could totally do it. I bet your dad was already teaching you to drive.”
May smiled at the thought of her dad, how his eyes sparkled every time he saw her, like seeing her caused them to twinkle or how his hugs made every skinned knee instantly better. And Aunty Vicky was right, he had started teaching her to drive—a couple of times. They’d started by going to a big parking lot and he’d set her on his lap. He’d work the pedals and she would steer around the lot, weaving in and around the lampposts. Not long before he died, he even let her do it all by herself, calmly talking her through the steps, teaching her to push gently on the pedals. Steering was nothing like in the movies, where actors turned the wheel with huge motions. She barely needed to move it and the entire car would turn, and only a little pressure on the gas would shoot it forward—assuming she had pushed the right pedal.
“A few times.” May smiled.
Aunt Vicky winked at her. That’s one of the things she liked most about Aunt V. She didn’t mind breaking the rules a bit—sometimes she encouraged it.
“So tell me about this Connor. Is he cute?” Aunt Vicky grinned at her.
May nodded.
“What does he look like?”
May looked at the ceiling and pictured him in her mind.
“He has dark brown hair, almost black—it’s a little longer on the top, but short around his ears and neck. Darker skin than me. His smile is crooked, but kinda cute. And he has one blue eye and one brown eye—that’s definitely my favorite.”
“Like Bowie.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Good God, now I know what to get you for next Christmas. Does he smell nice?”
May scrunched up her nose trying to remember.
“I didn’t really smell anything.”
“That’s a good thing—most teenage boys either wear too much aftershave or not enough deodorant.”
“We definitely have those at school.”
“Is Connor in a lot of your classes? Is he smart like you?”
May sipped her water.
“Yeah, he’s in almost all of them, but he’s way smarter than me. He’ll probably be a doctor like both of his parents.”
May wished she knew what she wanted to be. She used to think she’d be a mechanic like her dad, but now . . . who knows. She picked up her menu.
“Get anything you want. My treat for helping me with the kiddos today.”
“I didn’t mind. They’re fun.”
“More fun than hanging out in a hospital room or working in the food truck . . .”
May shrugged at Aunt V’s comment. It was true, but she really did like her cousins. It was like having brothers and sisters, but they would eventually leave before they got too annoying.
“I was a teenager once, too. And I know my kids can be a handful when they’re off their routine—and Uncle Jeff did not stick to the routine while I was gone. Now it’ll take time to get everyone back on schedule.”
“Is that why you bought an entire bottle of wine?”
“Precisely.”
May looked over the menu. Everything was expensive, not just the wine. Even the appetizers started at fifteen dollars and had weird ingredients like speck and brussels sprouts. She looked around the restaurant and noticed she was the only person her age. The walls were decorated with thick, kelly-green curtains against crisp white paint, and black and white squares checkerboarding the floor. The table next to them was empty except for a small silver frame with a picture of two old people.
She eyed the menu again. It was only one page—and it didn’t list the desserts. Everything was fancy. She wished she had worn a dress rather than the jeans and T-shirt Aunt Vicky said was okay. Would the other customers think she was underdressed, too? She sipped the kiddy cocktail she had ordered, pulling a bright red cherry off the plastic sword and popping it into her mouth.
“You know what they use to color those, right?”
May paused chewing to speak. “Bugs. And they are delicious.” She returned to chewing. Olivia had told her about the bugs a few years ago over ice cream sundaes. May had decided that plenty of people ate bugs every day, and that cherries were still delicious, so she didn’t care.
“That’s my girl.” Aunty Vicky looked at her menu. “What are you going to get?”
“I don’t really know what any of this is . . .” May whispered it. Before Aunt Vicky could make any suggestions, the waiter returned.
“Any questions about the menu, or are you ready to order?” he asked nicely.
“Trust me to order for you?”
May nodded. It was better than having to ask the waiter to explain everything.
“We’ll have the cheese plate to start, then I’ll have the lamb, medium-rare. The young lady will have your short rib and Parmesan risotto special. And could we get a few more pieces of this incredible bread and butter, please?”
“Of course.” The waiter hustled back to the kitchen.
Vicky took the last slice of bread and slathered on the rest of the butter.
“God, this is so good. I don’t remember the last time I had real butter.”
“You guys eat margarine at your house?”
“Yeah, Jeff likes that olive oil spread. It’s supposedly healthy, but it tastes like grease.” Aunt Vicky pretended to gag herself.
