NOT What I Was Expecting

by Tallulah Anne Scott

  CeCe gave me a look like she’d never seen anyone from my planet before. “Why are you so shocked?” she wanted to know. “This is not the time to sit around and do nothing. This is the time for action. I have a plan to move things along with Deputy Ben, and I need your help.”

  Our waiter walked up at that moment, which was good since I was hungry and bad since I wanted to hear what CeCe had planned for me to do. We both ordered cheeseburgers and fries. When CeCe also requested an order of onion rings and a chocolate shake, I felt I had no option but to hang in there and duplicate her order. If I didn’t match her in the scarfing-down-food department, it would throw off the delicate balance that kept us both wearing the same size, therefore, doubling my wardrobe. I had no choice.

  Once the waiter hurried off, no doubt to borrow a back brace before bringing out all the food we’d ordered, I directed my attention back to CeCe. “What kind of help are we talking about?” I asked cautiously.

  CeCe let out a heavy sigh, which usually preceded the spilling of her guts. “Here’s the thing,” she began. “I saw Deputy Ben when I went to the post office this morning.”

  “But that’s good,” I told her as I tried to be encouraging. “Did you guys have a nice chat?”

  Another heavy sigh escaped, and CeCe seemed to deflate before my eyes as she admitted, “Nooooo – he was in his squad car, and he didn’t even see me.”

  The smile that faded following CeCe’s last sigh now reappeared with whatever she was about to say. “So Maggie,” she plunged in conspiratorially. “I’m thinking that if you get yourself arrested, I’d have to bail you out. That would mean he and I would have a great conversation starter. What do you think? Good one, right?”

  CeCe wisely didn’t wait for a response from me but barreled on with her suggestion.

  “It wouldn’t have to be a felony, you know. I’m thinking a misdemeanor would be enough. Then I could ask his advice on how to guide you back to being a law-abiding citizen. That would require follow-up conversations to discuss my concerns about new criminal behaviors you might be exhibiting. Then I could offer to cook dinner for him to say thanks for all his advice, right? What do you think?”

  I took a couple of slow deep breaths before I answered. We were in a public place, and truthfully, I didn’t want to disappoint her – as ridiculous as her suggestion might be.

  “CeCe,” I began softly and slowly. “You are my favorite cousin, my best friend, actually my favorite person in the world. While all that is true, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I WILL NOT get arrested so that you have something to talk about with Ben. You know, I don’t even understand why you get so tongue-tied around him. You have always had guys around you, and you’ve never had any trouble talking to them.”

  “Yes, but I think I’ve figured out why that’s the case,” CeCe explained. “The men I’ve dated before all had something wrong with them. If there is anything wrong with Deputy Ben, I can’t find it – and believe me, I’ve done my homework.”

  “CeCe, you do know Ben is not perfect, don’t you?” I said softly, hoping to cushion the blow if she really believed he was superhuman and immune to the faults of other, lesser men.

  “Deputy Ben,” CeCe corrected. “I’m aware he very likely has faults like everyone else. The difference is I am already in love with him, so I can probably accept his flaws — which, let’s face it, are few and far between — when he finally falls in love with me. You see! I have it all figured out.”

  The waiter delivered our food, which gave me a minute to think of a response.

  Let’s see, how could I put this delicately? I carefully began, “But if you don’t really know him, and you don’t yet know what his flaws are, how do you know you love him? Don’t you think maybe you should keep your options open for the time being? Like maybe, I don’t know, seeing a therapist? There’s an option you haven’t explored yet.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t need a therapist. I just need to be able to talk to him without everything I say sounding like gibberish, so he can go ahead and fall in love with me, and we’ll be fine,” CeCe clarified. “You know, there is such a thing as love at first sight. I just can’t talk to him because it comes out sounding like I’m speaking Farsi, which I don’t, but I might as well be because nobody — including me — understands what I’m saying. If he just wasn’t so hot. Maybe he literally gives me a fever? Is that possible? Don’t you talk crazy when you get a high fever?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s it, CeCe,” I disagreed, but tried to think of a way to help her. “Why don’t you try picturing one of the guys you’ve dated before when you’re talking to Ben? You never had trouble with your words when you were talking to them. Like what about Kenny the high school basketball coach? He was fun, and you love basketball, so you two had a lot in common. Just because it turned out he was dribbling his ball in some other woman’s court doesn’t mean he was a total loser.”

