“Need help?”
MJ looked at her daughter—who never volunteered to help in the kitchen, often too busy with homework—in surprise. It would take twice as long to make dinner with help, but Kate waited for MJ’s response, her brows furrowed with thought. She must need some mom advice, MJ concluded.
“I’d love it. You can do the bacon.”
“How?”
MJ gave her bamboo tongs, a package of bacon, and instructions. They settled into a quiet routine, dodging each other in a culinary dance while MJ waited for Kate to spill what was on her mind. Tommy clattered back into the kitchen to toss his apple core and grab a glass of milk.
“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked his mom and sister.
MJ looked up from her herb chopping. “What does it look like?”
Tommy shrugged. “Food.”
Kate looked down her nose at him. “You’re such an idiot. It’s Katie eggs and bacon.” She gestured with the tongs, dripping bacon grease on the floor. MJ groaned and wiped it up before someone stepped in it.
Tommy nodded, gulped his milk, and said, “I hope it’s ready soon. I’m starving,” then went outside to throw his baseball against the roof, catching it as it rolled off. MJ watched him go, hair flopping about his head, then turned to Kate. She should get their conversation rolling with something safe.
“Did you get all your college applications submitted?” MJ asked.
“What?” Kate looked up at her. “Umm, yeah.”
“You finished the application for Madison, right?”
“I think so.” Kate poked at the bacon limply, her nonchalance fooling no one.
“Let me know if you want to tour any more campuses. I know it’s a little late, but we could still squeeze in a few more.” MJ whisked the eggs together until they were an even yellow, and Kate still poked. Something was definitely on her mind—usually bacon grabbed her full attention. Time for a more direct approach. “How are the girls? I know high school girls can get catty—I used to be one, you know.”
Kate smiled and perked up a bit. “The girls are good. We’re all too busy for drama.”
She lifted an eyebrow and gave Kate the Mom Stare. She’d get it out of her. Kate looked up from the bacon she was absentmindedly straightening in the sizzling pan.
“I had an appointment with the school counselor.”
“What for?” MJ kept one eye on Kate as she dropped fistfuls of shredded cheese into the whisked eggs.
“Are you going to let me tell you?”
“Sorry, go ahead.” MJ gave Kate a quick squeeze, then got back to stirring. Now they were getting to it.
“He wanted to talk about colleges.”
Kate set the finished bacon on some paper towels and added more slices to the skillet. MJ pulled out the toaster and bread.
“And?” MJ tried to sound breezy.
“I told him I was a bit overwhelmed. There were too many choices.” Kate looked up at her mom like she did when confronted with too many good books to read. “I don’t know where I want to go.”
“What did your counselor say?” MJ worked to keep her tone calm and inviting.
“He said that was normal. It was a big decision and most seniors aren’t equipped to make such big choices.”
“That’s absurd.” MJ didn’t notice she had pulled out every slice of bread until she held an empty bag in her hands. “You’ve known you wanted to be a doctor of some sort since you were five and performed surgery on all your stuffed animals.” MJ smiled, recalling all the fluff surrounding her frustrated kindergartener when she couldn’t sew up her beloved stuffed animal who had just received his new heart.
“Mom, it isn’t funny. He wants a list of colleges ASAP. What am I supposed to do?”
“Oh honey, this is no big deal. You already have a list of schools where you’ve submitted early applications. Give him that list for now. You can let him know as you add more.” Kate stiffened. Right, right, you’re supposed to let them make their own decisions. Kate chewed her lip thoughtfully. “B-DIO?”
Kate rolled her eyes as she always did when MJ busted out the family motto: Boudreauxs Do It Ourselves. Over the years, the mouthful had melted into B-DIO—pronounced beedee-oh. She may roll her eyes, but MJ had overheard Kate and Tommy using it with each other.
“I guess I can do that.” Kate kept her eyes on the counter in front of her.
“Feel better?”
Kate offered her a lopsided smile. Perhaps she needed a bit more encouragement.
