Women of Washington Avenue

by Linda Apple

  “No room? I could have put a third of my Manhattan apartment in this kitchen.”

  “I remember.” She picked up the pan of fried okra and poured it in the colander to drain. “No wonder you were so skinny when you came home. There wasn’t any room in your kitchen to cook.”

  Were skinny? Oh Lord.

  “Okay, I’m going to get ready.” I kissed her cheek and rushed up the stairs to the mirror. Mom was right. I could barely button my jeans. Shoot. I chose a loose sundress and slipped it on while comforting myself by thinking it was probably just the heat that was making me swell. Pitiful, I know. But it made me feel a little better.

  I splashed my face with water, then twisted my hair up in the back and secured it with a clip. There wasn’t much need for make-up since I’d sweat it off anyway. I powdered my face, brushed on mascara, and glazed on lip-gloss. After slipping on flip-flops, I hurried downstairs.

  Just as I hit the bottom step, Ty knocked on the door. When I opened it, I had a déjà vu moment. How many times had I jogged down these steps to open the door for Marc? But he’s gone. I had to remind myself every time I saw his baby brother who was his spitting image.

  “Hi, Ty.” I swallowed as I pushed open the door. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You look gorgeous as usual.”

  You’re not so bad yourself. “Oh, I bet you say that to all your babysitters.”

  “No, just you.” He winked.

  “Supper will be ready soon. Wanna beer?”

  “Sure. That would be great.” He tilted his head back and inhaled. “Man oh man, it smells good in here.”

  Momma walked in wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes, Tyler Jackson. How on earth are you?”

  “I’m fine, Miss Cladie. You’re looking mighty fine.”

  “Fit as a fiddle. How’s your momma?”

  “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

  “I vow. That poor woman’s been through it, hasn’t she?”

  “Yeah, but she’s on the upswing. She’ll beat this, Miss Cladie.”

  “I’m sure she will, bless her heart. I made enough for you to take home to your folks.”

  “Thank you. I know they’ll appreciate that.” Ty rubbed his hands together. “I’ve been anticipating this meal all day. It’s been a while since I’ve had some home cooking.”

  Somehow, I missed something in this conversation. “What’s wrong with Mrs. Jackson?”

  Momma turned to me. “Emma has been fighting lung cancer, poor thing. Ty will fill you in. I’ll call when supper is ready. And Ty, honey, if y’all want to sit outside, cut on the fan. It’s close out there.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I will. It’s air that you wear for sure.”

  I took out two Dos Equis and joined Ty on the porch swing. “Now, what’s this about your momma?”

  “It’s those cigarettes. They finally caught up with her. I’m surprised Dad doesn’t have it, too. He can’t take ten steps without being out of breath.”

  “Oh, Tyler, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks.” He took a swig of beer and then chuckled. “I don’t think anyone has called me Tyler since I was in elementary school.”

  “Which was, ummmm, last year?”

  He glanced at me and grinned, deepening the dimples in his five o’clock shadow. “I wish. Things were simpler then.”

  “That’s the truth.” I sipped my beer. “So what have you been doing these past thirty something years. College? Marriage? Kids?”

  “All of the above. I graduated high school, went to the community college long enough to discover my passion, quit school, and got married. Had a couple of kids and divorced ten years later. That’s my life in a nutshell.”

  “What is your passion?”

  “Photography, much to my parents’ chagrin.” He took another long swallow. “Dad and Mom were hell-bent that I go to med school or get into law. But neither appealed to me. I really didn’t know what I wanted to do until I took a photography class. The prof told me I had a talent for telling a story through my lens. So I did some freelance and got pretty popular.”

  “I’m beginning to see what you mean when you said you’re nothing like your brother. He was so focused and driven academically. You have an artsy side.”

  “Yeah. If you think about it, Marc wanted to heal the human body. I wanted to explore the human soul.” He finished his beer and set the bottle on the floor. “I’m not rich, but comfortable.”

  “You said you have kids?”

