by Darien Gee
MET THE MOST AMAZING GUY! BUT I THINK HE LIVES WITH HIS MOM. WEIRD?
Hubert steps onto the porch, leash in hand. He shakes his keys and Toby bounds out. He gives Yvonne a wave. “I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out.
Yvonne smiles brightly and furiously types another text.
ISABEL!! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!! WE’RE GOING TO HARDWARE STORE NOW.
She’s relieved when her phone pings back almost immediately.
HECK YEA IS WEIRD. DUMP HIM. IN MTG, TTYL.
Yvonne snaps her phone closed and sags against the seat. Great.
But when Toby and Hubert walk toward her, she can’t help but smile. She’s not marrying the guy, just going for a quick ride to the hardware store, and there’s Toby to boot. She starts up the engine, then leans over and opens the door for them.
The next hour is arguably one of the best hours of Yvonne’s life. Hubert is funny and smart, and of course there’s Toby, who seems to know exactly what’s going on between his owner and his new friend.
Yvonne wishes the job was more than a leaky toilet because it seems like only a matter of minutes before she’s replacing the lid of the tank. “Well, you’re all set.” She takes her time putting her tools away.
Hubert gives the toilet one more flush. “You did it.”
“It’s not rocket science. And now you can do it, too, if it ever happens again.” She hands him the old flapper in a Ziploc bag. “Though I’d try to get your money back from that guy if you can.”
“Doubtful. The guy’s a jerk.” They both grin and then clear their throats, looking away, embarrassed.
They walk downstairs to the first floor. Yvonne is startled to see an older woman standing at the base of the stairs, waiting for them, her face disapproving.
A light cardigan is wrapped around her shoulders, and she’s dressed in a blouse and calf-length skirt. Her graying hair is short and styled, tan heels on her feet. Jeweled reading glasses are perched on the edge of her nose and she looks serious, reminding Yvonne of an accountant.
“Hubert?” she says, her voice carrying a hint of warning.
“Mother,” he says. Yvonne waits for an introduction but there is none. “She was just leaving.” He quickly ushers Yvonne out the door and walks her to her truck.
“Thanks again,” he says. “You did great work.”
“You’re welcome.” Yvonne hands him a receipt and her card. She decides against saying anything about his mother—it’s not her business and who knows if she’ll ever see him again. But then she blurts out, “Feel free to call me if you have any other problems.”
“I will.” Hubert glances at the house before looking down at her card. “You know, you don’t look like an Yvonne.”
She smiles. “Well, you don’t look like a Hubert.”
“Fair enough. Family name, there was no way of getting around it. But nobody calls me Hubert except for my mom—I go by Hugh.”
“Hugh.” Yvonne likes this. She reluctantly slides into the driver’s seat and slams the door.
Hugh leans against the open passenger window. “So can I call you if I don’t have a plumbing-related problem?” Behind him, Yvonne sees a curtain move. “Like for dinner?” His voice is low, almost a whisper.
A small thrill runs through Yvonne but she forces herself to keep her composure. “Sure,” she says. “I’d like that.”
“Me too.” He smiles, then steps away from the truck and gives her a wave.
Yvonne fumbles for her earpiece, then quickly dials Isabel’s number. As expected, it rolls to voice mail, but Yvonne doesn’t care.
“Isabel!” she breathes. “I think I have a date!”
Connie is peeling Granny Smith apples as she gazes out the window. It’s still bright outside but their day is officially over, everything cleaned up, the next day’s prep complete. It’ll be a nice, quiet evening for her and Madeline, one that Connie is looking forward to.
Long strands of apple skins gather in a bucket at her feet. She’ll take it to Serena later, a treat for good behavior. Serena’s stayed out of trouble and been friendly to guests who wander into the backyard to see the garden. Even Madeline seems to enjoy having Serena around when she goes out to do a little weeding in the early morning.
Connie begins to core the apples. She’s baking apple dumplings in an attempt to sharpen her kitchen skills. She’s good at following directions and knows how to make everything on the tea salon menu, but she’s not much of an innovator when it comes to food. She doesn’t have the natural talent that Madeline or Hannah has, and even though she knows she can easily manage all the administrative aspects of her job, she wants to be more of an equal in these other areas, too.