“You are at the top of your class and your test scores are great. Colleges will fight over you. All you have to do is let them know how awesome you are. Easy peasy.”
MJ hugged Kate, hoping she found the fine balance.
MJ heard the garage door open and the soft shuffle of her husband’s work loafers on the hardwood floors.
“Hi, hon.”
Chris shuffled into the kitchen, saw Kate and MJ cooking, and smiled.
“I asked Tommy but he couldn’t remember. So, what’s for dinner?”
MJ—barely—tamped down the annoyance and let Kate answer the question.
MJ set the platter of eggs, toast, and bacon on the kitchen table, where her family already sat. Before she could slide into her seat, they started scooping food onto their plates. If she didn’t hurry, they’d be done eating and off to their nightly activities before she could say a word.
MJ looked around the table at her family, their mouths chewing, and only the sounds of forks scraping and throats swallowing broke the silence. Chris flicked through e-mails on his phone with one hand while scooping eggs onto a fork with the other. Both kids watched the TV in the other room.
“Let’s do Thankful.” MJ eased the phone from Chris’s grip and turned it off. “We haven’t done that in a while.” All three faces gaped at her break in the routine. They had become that family that doesn’t talk. She remembered when all Tommy’s Thankfuls ended with “and I love going down slides.” She couldn’t even guess what his Thankful might be, it’d been so long since they’d done it.
“I’ll start,” said Kate. “I’m thankful Mom let me help make dinner.”
“Did I miss something?” Chris asked. MJ shook her head. “Fair enough. I’m thankful I have a wife capable of handling the day-to-day drama of teenagers, so I don’t have to.”
“I’m thankful Coach said I can be cocaptain of the JV baseball team.” Tommy beamed at his news.
“Honey, that’s wonderful,” MJ said, reaching over to run a hand through Tommy’s hair.
“And good practice for when you make the varsity team,” Chris said. Tommy frowned and MJ kicked Chris under the table. When he looked at her, she raised an eyebrow. Sometimes he could be so dense. He cleared his throat. “Good job, son.”
Tommy smiled again.
“What’s your Thankful, Mom?” he asked.
MJ finished chewing and swallowed.
“I’m thankful that your father is going to practice playing poker with me so we can go on a poker date this Saturday.”
Three pairs of eyes looked up as one, mouths still chewing. MJ scooped another bite and put it in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of the coffee she had made to go with the meal.
“You want to play poker with me?” Chris’s face looked confused.
“If you want to. I know you love to play, so if you practiced with me, we could have date nights at the casino. Together.” Bite, chew, chew, sip.
Chris pushed his eggs around the plate, his brows scrunched. “It doesn’t have to be poker; it could be something you like. Or we could take a cooking class together. I’ve been wanting to start cooking more than just pancakes on Sunday mornings. More like a real date.”
MJ took a large gulp of coffee. She tried to envision a cooking class, chopping and sautéing like she spent every afternoon struggling to do. No contest with the exciting visions of dramatic bets and winning hands that she had spent that afternoon visualizing. She was trying to fa
ll in love again, not relive her daily chore list.
“No. Definitely poker. I think it would be fun. Will you? Play with me?”
Chris’s eyes squinted in thought, studying MJ. Would he insist on something else? Did he want to keep his poker world for himself?
“I would love to,” he said. Chris smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. MJ sighed with relief.
“When should we start?” MJ asked.
“How about after dinner?” Chris said.
MJ beamed at him and waited for a flicker of warmth. Nothing. Apparently, falling in love with him again wasn’t going to be as easy as the first time.
Chapter Three
The kids retreated to their rooms for the evening, which was good—MJ didn’t need witnesses if this experiment disintegrated. MJ lit a candle so the room filled with mango and coconut, then dimmed the lights. She took a deep breath, committing to the plan. Perhaps love was like any other habit: practice it enough and it becomes a part of you. She ran her fingers through Chris’s hair as she walked past, then slid into her chair.
“Well, this certainly beats the air freshener and cheap nacho smell at the casino,” Chris said. “And the players are better looking, too.”
