There, that felt real, because even as he was chasing her with the awful fish breath, or trapping her in her room with his noxious butt fumes, these were things only he did. They made him just as special as the daddy that read her Where the Wild Things Are every night until she had it memorized, doing different voices for the monsters and the mom and Max.
“I miss him so much,” May said.
“I do, too.”
They worked in silence for a few moments.
“Learning about Grandma’s life makes me sad for her. And you.”
Gina paused what she was doing.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re too young to be like her. She never fell in love again. You deserve to have someone, someday.” May looked out the window at who was approaching the window. “Speak of the devil.” She had spotted him earlier, waiting to approach the food truck, like he was gathering his courage to talk to the girl he had a crush on. Obviously. She couldn’t understand how her mom didn’t realize this guy was into her—he clearly checked her site to see where she would be working.
“Hey there, G.” Daniel paused when he looked at May. He clearly hadn’t forgotten their last meeting. “Hi, May.”
“Hi, Daniel. Sorry I was rude last time.”
He chuckled. He had a nice smile, super straight and white without being like neon. May liked how he always brought things for her mom. His hat was pulled over his ears and a scarf warmed his neck. “Thanks. That’s very nice of you to say.”
“Hi, Daniel.” Gina was looking at May, clearly onto her attitude shift toward Daniel. “What can I make you?”
With a shivering hand, he placed a jar on the counter labeled HOLY SMOKE. Gina picked it up, opened it, and gave it a deep sniff. When she pulled it away, she had a tiny white dab of the dip on her nose. She didn’t notice, and May wasn’t going to tell her. She wished she still wasn’t grounded from her phone so she could live-text Olivia and Connor about this weird scene. And Aunt Vicky would definitely appreciate a play-by-play.
“This is nice.” Gina dipped in a spoon to taste it. Daniel opened his mouth to say something about the dip dot, but her mom kept talking. “And why don’t you get in here? Your lips are turning blue.”
May would swear he blushed at the mention of his lips, but he nodded and walked up the stairs. “Stand by the griddle, that’s where it’s warmest. How did you get so cold?”
Daniel shrugged his shoulders.
“It took me a while to decide what I wanted.” His eyes still focused on the end of her nose.
“The dip, it’s . . .” Daniel was pointing at his nose, trying to tell Gina about her own, but she was too busy moving around the small kitchen to notice.
Gina pulled out the potato chips, pausing to look out the window.
“May, why don’t you close up the window? It looks like we’re done for the day. I’ll get Daniel hooked up with something warm . . .”
May tried not to laugh. Did her mom not hear herself? Could she not feel the dip on her nose? Daniel moved into the corner and was joined by her mom in close quarters. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, clearly befuddled. May pulled down the window, shutting out the winter wind. The truck instantly became warmer. May snuck a chip and dipped it into the jar Daniel had brought. It was tasty, smoky and salty with a nice tang, like bacon and mayo had a baby. Her mom finally stopped moving long enough for Daniel to get her attention.
Daniel pointed at her face. “You have a . . .”
“I have a what.” This was almost too hard to watch, but May grabbed a handful of chips and did it anyway.
Still dumbstruck, Daniel looked around the small space, taking a napkin from a nearby stack. He carefully wiped the dip away, her mom becoming still, like a deer as a car approached on a country road at night. Any sudden moves and she would bolt.
“There, I got it. It was dip.”
“Thanks.”
Awkward.
Daniel cleared his throat and tossed the napkin into the garbage can.
“So, do you think you can make something with it?”
Her mom ate another chip.
“If I can stop eating it . . . !” She took one more bite, then got to work.
Her mom assembled a sandwich with chicken, bacon, the dip, and a nice sharp cheddar on thick white slices. While she was doing that, Daniel unwrapped himself from the scarf and hat, his dusty brown hair jutting out in different directions. He clutched the woolen items in his hand, kneading them like bread dough.