  He nodded. “A daughter, Skye. She’s twenty-two. And Glen. He’s twenty. Skye’s at Old Miss. Glen attends the community college. He’s like his old man. Artsy.”

  “I’d like to meet them sometime.” I held up my bottle. “I’m out. Want another before we eat?”

  “Sure.” He reached down, picked up his bottle, and handed it to me.

  In a few minutes, I returned and handed him a long neck. “So, why haven’t you remarried?”

  “Thanks.” He took a long draw. “What Lexi wrote about younger women is true. At least for some. The ones I’ve dated are so into themselves. They want big houses with huge closets for their ridiculous collection of shoes. Some are so needy, wanting constant reassurance, and heaven forbid, if I forgot to tell them how beautiful they were, they’d pout. And I’m sorry, but when the highest level of conversation is about the latest fashion and hair styles, I’m outta there.” He shook his head. “But the worst thing is most of them want kids. I’m over that.”

  I elbowed him. “You’re pretty hard to please.”

  He held his head to one side and raised his hands. “Seriously. Women my age or younger are a different breed. I wasn’t kidding when I said I liked older women.”

  “Sure you do.” I tipped my beer.

  All humor went out of his expression, and he studied me with dark eyes. “I mean it. And you want to hear something else strange about me?”

  “What?”

  “I like my ladies soft and with curves.” He leaned close and whispered in my hair, “Not all angles and sharp edges.”

  Heat rose up my neck. The atmosphere between us had changed, hot and sultry as the air. I tried to think of something to say but couldn’t.

  Momma called through the screen. “Supper’s on the table. Come and get it.”

  Thank God for my mother.

  ****

  The dining room table groaned under the weight of platters and bowls filled to the brim.

  I shook my head. “Momma, there’s hardly room for our plates.”

  She rested her hands on her hips and surveyed the table with a satisfied smile. “I know. Ain’t it pretty? There’s nothing that says home like a table full of food, is there? I guess you could say it’s my art.”

  “Well, I, for one, am ready to put a serious dent in your work of art.” Ty pulled a chair out for Momma and then for me. I’d forgotten how much I missed a southern gentleman’s manners.

  I tried not to stare at Ty while he piled food on his plate. With each spoonful, Momma’s smile grew wider. Then out of the blue she jumped up. “I’ll be right back, y’all.” She pushed through the swinging door and returned within seconds holding a cereal bowl and handed it to Ty. “Here sugar. Make yourself some potlikker up in there.

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He crumbled cornbread in the bowl and ladled butterbeans and broth over it. “I haven’t had this in years.” Then he dumped a spoonful of chow-chow on top. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Their eyes met, and I’d swear they were falling in love.

  Food. The universal aphrodisiac.

  Momma watched Ty with a satisfaction I’d never seen. I certainly didn’t give her that kind of pleasure when I ate. Ty’s tea glass was empty, but Momma was so engrossed with his enjoyment of her art she hadn’t noticed.

  Amazing.

  I stood. “Tea refills anyone?”

  She jerked her head up. “Baby, sit
down. I’ll get it. Sweet tea, Ty?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The sweeter the better.”

  While she poured he asked, “How’s business, Miss Cladie?”

  “Fair to middlin’ I guess.” She set the pitcher on the buffet. “Since that flower shop opened on the square, not many people remember me here on Washington Avenue.”

  “But they don’t sell rosebushes and bedding plants. Right?” Ty reached for the bowl of squash.

  “No, but that new Lowe’s store does. And I hear they are building a Walmart near the interstate. I guess that will be the end of me.”

  Just then an idea flashed in my mind. “Then what we need to do is produce something they aren’t going to carry. Become a boutique gardening business of sorts. Think about it. When you go to Lowe’s or Walmart you see the same thing. Let’s give the public plants from all over the world that would survive in our climate.”

  “What a great idea.” Tyler looked from me to Momma. “Especially now since Moonlight is marketing itself as a unique tourist stop.”

  Ideas filled my mind. “With all my contacts I can find plants no one else even knows about. Beautiful plants. We can buy a few of those high-tunnel greenhouses and—”

  “—High tunnel? Momma’s forehead wrinkled. “Mercy sakes child. Those cost a lot of money. I can’t afford that.”