  CeCe looked at me like she’d never seen me before in her life.

  “Okay, he was a total loser,” I conceded. “But it’s not like every guy you’ve dated was a loser. They didn’t all cheat on you like Kenny. What about Dan the Baker Man? I remember him as being pretty devoted to you. He was a good guy wasn’t he?”

  “He was a pretty good guy,” CeCe agreed. “His problem was his devotion to his mother. The woman was pure evil. She didn’t like me, and he felt he was too close to his ‘family’ to be dating someone who didn’t click with them. So no, he wasn’t a cheater. He was a ninny baby who couldn’t make a move without mommy’s permission. See this is why I’m so attracted to Deputy Ben. He’s good looking, considerate, has tons of integrity, and his mother’s dead. We’d be perfect together.”

  We finished our food in silence. Since CeCe was smiling and happy after her last remark, I thought it best to leave it at that.

  Just as we placed the tip on the table and stood to leave, CeCe’s purse started playing Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard. She reached in to retrieve and answer her cell phone while I smiled at the snickering couple at the next table. We love 80's music, no apologies. As we headed toward the door, I noticed CeCe listening intently to whoever was speaking to her on the phone. When we stepped outside and were in the parking lot, CeCe was using her take charge voice as she said, “It’s all right, Mother. We’ll be right over.”

  As we pulled up to the blue and white two-story colonial where we grew up, all the outside lights were blazing, lighting up the whole yard. I was sure Aunt Shirley was watching for us from the front window. According to CeCe, a friend of hers had died, and she’d sounded pretty upset.

  Just then, Shirley came fluttering through the front door talking very fast. “Oh, thank you for coming. It’s just so sad, and Pearl’s not home yet. I needed some company.”

  We followed her inside, with CeCe and I both talking at once.

  “She’s in a better place.”

  “Every thing is going to be okay.”

  “I guess it was her time.”

  “She’ll be missed, but everyone was lucky just to have known her.”

  We hit pretty much all the standards. Shirley was wearing a pale pink, soft, flowing dress that was classy and tasteful, just like the lady herself. I’ve never known her not to match her earrings, dress, purse, and shoes. Shirley is actually a little taller than her sister, my mother Pearl, but she’s always seemed smaller. She is smaller than Pearl in diameter and demeanor. Everything about Shirley is quick and somewhat emotional, whereas my mother’s whole approach to life is more along the lines of take charge, get the job done, and deal with the fallout later. I’d be surprised if you can find one pastel colored item in all of my mother’s belongings. She is bold and so are her clothes, but she manages to keep it tasteful. As a teenager, I appreciated that she never crossed the line to clown town like some of my friends’ mothers.

  Shirley and Pearl are both meticulous about getting their hair colored before anyone can see any roots. Pearl likes a soft r
ed, whereas Shirley goes for a very light blonde color. CeCe and I think they just like being regulars at the beauty parlor and all the privileges that go along with it. They get and give all the latest gossip, there’s always someone there to tell them how wonderful they look, and politics or the hot topics of the day are energetically discussed. They deny it, of course. They always give some sort of “taking pride in their personal appearance” speech as their reason. Uh-huh.

  I was really hoping my mother would get home from her City Council meeting soon and help us out with the comforting and cheering. I’m so bad at it. It’s not that I don’t feel sympathy. I always want to help. I really do. It’s more that nothing I ever say actually seems to help. It’s a gift I don’t have. CeCe is much better at it. She always says I do fine, but I know she’s lying. CeCe can’t look you in the eye when she’s lying. Whenever she tries, the presence of lint on her shirt becomes unbearable, and her focus shifts there. I appreciate the effort though.