“So, G.” His eyes shifted to May. She had a feeling about what was coming, but did her mom? “I thought, maybe, sometime you’d like to go out. Somewhere you wouldn’t have to cook for me? Or even just a cup of coffee? Maybe?”
He did it. He really asked her out. His cheeks were pink with the effort, and he was sweating in the corner near the griddle. Gina didn’t answer right away. She checked the bottom of the sandwich to see if it needed to be flipped. It did. She flipped it, pressing down on the top to make sure the sandwich had optimal contact with the hot surface. The longer she didn’t answer, the more Daniel stretched his hat between his hands. What would happen first? Would he tear a hole in it or would her mom answer? Gina checked the bottom of the sandwich, but it wasn’t ready yet. She set down her spatula and rubbed her hands on her apron, then tapped her double-stacked wedding rings on her ring finger absentmindedly.
“I didn’t expect you to ask me out.”
“Really?” Both May and Daniel said it at the same time.
She checked the sandwich again. May could see it needed a few more minutes, but her mom cut it in half and set it into a paper boat. Normally when her mom cooked, her movements were like a well-rehearsed dance, smooth and confident. Now, they were quick and jittery, like she’d had too much caffeine.
“Here you go.” She stepped out of the cozy corner. Daniel stood holding the sandwich. She took a handful of chips and added it to the container, as if that was what he’d been waiting for.
Sometimes grown-ups needed help. May nudged the back of her mom’s leg with her toe. Gina turned and May mouthed “answer him.” Gina took a slow breath and turned to face him, so May couldn’t see her face, but she could see Daniel’s. His face went from hopeful to sad, like someone had offered him a puppy then taken it away. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, then picked up a chip from his basket, and let it drop back down.
Her mom crossed her arms.
“Daniel.” Her voice was soft, like it was the day she told May her goldfish had died and they would need to flush it down the toilet. “I’m flattered. I really am.”
“It’s okay. I get it. I shouldn’t have asked. I crossed a line.” He moved to leave the truck, sandwich in hand, and Gina grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked into her face, his eyes hoping she might give him a yes.
“I lost my husband almost two years ago.” Daniel’s mouth formed an O. “I haven’t started dating yet. Dating again yet.” She held up her hand where she still wore both their gold bands. “I’m not sure I’m ready.”
Daniel nodded.
“I understand. And I’m so sorry about your husband.”
“Thank you. We’re all okay.” She paused and looked at May. “Actually, that’s not entirely true. But we will be.” She let go of his arm. “How about this? When I am ready for a coffee, or a dinner, you’ll be the first person I call.”
Daniel met her eyes and nodded.
“I’d really like that.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll stop visiting me. I’d really miss your challenges.”
Daniel smiled, making a tiny dimple pop at the edge of his scruff.
“I may be shy, but I’m not a fool. I’m not going to miss out on the best grilled cheese in the state.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Lorraine checked the clock. The girls should have landed in DC by now. She hoped she could someday make the journey in person but wasn’t sure that was going to happen. The
therapy exhausted her, for such little payoff. She’d already had one session with Erin the Therapist today, and would have another one later today. She was working on a surprise. The physical therapy was even more exhausting. Just standing and shuffling a few feet forward sapped her energy. At this rate, she couldn’t imagine ever living on her own again.
In the corner of the room, May colored with the kids, working on WELCOME HOME signs for their moms. They had brought a carton of glue sticks, glitter, and scissors to go with the paper. The ground would sparkle for weeks, holding on to the memory long after she had been released to go home. They’d even managed to get a few sparkles on her hands, which she hadn’t expected to like so much.
“When do I get to say ‘I told you so’?” Roza entered the room and flopped into the chair near the window. Lorraine tried to scowl, but couldn’t tell if she had succeeded. Lorraine envied Roza’s mobility. Of course, she had envied so much of Roza’s life. She loved her husband for forty-eight years before he died, and they had four strong boys and an entire bushel of grandchildren to spoil and cuddle. She had never known Roza to be unhappy—sure, there were frustrations, like not having enough money to replace their rusted-out Bonneville or her husband not listening to the doctor’s orders to cut his salt intake. But Roza had the life Lorraine had chosen once and been too scared to choose again. “I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like this no-talking thing.” Roza chuckled.