  “You don’t have to.” I patted her hand. “It will be my investment.”

  Her eyes brightened with tears. “Baby, I can’t let you do that. You need to keep your money. You’ve worked hard for it.”

  “I want to do this. After all, I’m a third generation Preston Gardens family member, aren’t I?”

  Ty snapped his fingers. “I know how to draw folks to Preston Gardens.” He certainly had Momma’s and my attention. “Why don’t you have a flower market here on your property every Saturday? You know, like a farmer’s market. Only you can sell unique landscaping plants.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Ideas bubbled up in my mind. “Not only that, we can give landscaping demonstrations and tips. Even floral arranging classes.”

  Momma jumped in. “And you can sell your books, do a book signing.”

  “I can take pictures of the plants and make them into gift cards, calendars, things like that,” said Ty. “Even take shots of families visiting and give those as souvenirs.”

  “Lovely ideas, kids.” Momma thought a minute. “But do you think every Saturday will be too much?”

  “Not in high tourist season,” said Ty.

  Inspiration struck. “Why don’t we make the first Saturday of the month the most festive? Maybe have more things for the kids, food tents. Things like that? Then the three other Saturdays can be more like a floral farmer’s market. That way it won’t be so much work.” Another idea came. “Momma, you can bake up a storm and sell your goodies, hand out recipes.”

  “That’s right, Miss Cladie. You can do cooking demos, too.”

  “But I thought this was about flowers. How do cooking demonstrations fit in?”

  “You can cook with the flowers you sell,” I said.

  “Eat flowers? Lord’ve mercy. Who eats flowers?”

  “There are all kinds of edible flowers, Mom. Nasturtiums, pansies, roses.”

  “Roses?” Momma sat back in her chair. “Pansies?”

  “Yes, they make beautiful additions to salads and desserts. Nasturtiums have a nice peppery taste. Somewhere in all my boxes I have a cookbook with several flower recipes. By the way, is there a farmers’ market in Moonlight?”

  “Nope.” Ty pushed back and rubbed his stomach. “Plenty of home gardens, but nothing big enough to support a market.”

  “Well, then, on those three Saturdays we should also open it up to all the home gardeners who want to make a little extra cash. That way, Momma, you can demonstrate cooking with more than flowers.”

  Momma slapped her hands together. “Now you are talking.” She got to her feet. “Have mercy, my head is spinning with all these ideas flying about. I need to wash some dishes and think about all of this.” She stood and picked up her plate. “Now you two scoot on out of here, and I’ll call you for dessert later.”

  Ty opened his mouth, and I stopped him. “Don’t even bother. She won’t let you near her kitchen.” I chose a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. “Com’on.” He followed me outside and sat in a rocker. I scooted mine close to his and put a little table in front of us.

  “Want me to do the honors?” He reached for the wine.

  “Sure.” I handed him the bottle and goblets. After he poured, he raised his glass. “To Miss Cladie and the flower market.”

  I clinked my rim against his. “And new dreams.” The Pinot Grigio tasted crisp and cool. I leaned my head back against the rocker and watched the evening sky deepen from light pink to rose and purple. Hummingbirds darted under the eves, sipping sugar water from the feeders. Watching the dominant male chase away all the others reminded me of an aerial ballet. Even though they were fighting, they were so graceful. The air vibrated with cicada song. I loved the rise and fall of their raspy call.

  Ty’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I meant what I said earlier.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “That I preferred older women.” He sipped his wine and then shifted his gaze to me. “Like you.”

  I looked down at my glass. I didn’t know how to answer. A million things ran through my mind.

  “Mind if I ask you something?”

  I peered up at him. “No, what?”

  “Did you ever marry?”

  “No.” This conversation was getting uncomfortable.

  “Why not?”

  I sighed. “It took a long time for me to get over the shock of Marc’s sudden death. And then I had to adjust to New York.” Glancing at Ty, I smiled. “As you might imagine, I was an oddity there.”