Connie’s okay with Hannah, but she can’t help but feel a little left out whenever Hannah comes over. Hannah and Madeline have a friendship that goes beyond the tea salon, have an appreciation for music and the arts, something Connie doesn’t know much about. They’re both well traveled and will talk about places they’ve visited or things they’ve eaten, shows they’ve seen. They both speak a little French and will sometimes converse in short sentences, laughing as they do so. Connie finds it both intriguing and a little off-putting, too—they make it sound so easy, so everyday, so accessible. Connie doesn’t have a passport—she’s never even left the state of Illinois.
The phone rings as Connie begins to work the dough.
“Stay there, I’ll get it,” Madeline says when Connie moves to wipe her hands. Madeline puts down the Avalon Gazette and pushes herself up from the table. Her eyes flicker to the bowl of apples dusted in sugar and cinnamon. “Mmm. We may have to forgo dinner tonight and go straight to dessert.”
Connie smiles but she knows Madeline is being polite. She had shown Madeline the apple dumpling recipe and saw her arch an eyebrow when she came across the last ingredient: a bottle of soda pop, Mountain Dew to be specific. Not exactly a high-rolling gourmet ingredient, but it sounded like fun, so she wants to try it.
Connie rolls out the dough. It’s so odd that she’s here, acting a bit like Suzy Homemaker when it’s so far from who she is. In a way she was better suited at the Avalon Wash and Dry—she blended in there, the girl with the jet-black hair and shabby clothes, a girl who was part of the background. At Madeline’s Tea Salon, however, Connie is the anomaly, the piece that doesn’t quite fit. She was known for the first couple of months as the Girl with the Spiky Hair, and now she knows people refer to her as the Girl with the Goat. It’s just as well—Connie can’t imagine her life without Serena. She doesn’t want to.
Madeline hangs up the phone. “Connie, that was Bettie Shelton. She’d like to use the sitting room for her scrapbooking meeting tonight. I told her I’d check the schedule and call her back.”
Connie glances at the clock. “But it’s already four o’clock!”
“I know, but she seems to be in a pinch and we don’t have anything going on tonight. She says the group usually does a potluck dinner, so they don’t need anything other than the space, though I’m happy to put out hot water and tea.”
Connie grumbles as she starts to cut triangles in the dough. “She did this last month, too—tried to squeeze in at the last minute. And she’ll want to come in for free, no doubt.”
“Yes,” Madeline admits. “But she did say the members would stay to help clean up afterward, and that she’ll include two scrapbooking starter kits and albums, for us, for free. I have to admit I’m intrigued—I’ve been thinking about making a scrapbook for Maggie. About Steven, her grandfather. I wish he were alive to see her—he’d be tickled by that sweet child.” Maggie is Madeline’s granddaughter, her stepson Ben’s one-year-old daughter. Madeline and Ben had been estranged for years but reconnected this past December, and they’ve been in touch ever since. Connie knows it’s a relationship that’s precious to Madeline, but also fraught with old hurts and painful memories. She can also see that Madeline’s already made up her mind, that Bettie and her friends will be descending upon the tea
salon in a couple of hours.
The look on Madeline’s face is both wistful and sad as she begins to wipe down the counters, fill the large hot water carafes, her nose wrinkling as it does whenever she’s trying to keep herself from being overwhelmed by emotion. Connie sighs. Madeline is so good to her that she can put up with Bettie Shelton for one night.
“I’ll make sure we have enough chairs in the sitting room,” Connie says as she places an apple wedge in a dough triangle and pinches it closed. She places the dumpling in a baking dish and starts on another one. “And I guess I can put this on the buffet table for the ladies, too, if it turns out okay.”
“Oh, Connie.” Madeline offers an appreciate smile. “That’s very generous of you.”
“It’s nothing,” Connie says, already putting on her tea salon manager hat. “I can take care of everything if you want to go freshen up. At least we don’t have to worry about dinner. Do I need to put out plates and utensils?”