  We followed Aunt Shirley down the great hall and into the living room. Their living room has the fireplace that held our Christmas stockings as the focal point. It’s a wonderful room with two rocker recliners, the most comfortable sofa in the world, and another comfy chair with great light for reading. I’ve always loved this house along with the people in it, and nothing will ever change that.

  I sat on the cushiony blue sofa with Aunt Shirley as she reminisced about her friend Eliza and the years they spent together in the Garden Club while CeCe made some tea.

  “Pearl and I have known Eliza since we were young ladies, you know. She always loved gardening. She was making plans for a rose trellis. She loved pink roses. Such a pity, she had so much left to do, so much life left to live,” Shirley sighed. “She was only 82, you know. She should have had 20 more happy years ahead of her.”

  I wondered on what planet, when CeCe walked around the staircase from the kitchen. “Mother, there’s a butt load of boxes piled to the ceiling in there. What’s going on?”

  “CeCe, really!” gasped Shirley. “Can’t you think of a nicer way to put that?”

  CeCe threw her eyes heavenward in an eye roll that would have made any teen jealous. Then, her age apparently kicked in, because she cleared her throat and corrected herself, “Sorry, Mother. There’s beaucoup de poo poo load of boxes in your kitchen. What might they be?”

  Maybe that’s not a gentler way to put it, but Aunt Shirley says everything sounds nicer in French.

  “Pearl thought she was ordering 15 bags of chocolate bonbons to serve at our next Senior and Single meeting,” Aunt Shirley explained. “It turned out to be 15 cases. She got a real good price, though.”

  Some of those were going home with us. Oh, yeah.

  We heard a slam and the familiar crisp stride of footsteps as Mother came down the hall. She stopped short when she saw Shirley. “Oh crap, you already heard. I was hoping to get home before you found out about Eliza. I knew you’d take it hard.”

  “Suzanne called me with the news. How did you hear, Pearl?” Shirley asked.

  “The City Council makes it our business to know everything that goes on in this town. You know that,” Mother explained.

  “Suzanne didn’t know how she died. What was it? A stroke? A heart attack?” Shirley asked.

  “We’re waiting for the coroner’s report,” Mother answered her sister gently. “The police didn’t know for sure, so they refused to speculate.”

  This set Shirley off on a new wave of tears. “She was such a proper lady, and genuinely good through and through,” Shirley wept.

  “Oh, come on,” Mother huffed as she took exception to that characterization. “You know she offered her cookies to any man that came within 30 feet of her. She was nice enough and a good friend, but proper?” Pearl snorted her opinion of that characterization.

  CeCe and I knew to stay out of this conversation.

  “Pearl, how can you say that about her?” Shirley spoke in a hushed tone, barely above a whisper, “She’s dead.”

  “Dead doesn’t change who she was. I’ll miss the person she was, but proper she was not. You need to get your mind on something else,” Mother suggested. “I know. Let’s discuss my bathroom remodel. I want everyone’s input, and then tomorrow morning Maggie and I can go buy the things I need to get started. Doesn’t that sound more cheerful?”

  “Can we have some bonbons while we discuss? Chocolate makes me more creative,” I explained.

  “Me too, and I’m feeling blocked,” agreed CeCe.

  For the next hour, we all offered suggestions that Mother completely ignored. She decided to go with her original idea. Nobody expected anything different, and CeCe and I thoroughly enjoyed the bonbons. Even Shirley seemed to feel a little better after five or six bonbons. Ah, chocolate! Thy mysterious healing properties are kickin’!

  We offered our condolences one more time before we said our goodbyes. I told Mother I’d meet her at nine tomorrow morning at the Build-N-Fix-It to pick up some of her remodel supplies, and then CeCe and I headed home. On the drive to our house, it looked like a beautiful night, but it didn’t feel like it. Knowing the sisters were upset left us upset. We’d tell ourselves they’d be fine, and we shouldn’t worry about them, but it wouldn’t matter – we’d worry anyway.

  CHAPTER 2

  The streets on the drive to our house were practically empty. It was only eight o’clock, but unless it was the weekend or time for a shift change at one of the plants, everything would pretty much grind to a halt after seven o’clock.

