An Imperfection in the Kitchen Floor

by Heather Greenleaf

  “Well,” Mama sighed. “We are glad you are all right. Time for bed. We need to be at the shop early tomorrow to make a new batch of Perfection Salad. We had quite a run on it today.”

  I nodded and apologized again before heading upstairs. As I dressed for bed, I removed my hair pins and emptied the pockets of my dress. My fingers stuck to a yellow candy wrapper. I pulled it out, remembering the sweetness of the taffy. I crumpled the paper and tossed it away, trying to forget the man who gave it to me.

  ●●●

  The next morning, Virginia stopped into the shop for a visit, full of curiosity and gossip. Mama asked her how the movie was and I held my breath for Virginia’s answer. She made no mention of Ellis to Mama.

  “Why don’t you girls go into the back,” Mama suggested, “and count the cans of anchovies that we have left. Let me know if it is less than thirty.”

  Once on our own, Virginia’s curiosity boiled over. “You disappeared so quickly that I didn’t even get to meet the boy you were with. Not really a boy, though, was he? Is he older than we are? Tell me all about him. I’m simply dying to know!”

  “Shh, keep your voice down. He’s nobody, Virginia. He works at the park but is leaving town as soon as the park closes.”

  “Well, that’s unfortunate. He’s very handsome, in a dark sort of way.”

  “Oh, do we have to talk about him? It was silly for me to even spend time with him last night. I went home right after the movie.” Desperate to change the subject and stop thinking about Ellis, I asked, “Who were you there with?”

  “That was Michael Wyatt, but who cares? I told you, I don’t care about any of those boys. I have bigger things in mind.”

  “Richer men, you mean?”

  “Well, yes. Mr. Malcolm was in the barber shop yesterday and I could see his eye twitch when I asked Mama if I could go to the movies with Michael!”

  “Virginia, how wicked!”

  “How else will I get his attention?!”

  “But why would you want to? If you don’t like anyone in this town, why not travel a bit—we could go together—and maybe you’ll meet someone elsewhere. If you marry Mr. Malcolm, you’ll be stuck here in this town with him forever.”

  “Yes, but in a such beautiful house! And I would never have to sweep up dirty old hair clippings again! He lives so close to you, we could see each other every day! You and I could be great friends forever.”

  “We will be great friends forever, but, you know, you won’t be able to visit every day. I’m not staying here. I’m going West.”

  “Yes, yes. You’re very progressive, Tish. But how are you going to make it happen? Your father doesn’t seem the type to just let you off on your own. He wouldn’t even let you go to the park without my mother as chaperone. I can’t believe he let you out with a man by yourself last night!”

  “He didn’t. I snuck out. I told them I was at the movie with you. But, Virginia, it was such a mistake.” I covered my face. I could barely go on. “He is leaving town, just like that. How easy it is for him. I feel so tiny, like a mouse. Papa never understands me, and for a minute, it was like Ellis truly did.” I sighed. “Well, no sense in dwelling on it anymore. There won’t be anything between us now. Let’s talk about something else.”

  ●●●

  A few weeks later, Ivy invited me to luncheon at her new home. I reluctantly went, after deciding that feeling inadequate at Ivy’s was a change from feeling clumsy in the shop, and spent the trolley ride to Chestnut Hill bolstering myself for the afternoon with my sister.

  Tucked on a quiet block of West Moreland Street, Ivy’s house was tall and narrow with gables and dormers, dark stone and scalloped shingles. With an ample porch and decorative cast iron finials on the yard gate, it had a distinct air of good taste.

  Ivy sauntered around inside, drink in hand, perfectly at home here. I doubted that she had lifted a finger since she had arrived. Her cheeks were rosy and her grin lit up her face. She spent our time together telling me how she had everything she had ever dreamed of: a handsome husband, a beautiful home, a life of leisure. Her contentment made me reel with jealousy, a feeling painfully familiar in regard to Ivy, but now heightened by my static life. I gritted my teeth, barely listening to her prattle on, as we sipped the iced tea her housekeeper brought to us on the slate area out back. When William came home from the office, he drove me back to Willow Grove.

  It was evening by the time we arrived there and Mama, Papa, and Oliver were at the table eating dinner. William didn’t stay, but I sat down and joined them.