Madeline shakes her head. “They’ll bring paper products, so that will help tremendously with cleanup. Just the teacups, I think. They’ll be needing the tables, too, so we’ll let them sort themselves out between the sitting room and dining area. I’ll give her a call back and let her know we’d be happy to host the group tonight.” She hesitates for a moment. “I tried to speak to Bettie about the night we saw her in the backyard.”
Connie nods, curious. “I mentioned it to her the day after but she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, or she was pretending not to.”
Madeline nods. “That was the same response I got. I think old age may be catching up with us old ladies.”
Connie finishes one baking dish and starts on another. “I don’t think it’s old age,” she says after a moment. She isn’t sure what it is, but there are plenty of women Bettie’s age, Madeline included, who aren’t running around in the middle of the night in their nightgown and slippers.
Madeline looks sad as she gazes out the window. “I know.”
There’s a bleat from the backyard. Madeline glances at the clock. “Sounds like your goat is ready for a walk. Or dinner.”
“Both, probably. I’ll take care of her in a sec.”
“Have you talked to the vet or thought of putting up any signs?”
Darn. Things had been going so well that Connie was hoping that Madeline accepted the fact that they would be keeping Serena, no more questions asked.
Madeline waits but Connie doesn’t say anything. What’s there to say? Instead, Connie gets up and goes to the stove, busying herself as she turns the heat on low under the small saucepan holding butter, sugar, and cinnamon.
“Connie?”
“Um, I know, Madeline. I was going to work on it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.” Connie keeps her back to Madeline, relieved she can’t see her face, which is flushed.
“I know we’ve been busy, Connie, but I can’t help thinking that someone may be looking for her. It’s September—it’s been over a month already. And she can’t stay here forever—the Lassiters will make sure of that.”
Connie nods, mute, stirring the melting butter with her wooden spoon.
“Would it be helpful if I called the vet?”
“No!” Connie spins around. “I mean, I’ll take care of it, Madeline. I’d like to be the one to do it, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Madeline studies her for a moment. “Are you all right?”
Connie takes a deep breath. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking about tonight and getting everything together before the meeting. That’s all.”
“If there’s anything you’d like to talk about, maybe about Serena, I’m here. Okay?”
“Okay.” Connie forces a smile but it quickly breaks so she turns back to the table. She carefully pours the butter mixture over the dumplings, aware that Madeline is watching her. A second later, she hears footsteps as Madeline heads to her bedroom.
Connie reaches for the Mountain Dew and cracks the lid open. There’s a hiss, then the soda bubbles up, fizzling and threatening to spill over. Connie feels dread, can picture herself mopping up the mess, the apple dumplings ruined since she doesn’t have any more Mountain Dew. The rest of the evening will be off, Connie always a step behind, one thing going wrong after another.
But the soda settles and sparkles, waiting. Serena calls out again and Connie lets out her breath. She pours the soda over the apple dumplings, then slips the baking dishes into the oven. She sets the timer for thirty-five minutes and tidies up, then picks up the bucket filled with apple rinds and heads toward the backyard.
Noah’s kindergarten teacher, Miss Howe, is on the phone, her voice rushed and despondent. “Mrs. Latham, I’m so sorry to bother you, but one of Noah’s classmates, Baxter Pickett, is celebrating a birthday today and somehow the guinea pig got into the cupcakes while we were at recess.”
Ew, Frances thinks, but instead says politely, “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yes,” Miss Howe says. “The kids were upset and Newton needs to go to the vet. So I was wondering—would you mind picking something up for Baxter’s birthday? His mother is at work and can’t get away. You’re at the top of the list for parent helpers this week.”
Inwardly Frances groans—she doesn’t want to leave the house. She’s a mess, for starters, still in her pajamas and robe, peanut butter and jelly smeared on her sleeves. Brady is glued to the television, has been for the past three hours. Frances even let him eat his snack there.
Because what does it matter? These small details of life, the pockets of good moments here and there, the excitement of a class birthday party, the softness of a guinea pig, the snuggle of your young son. It’s wonderful, but is it enough? Now, as Frances is on the cusp of seeing a lifelong dream slip away, she wonders what’s worse: not experiencing it at all, or having had the opportunity only to lose it altogether.