  “CeCe, dig out your key, will ya?” I said as we pulled into the driveway of the house we rented together.

  The apartment life in college broke the spell of thinking “having neighbors party all the time” was cool. Although we used to consider living in a house with a yard way too domestic, we’ve learned the benefit of not being subjected to the neighbor’s loud, drunken arguments over which roommate on Three’s Company is actually the funniest. We’ve come to embrace the beauty that comes from never knowing when your neighbors flush their toilets or take their showers. So living in a house with a yard might not make us wild, partying women, but that’s kind of the look we’re going for at this point in our lives.

  “I’ll carry both boxes of bonbons while you unlock the door if you’ll give me one for the walk to the door,” CeCe offered. So I loaded her up and popped a bonbon in her mouth.

  I held the door open for CeCe, and tried to stay out of her way as she came through with the boxes. I couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to feel ahead of her with each foot before she took a step.

  “Don’t worry, Sassy Cat’s not in the room. I don’t see her anywhere,” I assured her, looking around to make sure we weren’t being stalked.

  “Oh, good,” CeCe said as she rushed over and put the boxes on the breakfast bar located between the living room and kitchen. I tossed my keys into my basket, which sits next to CeCe’s basket on the side table in the entry way. As rental houses go, ours definitely has more character than the norm. That’s the main reason we picked this place. There are actually curved lines in it. We love the archways to the hall, kitchen, and dining area. The walls, cabinets, and fireplace are all painted a warm ivory, so we decided to go with an olive color sofa and recliners with floral accent pillows. There are maroon colored roses in the mostly ivory floral wallpaper, so we used maroon accessories in the kitchen. The whole effect is a very warm, calm environment. If we didn’t bring our own chaos into this place, it would be quite peaceful.

  Sassy Cat made her appearance a few seconds later than expected. She came prancing in rubbing against our legs and purring.

  “That took too long didn’t it?” CeCe asks warily.

  “Yes. She’s up to something,” I agreed while checking the room for damage but finding none. “You start with your bedroom, and I’ll check mine.”

  “Anything?” I yelled to CeCe.

  “No, my room is fine. Maybe it was a false alarm. I don’t think we did
anything to, uh-oh,” CeCe responded.

  A dead giveaway that she’d found the destruction.

  “What is it?” I asked as I came up behind her and stared into her bathroom. “What did you do?”

  “Me? Nothing!” CeCe cried, sounding totally offended.

  “Well, one of us did something, because Sassy Cat would never waste her time teaching us this big fat lesson if we didn’t,” I bellowed.

  My voice was a little loud, so I concentrated on bringing it down a notch while I took in the carnage. The shower curtain was in shreds. The toilet paper was torn and scattered all over the bathroom, and CeCe’s decorative flowers were in the toilet bowl.

  “Did you use that perfume she doesn’t like again?” CeCe asked accusingly.

  “No, I don’t think so,” I responded, switching into defensive mode. We stood there deep in thought trying to figure out exactly how we had offended Sassy Cat’s delicate sensibilities.

  All of a sudden CeCe gasped loudly.

  “They didn’t have my usual scent of hair spray when I went shopping, but I got the unscented to make sure that she wouldn’t be upset about it,” she confessed. “What could she not like about unscented?”

  “Maybe it’s the lack of scent that bothers her. Who knows?” I ran to the cabinet and grabbed the suspected agitator. “Let’s test it out,” I suggested, “before there’s another incident.”

  I followed CeCe into the living room with the can. Sassy Cat eyed us suspiciously from the sofa as we entered the room.

  “Okay, precious,” CeCe said to Sassy Cat. “We’re going to see if this is what’s upsetting you. Just let us know, okay?”

  I walked to the spot in the room that was farthest away from Sassy Cat and sprayed some of the hair spray. Sassy Cat arched, hissed, and began to shred a throw pillow on the sofa.

  “Stop! Stop!” yelled CeCe. “That’s it! Get rid of it. And make sure she sees you get rid of it.”