“We aim to please at the Boudreaux Casino.” MJ winked, playing along. Yes, this levity was what she wanted. “So, let’s get this party rolling.”
Chris dealt the first hand.
MJ picked up the cards. It was all coming back—the smell of beer, whiskey, and the cherry-flavored pipe tobacco the Gents would smoke.
She’d been bartending since she could reach over the wooden counter, her mom watchful, making sure MJ was treated with respect from the mostly male clientele at Gone Fishing. The core group of regulars rallied to this cause, shutting down trouble before it began and earning themselves the affectionate nickname of “the Gents.” To help her with math, the Gents taught her card games like blackjack and sheepshead. When she showed a knack for cards, they moved on to poker—not just hold ’em, but seven-card stud, Omaha, and almost every other variation. Playing for peanuts and pretzels, she learned how to bet, how to get the feel of a table, and how to read what the other players might have. When she started winning most of the pretzels and peanuts, the Gents let her play with real money, pennies and nickels. They’d set up a small game at the end of the bar so MJ could still serve drinks between bets. The feel of the shiny, coated paper in her hand, even without the smell of pipe smoke in the air, rattled these old memories.
MJ picked up her cards, raised her eyebrow at Chris, and made her first bet. She had a jack and queen of different suits. Chris matched her bet, then put down the first three shared cards—a king of hearts, a nine of hearts, and a four of spades. She almost had a straight and with two cards left to share, she had a decent chance of getting the one she needed. She bet again; Chris called again. The last card was a ten of hearts. MJ had her straight.
“All in.”
“Really?” Chris tilted his head to one side. “The first hand and you’re going all in?”
“I’ve gotta play the cards I’m dealt.” MJ smiled.
“Fair enough. Then I suppose I need to do the same. Call.”
MJ frowned. Why would he call? He must be humoring her since they would just redivvy the chips and start over. She flipped over her cards, showing her straight. Chris did the same. He had an ace and a three of hearts. He flipped over the last shared card—three of clubs.
“Why did you call me on that?”
Chris studied the cards and looked at MJ’s face.
“Um, I have a flush; you have a straight. I win.”
MJ stared at the cards. She hadn’t even thought about a flush—she was so focused on her cards. Admittedly, it had been a while since those games with pennies and nickels.
“To refresh your memory, here’s a list of what hand beats another hand. I wrote it while you were doing the dishes.” He slid a piece of paper he had ready and waiting for this moment. While she was up to her elbows in suds, he was already assuming she would need his guidance. If he wanted to be useful, MJ thought, he could have been in the kitchen with her. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
He’s just trying to help, MJ reminded herself. You wanted this.
She set one finger on the list and pulled it closer to read.
Royal Flush (A, K, Q, J, 10 of same suit)
Straight Flush (in numerical order, all the same suit)
Four of a Kind
Full House (three of a kind + a pair)
Flush (all the same suit)
Straight (all five cards in numerical order, ex: 2, 3, 4, 5, 6)
Three of a kind
Two pair
One pair
High card
The Gents had once scribbled a list like this for her on a bar napkin. It had been slow for a Saturday afternoon. Fall sunlight painted yellow-white rectangles across the dingy pool table and empty stools. They were Gone Fishing’s only customers, so her mom, Barbara, worked on the accounts at her desk, a metal monstrosity she had salvaged from the junkyard and painted a vibrant spring green in hopes of brightening up the windowless closet she used as an office. With the door open, she could keep one eye on the bar in case MJ needed her help. Through sheer will and exhausting hours, Barbara kept the office Spartan, except for a vintage French poster for Jailhouse Rock—a gift from a grateful bar patron and fellow Elvis devotee. Papers were filed immediately, stock was shelved, and anything unnecessary went out to the Dumpster. Only one cup of cold black coffee and the accounting book sat on the desktop.