And to answer her question, no, she didn’t need to say “I told you so.” Roza had been right.
“Why did one man need so many different navy-blue suits? They all look the same.”
After Floyd had died, the two women boxed up his room, dumping armfuls of clothes into cardboard boxes to take to Goodwill. Floyd had always been a dapper dresser—his closet full of custom suits proved that. The navy were just the beginning. He also had black, pinstriped, tan, and even a few summer suits for the occasional summer wedding or lawn bowling party. He had a suit for every occasion, even his own funeral. Floyd would be buried in a dark green Italian suit he’d bought on his last business trip. She dumped another armful into the box.
“Who knows. He didn’t like to wear a suit more than a few times a year.”
Lorraine looked around Floyd’s room, her eyes searching for some evidence that he had been married to her. He had always kept his room spartan—only his bed, nightstand, and lamp for furniture, and art she’d chosen on the wall. Other than his closet, this could have been anyone’s room—his office had been where he’d made himself at home.
“Now that he’s gone, you can tell the girls the truth. Won’t that be a relief?” Roza sat on the edge of the bed to rest. They’d both begun to do that more these days. “I still have the box.”
Lorraine looked over her shoulder before she could stop herself. Old habits died slowly.
“Absolutely not. There’s no reason to dredge up the past now. What good would it do?”
Roza stood, retrieved an armload of white shirts, and dumped them into an empty box, not even bothering to remove the sturdy wood hangers.
“They deserve to know the truth. They should know Joe was their father, not Floyd.”
“They’ve both grown up just fine, married and with their own babies now.”
Lorraine knew these were excuses, so she did what she always did when she felt uncomfortable feelings, she ignored them and focused on something else, something practical. She stopped to rest and stretch her arms, which had started to ache from packing. Floyd’s room, the house’s master bedroom, was a touch bigger than hers. Maybe she could turn this into a guest room for when Victoria and Jeff came to visit—then their kids could bunk in Victoria’s and Regina’s old rooms and the whole family wouldn’t be crowded. She’d take this one herself, but her room did get better natural light.
“Are you listening to yourself? Someday it’s going to be too late, Lorraine. Gina and Vicky should know that Joe loved them, and that you loved him, and that you were happy once.”
That caught Lorraine’s attention.
“I am happy,” Lorraine said.
Roza snorted.
“I have been. How could I not be happy with my girls?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. It’s time to let them in, after hiding for thirty years. Don’t you want them to know you?”
Lorraine thought about it. Thought about telling her daughters her biggest secret. Would they understand? Would they forgive her? They were both so capable—could they grasp why she’d made the choices she’d made? No. It was too big of a risk.
“No. The past is the past, and there is nothing to be gained from airing dirty laundry at this late date. That’s the end of it.”
“Fine. But when you die, I’m telling them.” Roza closed the lid on a box, folding the flaps so it would stay shut.
“You’re assuming you’ll outlive me, but you have almost twenty years on me.”
“It’s more like fifteen, and you never let me forget it.”
Had Lorraine taken Roza’s advice that day, she would have been able to make the journey to DC with her girls instead of waiting for them to return, worrying about their flight, and wondering what they were thinking. She’d been reflecting a lot on the mistakes she had made in her life—almost always, it seemed now, the choices she’d made had been based on what was easier. She chose marrying for convenience, really, over hard work. She chose keeping Joe a secret over facing the anger of her daughters. She chose artifice over authenticity every time. Since the stroke, she’d begun to wonder if easier was not always the answer.
But she had to believe it was never too late to change. She wanted to be the woman who’d fallen in love with the flirtatious used-car salesman, the one who only needed love to be happy.