  “How was Ivy’s?” Mama asked.

  “It was beautiful. They really have a lovely home.” I helped myself to the roast beef and potatoes that sat on the table.

  “I’m glad you were able to spend time together,” Mama said, passing me the bread. “We had an interesting day, didn’t we?” Mama continued, looking at Papa. A grimace appeared on his face.

  “Mr. Howerth came in again,” Mama said.

  “That man!” Papa said. “It’s ridiculous. He came in just to stir up trouble. And at our busiest time, too, so that all of our customers could hear.” Papa began jabbing his fork into his meal.

  “Oh, how awful. What happened?” I asked.

  Mama took a deep breath to begin the story. I expected her to be as angry as Papa, but there was a twinkle in her eye that I didn’t understand. “So, yes, it was just about lunchtime and the rush had begun, though I suppose Mr. Howerth wasn’t particularly busy at his barber shop at the time. Anyway, he came in to the delicatessen and started pointing out, rather loudly, all the products that might be German. He struck up a conversation with another customer about the filthy Huns and the conflict in Europe, and just went on and on.”

  I could feel anger radiating off Papa in hot waves.

  “It was terrible,” Mama continued. “Papa was trying to help the customers, but he was getting angrier and angrier…”

  “That son of a…,” Papa interjected and then trailed off.

  “Son of a what?” Oliver asked.

  Mama shot them both a sharp look but continued with the story. “Papa couldn’t say anything, couldn’t get into a fight with Mr. Howerth there and then. I tried to smooth it over, but Mr. Howerth kept going.” She paused and smiled. “Then one of the customers started defending us. He stood up for Papa, saying that, despite his heritage, it sounded like Papa wasn’t siding with his war-hungry ancestral home.”

  “I had already said as much, but Howerth wouldn’t listen,” Papa grumbled.

  “No, he wouldn’t, but the man just kept on arguing with Mr. Howerth, quite boldly in fact, and Mr. Howerth eventually stormed out of the shop!”

  “Well. I am glad to hear that at least we have one loyal customer,” I said.

  “Actually, this was a new customer,” Mama said. There was that twinkle again. “It was your friend. That man who was a server at Ivy’s wedding.”

  I was stunned. Ellis was still in town? He had gone into the shop? And defended Papa? Had he been looking for me? A silly grin crept up my cheeks and I couldn’t keep it down. I looked at my plate, feeling my face get hot.

  “Ellis?” I asked, trying not to be too hopeful.

  Mama grinned. “I suppose so. After Mr. Howerth left, he asked after you. Seemed rather disappointed that you weren’t there. He left, but came back with a letter for you. I’ll get it,” Mama said.

  I looked at Papa, sure I would see disapproval. He just kept eating, his fork jabbing at his plate in a blatant attempt to ignore my gaze.

  Mama returned from the foyer, letter in hand, and I ripped open the note.

  Dear Tish,

  I was in town today to pick up a paycheck, but stopped in to the delicatessen in hopes of seeing you. I have secured a job at the shipyard in Philadelphia, and am rooming near there for the next few months. I feel terribly about how we left things and I would truly like to spend some more time with you. If you would like that as well, please write back.


  Ellis

  Oliver was curious and climbed into my lap, crinkling the paper. He peered at it and I let him hold it. “What does it say, Tish?”

  “It says he’d like to spend some more time with me,” I said, snuggling Oliver close, gleeful. But would Papa allow it? I peeked at him around Oliver’s curls. “Papa, may I?”

  He grunted and waved me away with his hand. A thrill ran through me. I supposed that was a yes.

  ●●●

  I sent a note to Ellis the next day and then waited to hear from him. Each moment before I heard back was spent in self-doubt. Had he changed his mind? These thoughts were unavoidable and infuriating. I had always scoffed at Ivy for her focus on William, and hated how I was now behaving similarly. I tried to remain calm, think of other things, read my book, help Mama, paint, but time and time again my thoughts returned to Ellis.

  He sent a quick note asking to take me to Kemble’s Oyster House here in Willow Grove on Saturday evening. He planned to take the trolley into town and pick me up at seven-thirty.

  When he arrived, we walked downtown. The street lamps were beginning to flicker on. A warm breeze did little to cool the air. Soon, I could feel sweat run down my back.