Her eyes crinkled as she soaked up her only child, deepening the creases to match the smile on her face. Her thinning, curly dark hair was threaded with silver and piled atop her head with a red scrunchie stolen from MJ’s room. She looked tired from working longer hours since they’d been short-staffed. She refused to let MJ work too much, saying her grades came first, so Mom had been working every night until close, her only break when MJ covered the bar for a few hours after school. The weekends were all hands on deck—they both needed to work.
MJ turned her attention back from her mom to the Gents. She studied the cheat sheet they had made her, nodding as she committed each of the possible hands to memory, unaware when the bells on the door rang, signaling someone had entered. She didn’t notice until the long screech of a chair being pulled across the floor caught her attention. At the other end of the bar sat Joey St. Clair, the town drunk—and MJ’s father. He wore a white tank top under his beaten black motorcycle jacket and faded jeans. A chain ran from a belt loop to the wallet in his back pocket that MJ knew was empty. Greasy shoulder-length dark hair fell across his face, hiding watery, bloodshot eyes. MJ worried he’d set it on fire as he lit his cigarette. The Gents quieted their banter and MJ glanced over her shoulder to see if her mom had noticed yet. Barbara was emptying boxes and hadn’t seen Joey arrive. No reason to bother her. MJ could handle this.
“Hey, Joey.” MJ walked down the bar to stand in front of him. “I can’t serve you.”
Joey flipped his stringy hair out of his face as he sucked on his cigarette, already hollow cheeks deepening with the inhale.
“I ain’t lookin’ for a drink.” He blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “I’m almost outta gas and I need to get to a new job.”
MJ knew he was lying, at least about the job part. She didn’t doubt he wanted money. MJ looked over her shoulder to where her mom was bent over the filing cabinet, still oblivious to his presence. That wouldn’t last long; maybe MJ could get him out of here before she noticed. No reason to ruin Mom’s day, too.
“I’m not giving you money. We both know it’s for brandy.”
“Look here, Margaret June . . .”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I gave you that name; I’ll damn well call you that when I want.” Joey squinted at her, this time blowing smoke right into her face.
MJ’s stomach turned at being reminded that half of her was from him. Why coul
dn’t he just leave them alone? She and Mom were fine—they took care of themselves.
“Fine.” MJ pulled a small wad of singles from the pitcher where she kept her tips.
MJ stretched to set the money on the bar, but her mom appeared at her elbow like a force of nature, using her iron grip to stop MJ. The hope on Joey’s face washed away.
“Out. You will not now, nor ever, take money from my daughter.”
Joey rallied for one more attempt.
“She’s my daughter, too. If she wants to give me money, she can.” He actually looked proud at this logic.
“Don’t you act like you’ve done anything but make our lives difficult. She is getting out of here and away from you. She deserves better than you.”
Joey’s remaining spine crumbled when confronted with the immovable will of Barbara Olson. He stumbled off the stool and scurried out the door like a vulture chased off by a lioness. Barbara nodded to the Gents and they hopped off their seats as one to get Joey and his car home safely. Barbara watched them leave, then strode back toward her office, dropping a quick kiss on MJ’s forehead as she walked by. MJ was left with the empty bar. She cleaned up the Gents’ glasses and wiped down the counter. She hopped onto one of the stools and pulled the bar napkin with the poker-hand hierarchy on it. Instead of dwelling on her embarrassment of a father, she focused on memorizing that napkin.
Chris set more chips in front of her with a clink, the mango and coconut candle banishing the cherry pipe smoke of her memory.
“How much do you remember?” he asked.
MJ blinked away the memories that hadn’t crossed her mind in years. She focused on Chris’s face, his bright blue eyes reflecting that her wandering mind hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“I guess I’m rustier than I thought. And I’ve only played with the Gents, so who knows if they didn’t make up rules to give them an advantage.” MJ smiled fondly at the memory of the old coots even as her heart thumped with the memory of her father.
“Okay. How about I start at the top?”
MJ nodded her assent. Chris looked surprised that his stubborn wife accepted so easily, but she needed the time to rein in her thoughts.
Luck, Love & Lemon Pie Page 3