Lorraine smoothed the sheet on her lap, admiring the way the glitter picked up the sunshine streaming in the window. Roza had fallen asleep in the chair, a soft snore rumbling with each breath, almost like a cat purring. They both nodded off a bit more these days. Nathan crawled onto her bed, his hands covered in glue and more glitter, leaving a trail of specks on the white bedding.
Nathan’s large brown eyes were exactly the same shape as Joe’s, down to the long, thick lashes. His sticky fingers clasped her cheeks as he gazed at her intently and seriously. Lorraine sucked in a breath, overwhelmed. It felt like she was seeing him for the first time.
Sure, she had always spent time with her grandchildren, Christmas and Easter, when rooms were crowded, parents were stressed, and kids were exhausted from being on their best behavior for too many hours in a row. Before the stroke, she was too busy finding fault in their behavior, or their parents’ parenting decisions to really see them. Or for them to see her.
As frustrating as not being able to speak was, maybe there were some benefits to it. Room to breathe. Room to see.
May had watched the exchange and retrieved a damp washcloth from the bathroom to clean off the glitter coating her face. Lorraine waved her off, squeezing her hand so she’d feel her gratitude. She was sure that she looked ridiculous, but she had no intention of removing the physical evidence of Nathan’s affection anytime soon. She’d leave it there until the day she died, if she could.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It’s ridiculous there are no nonstop flights from Milwaukee to DC,” Victoria said. She and Gina had been up since 4:00 a.m. to finally arrive via Atlanta. Not the most efficient, but at least they were here. They had three and a half hours before they needed to be back at the airport.
“At least we don’t have any luggage to drag around,” Gina said.
“Always the fucking optimist. Can’t you just be grumpy like the rest of us?”
Gina nearly snorted her cold coffee—not cold because it was iced, but because it had been warm three hours ago when she bought it at the Atlanta airport during their layover and was now cold.
“Be thankful I put on a happy face. Grumpy-Gina wouldn’t function well in society.”
“Just say
ing it’s okay to not always be happy. Life might be like a box of chocolates, but sometimes all the chocolates are filled with that crappy orange cream filling.”
They joined the taxi line. Gina pulled out her hat and gloves. She had hoped the weather would be a bit warmer, since they were farther south, but no such luck. Winter had come. They shivered next to each other as the line shuffled forward.
“The orange filling is okay,” Gina said.
“You’ve just proven my point. Life is too short to put up with the fake orange-flavored goo. Toss it and move on to the dark chocolate–covered coconut.”
“I’m confused. Is this an analogy? Is being a widow accepting the orange goo? And what’s the coconut? And what if I really want the toffee, but not the ones with nuts?”
Victoria stuck her tongue out at Gina. They reached the head of the line and scooted into the waiting taxi.
“The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, please,” Gina told the driver as they pulled away from the curb.
“Jeff is the crappy orange filling. I want the coconut,” Vicky said. Gina hugged her with one arm. She really did understand. “Hearing about Mom and her marriages—I’m still taking in that our mom had multiple marriages—I don’t want to be stuck unhappy forever. She was happy once. Really, true-love happy. You were, too. I want that, even if it means I’m alone with four kids. The only reason Jeff hasn’t left me already is because he doesn’t want to deal with alimony.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Vicky looked at her, chewed her lip.
“I’m pretty sure all those late nights at the office weren’t at the office. The worst part—I don’t care. The kids and I do our thing, and he does his, but that’s not enough anymore. I want the happy ending. I deserve the happy ending.” She looked at Gina’s face. “Even if it doesn’t last forever. I want it.”
“You deserve it all.”
“Do you know what he did when I told him about our dads?” Gina shook her head. “Nothing. He mumbled he had to get off the phone and hung up. He hasn’t heard a word I’ve said in five years.” She leaned her head on Gina’s shoulder. “It’s probably wrong that I’m looking forward to this, isn’t it?”
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