The extra bread and butter arrived, and May took a piece before Aunt Vicky ate it all again. It was still warm and crusty on the outside. May could probably make a great dessert out of it, maybe a grilled sandwich with Nutella or that spread made from cookies. She chewed in silence.
“How was the food truck with your mom today?”
May shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Meh. It was okay until my friends showed up. One of them kind of made me give them their sandwiches without paying. It was stupid.”
“You gave away food? I bet your mom was pissed.”
“I lost my phone for another week. But she’s such a hypocrite with that lady who complains to get free stuff. And then this guy stopped by.” May rolled her eyes, but Aunt Vicky smiled.
“Daniel came back. Nice.”
May did not think he was nice at all. He had no right bringing her mom things or smiling at her. Mom still wore her and Dad’s wedding rings. Did he not see that? May chewed her bread slowly, picking another chunk of bread off and eating it.
“You don’t think it’s nice that a man thinks your mom is hot?”
“Ew. I don’t even want to think about that.”
“You know, if she were dating, she’d probably give you more freedom.”
May imagined her mom going on a date with Daniel and his smile, and the way he watched her move around as she cooked. Creepy. Well, not creepy. But she didn’t like it. But she did like the idea of more freedom. Not that she planned to do any more wine drinking, but she would like to go see Olivia or Connor. Definitely not Hannah. Hannah owed her fifteen dollars.
“I guess.”
“So how is school? You’ve obviously got the boy thing down. What’s your favorite class these days?”
May looked down at the table.
“It’s all right.”
Aunt Vicky sipped her wine and studied May’s face. She raised an eyebrow.
“Then tell me why it’s not great.”
“There’s a lot more homework. Mrs. Xi keeps asking me to write about my dad in the journal we have for class. Like I’m going to write about that so she can read it.”
“So what do you write in there?”
“I write about my brownie ideas. I’m up to thirty-two different kinds.” May twisted the napkin on her lap. “And everyone is so stupid. All they care about is clothes and Instagram and boys.”
“Weren’t we just talking about Connor?”
“That’s different.” May smiled a bit. Okay, maybe not so different. “I guess no one cares about their friends. No one really wants to hear when someone is sad, or angry, or if something will get them in trouble.”
“You’ve just described every teenager everywhere—and you’re at the worst spot for it because once you get into high school you have more freedom. I hated middle school. I remember crying almost every day.”
“What could possibly make you cry?”
“My hair wasn’t blond enough, and Grandma Lorraine wouldn’t let me bleach it.” Aunt Vicky refilled her glass. At this rate, the bottle would be gone before the cheese arrived. “Your mom is doing an A-okay job. She let you do that to your hair.” May touched the bleached streak. She had hoped it would be almost white, but it was a dirty yellow-orange. “If one of my kids did that, I would shave their head.”
“Your kids are all under eight.”
“All the more reason to be angry with them for doing something so silly. At least you didn’t pierce anything.” Aunt Vicky tilted her head. “You haven’t pierced anything, have you?”
May shook her head.
“Tattoo?”
May shook her head again.
“Your dad had great tattoos.”
May nodded. He really did. “I liked the one of our names the best.”
“I don’t think I ever saw that one. What did it look like?”
“When I was little, like really little and could barely write my name, Daddy had me and Mom write our names on his chest with a Sharpie. Then he had the artist tattoo over them so he always had our names right next to his heart. He even had them do my name in bright pink because that was the marker I had used.”
When she got older, she was embarrassed by how wobbly the letters were, but her dad insisted that made it more special. She wished he could have done the same to her so she would still have his name in her heart. Maybe she could find a piece of paper with his signature on it. No tattoo parlor would let her get it on her own, but maybe if she had the right kind of help . . .
Aunt Vicky scooped out the last of the butter, closing her eyes to enjoy the flavor as she chewed. May checked the contents of the wine bottle—only half remained.
“Hey, Aunt Vicky, I have a question for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gina sipped her hot decaf coffee as a nurse checked her mom’s vitals and ran a few other quick tests to measure her progress. Her head movement had improved, but she was still too wobbly when she tried to stand on her own. Gina stood and looked out the window when her phone buzzed.
I took May to a nice dinner. Roza is watching the kids at your house. How’s Mom?
Gina was a little jealous that May liked Aunt Vicky more than she liked her. She knew it was because Vicky didn’t have to enforce any rules, but it still stung. She sighed and sent a quick response.
Have fun. Mom’s okay. Maxine Fuller stopped by. I’ll fill you in later. What a B!
Slipping her phone back in her purse, she pulled out her trusty notebook.