  He chuckled and nodded. “I bet.”

  “But I met Scott and he saved me. In fact, we moved in together.”

  Ty frowned. “Did you love him?”

  Scott’s image came to mind and I smiled. “Yes. And I still do.”

  He contracted his brow. “Then why didn’t you marry him?”

  “He’s gay.”

  The animation returned to Ty’s expression. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. They say a gay man is a straight girl’s best friend. I agree.” I smiled and drank some wine. “Scott was interested in the things I was interested in. We both loved Broadway plays, fashion, decorating, and concocting strange recipes. With Scott, I always had a date without the pressure to go to bed with him.” I savored my last bit of wine wishing Scott were with me in Moonlight. “He helped me through my grief and taught me the ropes of surviving in the city. First thing he did was make me join the gym he used. I didn’t want to go because I hated to exercise. I thought I was in pretty good shape, and I told him so. He asked me, ‘What size are you?’ I said, ‘A twelve.’ He handed me my purse and said, ‘Ava, sweetheart, if you don’t get rid of that Southern fluff you will be dressing off the rack in this city, and that’s not a good thing.’ He walked me out the door and onto the elliptical. He didn’t let up until I was a size six. Then he took me shopping and picked out my clothes. Not only that, he had his friends make over my hair and makeup. I’m surprised he didn’t make me take elocution lessons to get rid of my accent. But he said he thought it was charming.”

  “He sounds like some of the women I’ve dated.” Ty leaned forward and took the bottle of wine and refilled our glasses. “Always wanting to change me.”

  “I don’t mean to make him sound shallow.” I thought a minute. “You know? Scott was kind of like your professor.”

  “How so?”

  “He was the one who recognized my talent in floral design. He introduced me to the right people, and in just a few months, I was in big demand both professionally and privately. Then someone from a publisher approached me about writing a book. One thing led to another, and then I start getting lecture invitatio
ns from all over the world. It was crazy how it all happened.”

  “Wow.” He twisted around and stared at me a moment before asking, “Did you ever fall in love with a straight guy?”

  “No, not really. I had relationships. But when my floral design business caught fire, I just didn’t have time.”

  Ty settled back in his chair. “I guess coming home is pretty much of a letdown.”

  “Not at all. I can do here what I did in New York. Besides, this week has reminded me I’m truly a southern gal through and through.”

  He grinned at me over his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  I finished my wine. Warmth enveloped my body, and I gave myself up to the cacophony of tree frogs and night bugs. The aroma of coffee wafted through the air, which meant dessert.

  “So, you said you like your older women fluffy?”

  Immediately alarms rang in my head screaming, good Lord, Avalee. Did you just say that? It must have been the wine. It had to be the wine.

  “Lady, I don’t care what size you are.” His intense gaze made me forget the alarms. He leaned forward. My lips grew hot with anticipation.

  “Dessert, kids.”

  I jerked to look at the screen door. She wasn’t standing there, thank the Lord. She had probably called from the hall. At least I hoped so.

  “We better go. Momma hates to be kept waiting.”

  Ty lifted one corner of his mouth. “So do I. We aren’t finished with this conversation.”

  He was right. We weren’t.

  Chapter 10

  LEXI

  Outrage

  Just as I predicted, Vince got his trousers in a twist and gave me grief about my column. But after my persuasive arguments and several shots of bourbon, he finally approved my piece.

  My victory was sweet, but short-lived. Nagging thoughts crowded it away. What if I went too far? Got too personal? Lost readers? Had I pushed the bar too far? But, I reminded myself that all responses, good or bad, proved people were reading my column and were moved to action. Exactly what I wanted. The absolute worst thing that could happen was if people were indifferent.

  The day after it ran in the paper, I hurried to the office to see what kind of response it provoked. I could have checked at home, but I made a promise to myself when I got this column gig that my home was a sanctuary, not an office, and I wouldn’t work from the house. This time my promise was hard to keep. I skipped my morning addiction at Molly’s and hurried to the paper. Ty met me at the door.