  “Is it hot like this in California?” I asked.

  “It’s hot, but not as humid. It is almost wet here; the air is so heavy. In California, there is almost always a breeze by the ocean. And sometimes a green flash.”

  “A green flash?” I asked.

  “Yes, at sunset, just at the moment when the sun disappears behind the ocean, there is sometimes, not every day, but sometimes the top tip of the sun turns green and hovers. If you blink, you’ll miss it.”

  “Sounds amazing. Have you seen it?”

  “Once or twice. It helps to look for it every day,” he ventured. I could hear unease in his voice, and I was glad to know that I wasn’t the only one who felt at risk.

  “I’d like that,” I said, earning a grin. He took my hand in his and we continued into town.

  When we arrived at Kemble’s, he opened the front door for me and I stepped inside. Small and simply decorated, it smelled of the wax candles standing dripping in old wine bottles on each table. There were a few other couples there. Some had their heads tucked over their plates. Others were relaxing, leaning back in their chairs with a glass in hand. I had never been to a restaurant as fancy as this. I let Ellis usher us over to a table by the window, and sat when he pulled out my seat. A voluptuous waitress approached with paper menus and greeted Ellis by name.

  I raised an eyebrow at him, wondering how he knew her, but not daring to ask. Instead I held my menu up in front of my face to see what they offered. He chuckled and looked at his menu.

  “Ellis!” A voice boomed and a swinging door banged. A robust man came out of the kitchen wearing a filthy apron which he used to wipe his hands. He clapped Ellis on the back. His hair was dark and wet, slicked off to the side. He smelled like the ocean.

  “Hey there, Marty. Great to see you! Is your pop back there too?” Ellis asked.

  “Nah, it’s just me today. Pop’s gone down the shore to haggle with the supplier. Want some oysters? You know we only serve the best.”

  “Yeah, great. Why not have Betty bring us a dozen?”

  “Will do. It’s great to see you, Ellis,” Marty said. Then, nodding at me, added, “Miss.”

  When Marty returned to the kitchen, Ellis explained, “I used to shuck oysters with Marty in Cape May. He and I heard about the park together a few years ago, and when he told his dad, they decided to open up the restaurant.”

  I nodded, keeping my eye on Betty as she sauntered over in her tight skirt and sleek black hair. High above her head, she held a silver tray of opened oysters nestled on a bed of ice. She lowered it to our table and asked if we wanted anything to drink.

  “Do you have any champagne back there?”

  A low whistle emitted from her pursed red lips. “Sure, Ellis. We got some, but it ain’t cheap.”

  “That’s all right, Betty. We’ll take it,” Ellis said. She slowly walked back toward the kitchen, hips swaying like a sleek eel. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I heard Ellis chuckle again. “That’s Marty’s wife,” he said. Then lower, “She’s a piece of work. She’s not particularly bright, but Marty looks at her like you are now, with your eyes popping out of your head. You should see them fight, though! It’s a sight to behold! Have you ever had oysters before?”

  I looked at the tray laden with purple and white shells. The watery gray globs within were anything but appetizing. I had eaten oyster fritters before, but those oysters were chopped fine, battered in flour, and fried golden in oil. These seemed naked, without anything to hide their true selves.

  “I have never eaten them raw,” I admitted.

  “You’ll love them. Just pour one into your mouth, chew just a moment, and then swallow.”

  I picked up an oyster, holding the oblong shell to my lips. I could smell the brine. I tipped the oyster between my parted lips and was suddenly awash with slick salt and sea. It was wonderful, fresh and dazzling as the sun’s glitter on the water. Ellis seemed pleased and tucked into the oysters as well. Betty arrived with the champagne, opening the bottle with a loud pop and gush of foam, but I kept my eyes on Ellis, who grinned back at me.

  It was my first sip of champagne, too. Papa never permitted alcohol, and I felt a rush of independence as I brought the glass to my lips. The bubbles tickled my nose and the liquid exploded and fizzed in my mouth like the park’s fireworks. In that moment, I knew that I wanted to be with Ellis for as long or as little as we could. I craved the new experiences that Ellis offered. Being with him was like standing before the sunrise after the dark night. I loved the way he looked at me as if I were the only one in the room. I loved the way he didn’t make me feel juvenile for never having had a raw oyster. Rather, he seemed eager to share something new with me. I began to understand that his deep stare wasn’t predatory, it was focused, and I reveled in being his focal point. He seemed to enjoy exposing me to new things, as if somehow I was worthy of it. We fit together, me eager to learn, he eager to teach.