Tomorrow her mom would be moved to the rehab facility. It had already been four days since her stroke. Gina would be glad to be out of the hospital with the perpetual round of doctors. She started a list of things that needed to be done before then.
1. Pack up Mom’s toiletries and clothes.
2. Pick up fresh flowers.
3. Breakfast for seven? Eggs? Pancakes?
She put her pen down. The long hours in the hospital were starting to wear at her. Every time she walked through the doors, she had déjà vu of the worst day of her life.
May had been at school, but it was a warm March day, rare in Wisconsin. Spring flowers peeked out of the thawing soil, buds had started to swell on dormant branches, and geese winged their way back north, crossing overhead in large V formations. She had opened all the windows in the house before heading out to work, wanting to clear out the stale winter air.
Both she and Drew had been late that morning, having taken advantage of the empty house after May had left to catch the school bus. She had run her hands down her husband’s chest, trailing over his stomach. His firm waist from their twenties had been replaced by a softer layer, though she still enjoyed the way T-shirts tightened around his strong arms. She was no twenty-five-year-old either, with her stretch marks and padded butt, too much time in an office chair and too little time on a treadmill. None of that mattered, though, because they were still googly-eyed in love.
He had cropped his longer locks a few years ago, and now gray mingled with his dark blond. She ran her hand across the tattoos of her and May’s names, kissing them.
“Maybe we should both call in sick today,” she said, knowing he’d catch her drift.
Drew did catch her drift and chuckled. His laugh rumbled in his chest.
“Should I call myself, then? I think I’ll know that I’m full of shit. I can’t, babe. I have three people picking up their bikes today. You know this is the busy season, no matter how badly I want to call in sick with you. Everyone wants them as soon as riding weather arrives. The thunder is going to be loud this weekend if the sunshine holds.”
“Do you miss it?”
Drew had sold his motorcycle the moment they found out Gina was pregnant, a few months after the night he’d met her parents. Three months after that they married. She didn’t tell her parents until the day after May was born. Her mom had arrived at the hospital with an armful of flowers that must have cost a fortune.
“Not one bit. And I get to ride them around the parking lot.”
“That’s not the same.”
“I know. When May is grown, I might get another one, but it’s really more fun fixing them up. That was always my favorite part anyway.” He pulled his shirt over his head. “Can you stop by later? I want to show you my progress on Grilled G’s.”
“What’s Grilled G’s?”
“The name of your food truck.” His eyes danced with mischief. “I thought Grilled G’s would be a great name, ’cause it sounds like grilled cheese. Get it?”
Gina didn’t think it was possible, but she fell in love even more with her husband in that moment. He had found an old square truck and started fixing it for her, salvaging cooking equipment, rebuilding the engine, and replacing rusted sheets of metal. Once he was done, she was going to start visiting farmers’ marke
ts and festivals on the weekends. The money would go toward May’s college fund and their retirement. And now, on top of all that, he’d come up with the perfect name for it.
“How did I get so lucky?”
“You pretended you couldn’t remember any of the information I told you so you could keep setting up redundant meetings with me.”
He kissed her, sending heat to every part of her body, even after fifteen years.
“Are you sure you can’t call in sick?”
“I wish. But if I ever get there, maybe I can leave early.”
“I’ll come visit at lunch. Maybe you can close up shop for a while.” She winked at him.
He grabbed a piece of paper—his daily note to May—then started down the steps, stretching and rubbing his left arm.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Gina went to her underwear drawer and pulled out his favorite pair. She wanted to be very persuasive later.
At noon, Gina parked her car in front of his small shop and turned off the engine. Drew didn’t need much room for the bikes. An old gas station with two garage doors and a large storage room for parts was the perfect size. One of the garage bays held the newly christened “Grilled G’s.” She couldn’t wait to see his progress on it.
She stepped through the door, the loud radio Drew liked to listen to while working drowning out the tiny bells hanging on the entrance that announced new customers. She turned down the volume. Two bikes, shiny and polished, waited for their owners to pick them up.
“Drew! Where are you?”
No answer. His car was out back, so he must be around. The bathroom? She looked in the waiting room, but the bathroom door was wide open. The storage room?
“Drew?”
He better not be planning to jump out and startle her. She hated that. He had done it once when they were first married, and she’d punched him in the face. Both of them were surprised to learn she was a fighter, not a flight-er.
Light leaked from the storage room, where shelves were lined up in rows like a library for parts. She looked down each row, getting more and more irritated that he hadn’t answered her. After she put on this uncomfortable underwear and everything.
The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go Page 18