She and Reed have had endless discussions about Mei Ling, have shed tears, have argued the pros and cons. They’ve talked to other families who made the decision to adopt a child with extreme medical challenges like Mei Ling. Each story is a stab in Frances’s heart. There are parents who say that as much as they love their child, they weren’t prepared for the degree to which it’s impacted their lives. The financial strain, the emotional toll, the attachment disorder that often accompanies these adoptions. Marriages falling apart, children who can’t be consoled and lash out at anyone around them—siblings, parents, teachers, healthcare workers.
There are families who’ve had to find new placements for their adopted child, who knew they were in over their heads and sought another solution that would work in the best interest of everyone. These stories are the saddest for Frances, and she knows it will devastate her if she were ever faced with that same dilemma.
But this isn’t that dilemma. She knows Reed is trying to cut this possibility off at the pass, to make sure they don’t end up another sad statistic, but it’s too late because Frances already feels attached to Mei Ling. She’s seen a whole future with this child in their lives, whatever that might mean. Yes, there are worst-case scenarios, and Reed has already gone through each and every one of them. Frances, however, isn’t going to go there. And because of this she and Reed are now distant, separate. The two of them have taken positions on opposite sides of the river and there is no in between, no common ground.
“Mrs. Latham?” Miss Howe’s voice calls her back to the situation at hand. The class birthday party, the first of the year, the one Noah couldn’t stop talking about before leaving for school this morning.
“I’ll stop by the store and pick something up,” she hears herself saying even though she really wants to crawl back into bed. She can pick up two dozen cupcakes from the Pick and Save, drop them off at the school, and be home within the hour.
“Oh, thank you!” Miss Howe’s relief is so huge Frances almost feels guilty. “We’ll do our celebration after lunch. His mother had made special cupcakes but I know that’s too much to ask
at this late hour. Baxter is gluten intolerant so regular cupcakes or cookies are out of the question, I’m afraid. Maybe pick up some fruit or cheese?”
Frances makes a face but agrees. It takes her a minute to change, anxious to get this out of the way. Brady is zoned out and easy to move into his car seat. Frances hands him a juice box and they drive over to the Pick and Save.
Standing amid the fruits and vegetables Frances is gloomy. What kind of birthday celebration is this going to be? Throw in the cheese sticks and it’s nothing more than a glorified snack time. She wants to lob the apples into the aisles, scatter the red and green grapes onto the floor. Why does it have to be so hard? Why does everything have to be so damn hard?
“Frances?”
Frances turns and sees Hannah Wang coming up behind her, pushing a shopping cart. “Oh, hi, Hannah.”
Hannah smiles. “It’s good to see you again! How are you?”
Frances is about to lie and say she’s good, but she can’t. Instead her eyes fill with tears.
“Oh,” Hannah says. She fumbles through her purse for a tissue.
“No, that’s all right,” Frances says, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffing. “Mei Ling’s medical report. We … we got the wrong assignment. They gave us the wrong child.” The words ring false in her ears. “Mei Ling has a serious heart condition along with other medical challenges. We have until tomorrow to respond but Reed wants to turn it down, wait for another child.” The tears come again. Brady is facing forward in their shopping cart that’s fashioned after a boat.
“I’m so sorry,” Hannah says.
“And now I’m supposed to pick up fruit and cheese for a birthday party—a birthday party!—at my son’s school. The kid, Baxter, is gluten intolerant but Newton got into the gluten-free cupcakes and now he’s sick and I’m here picking up fruit and cheese instead. Fruit and cheese!” She’s practically hysterical.
Hannah’s eyes widen. Frances is on a roll.
“Why can’t they have cupcakes? I want to bake them cupcakes but I have no idea what a gluten-free cupcake is and I don’t have enough time to figure it out. But what kid wants FRUIT on their birthday?” Frances gestures to the fruit around them. Brady cranes his neck from the front of the boat to take a look at what’s going on. Frances catches her breath, blows it out. She slumps against the handlebars. “I’m sorry. It’s been a hard couple of days. I just wish everyone could have what they want, you know?”