  We talked about his job at the shipyard, and I told him about the days in the shop. I opened up about my painting. We talked and talked. He took a long gulp of the champagne and, with a wink in my direction, signaled for more oysters.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Molly

  Despite my good intentions, I couldn’t put Hayden down long enough to cook. The meat turned brown in the fridge, the produce rotted to fruit fly ridden mush. My days began to run together—mixed up and broken down into shattered two-hour increments based on Hayden’s feeding schedules. I felt like an old sponge, dry and smelly and only useful for cleaning up messes. On the few occasions that Corey had shown interest in the bedroom, I was too tired and too grimy, constantly covered in some sort of baby discharge.

  It mattered little, though, as most of the time Corey didn’t seem to notice. Any free time he had away from the office, he wanted to dedicate to Hayden. Corey came home from work, grease stained take-out bag in hand, gave me a brief platonic kiss, and then focused on Hayden. With the baby securely in his arms, he chatted with him as if he were one of his college buddies. In a soft voice, he sang old fraternity songs with ghastly inappropriate lyrics. Corey seemed very happy.

  I tried to push away my feelings of being ignored. It was hard to admit that I was jealous of my baby and the attention that my husband was paying to him instead of me, but there it was.

  Feeling barely visible, I settled in for another night on the couch next to my boys, taking my seat in the same spot where I sat most of the day. While Corey seemed content to relax at home, away from the rigors of the office, I desperately wanted to go out. I wanted to do something that adults do, maybe see a movie, or grab dinner, a gin and tonic, or maybe a glass of wine. Anything to break up the repetitive boredom of feed, wipe, repeat. My skin itched for night life.

  “Corey, let’s g
o out next Friday,” I said.

  “Ugg, I’m so tired on Fridays. All I want to do is come home, relax, and be with you guys.”

  He listlessly flipped through the channels on the television. I held onto the edge of my emotions, hovering over something dark, a scream sitting just under the surface. Would Corey even react if I let it loose? It was like I wasn’t here at all. I had disappeared, lost in the wilds of the baby’s needs. It no longer mattered if I needed to use the bathroom, or brush the mats out of my hair. The baby’s needs came first. And the baby seemed to always need something.

  I desperately wanted to feel like more than the baby’s nurse. I needed Corey to appreciate me for me, rather than the lady who kept his kid’s bottom clean.

  Some women seemed to revel in motherhood. Every moment is a blessing and their baby an angel. I didn’t seem to be cut from that motherhood shroud. Shouldn’t I look at my baby’s face and think that all the sleepless nights and scream-filled days were worth it? I was outmaneuvered by a tiny child and needed a break.

  “Please, Corey. I could really use it.”

  “Who will we get to babysit? Jocelyn and Hank just took Colten to another tournament in Cooperstown.”

  “I’ll ask Liz across the street if she knows anyone. It will just be a few hours.”

  “Liz? You hardly know Liz, let alone some girl she recommends.”

  “Liz’s kids are alive—whoever she recommends will be fine.”

  “Okay, but we meet the sitter first, and then just a quick dinner. Two hours, tops.”

  I nodded, taking the small victory and trying to ignore the feeling that he didn’t want to spend more than two hours alone with me.

  Liz had plenty of recommendations, and together she and I decided on Betsy, a girl who was reliable and available.

  The next Friday afternoon, I carefully picked out an outfit, tearing apart still unpacked boxes to find pants, shirts, dresses. I decided on a dress that highlighted my ample nursing bosom and hid the extra girth lingering around my waistline. The dress was a flowing crimson and I paired it with a soft black cardigan sweater. With Hayden in one arm, I rummaged through my jewelry box with my free hand and found some dangle earrings. I carefully bent down and fished some high heels out of the dark corners of my closet. The shoes seemed tighter than before, but dates required high heels and so I resolved to wear them anyway. With my outfit planned, I spent time daydreaming about having my arms free, with Corey’s full focus on me, our conversation ranging from current events to how much he loved me.