Pumpkin Spice Up Your Life

by Suzanne Nelson

  She looked as jumpy as I felt. “I brought some donut holes.” She held out a brown paper bag and a tray holding two coffees. “The chocolate glazed used to be your favorites.”

  “They still are,” I said in surprise. “You … remember that?”

  “I left,” she said quietly, “but I didn’t forget.” Silence fell between us for a moment, and then she cleared her throat, nodding to the coffee tray in her hand. “I think you like pumpkin spice lattes but when I stopped at the Snug Mug they didn’t have them on the menu anymore, so I got us cappuccinos …” Her voice trailed off, and her shoulders tensed with awkwardness. “I shouldn’t have brought them. That was silly. I know that day I met you there was a mistake—”

  “No, it’s okay.” I took the coffees from her and opened the door wider so that she could come inside. “I haven’t wanted to eat much, but donut holes actually sound good.”

  “Do they?” The relief in her voice was palpable. “I’m glad.” She stepped over the threshold and shrugged out of her coat. Then she followed me into the family room, the two of us moving gingerly around each other in an awkward dance. Finally, we settled on different ends of the couch. Not too close to each other, but we had to start somewhere.

  I nibbled at one of the donut holes while Mom took a hefty swig of her coffee.

  “We have a lot to talk about, I know,” Mom said. “But maybe you want to start with why you look like you’ve been crying for hours?”

  I hesitated, studying her face. I recognized remnants of the mom from my childhood, but her presence in our family room seemed too strange to be real.

  “I’m not even sure why I called you,” I admitted. “I wanted to talk to somebody, so …” I shrugged, at a loss as to how to explain the impulse I’d had earlier. But—if I was totally honest with myself—this was the first time in six years I’d even been able to reach my mom in an emergency. Having her pick up the phone when I’d dialed had felt … good. Reassuring. I sank my head into my hands. “This is so confusing! I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say, or even think.”

  Silence stretched between us, and I felt the couch cushions rise and then fall as Mom moved to sit beside me. With a careful slowness, as if she wanted to gauge my reaction, she reached for my hands and drew them away from my face.

  “Maybe we forget ‘supposed tos,’ ” she said softly. “There’s no set of rules for this.” She offered me a tentative smile. “Tell me what feels right to tell me. Ask me anything. Yell, cry, scream. Whatever you need to do. I’m here.”

  I met her gaze, and even as I felt all the emotions building inside me—the anger at her for leaving, the blame I wanted to place on her, the pain of missing her all those years—they weren’t what I needed to talk about first.

  I took a deep breath. “Okay, so you know I play the cello …” She nodded encouragingly. “And I had an audition for Interlochen’s camp scheduled for tomorrow, but …”

  I kept on, the words pouring out of me more effortlessly than I ever would’ve imagined. I kept talking, and Mom kept listening. At some point, I started to understand why I’d been compelled to call her. It was comforting to talk to someone who didn’t know me well enough to offer me instant advice, or who would presume to tell me what was best, or what I should do.

  Daniel had been so quick to try to convince me I was making a mistake, and Dad … What would Dad say when he found out? Probably nothing. Like he always did.

  Mom listened openly and without judgment. She asked questions, but if I couldn’t or didn’t want to answer, she yielded without pushing. It was such a relief that by the time I’d talked myself out, I’d finished off the bag of donut holes and was sagging into the couch.

  “You know, it’s funny, what a careful planner you are,” Mom said at last, running her finger in a circle around her coffee cup lid. “You got that from your father. Sometimes I think the only spontaneous thing he ever did was marry me.” She smiled at the memory like it was a happy one, and I was glad. “Oh, and having you.” She nodded toward Dad’s bedroom. “Did he tell you that you were born in that bedroom?”

  I shook my head. “I was? Dad never told me! He’s not exactly a super talker.”

  “No, he always was on the quiet side.” She laughed softly. “Anyway, you were born two weeks early in that back room. We didn’t have time to get to the hospital. I told your father you already had an adventurous spirit, since you couldn’t wait another minute to see the world.”

  I smiled wryly. “But I don’t have that spirit,” I said. “I overthink everything. And I hate change. It terrifies me.”

  “Same with your dad,” Mom said. “He was scared of being a parent. But as soon as you were born, it was suddenly like he knew that all he had to do in life was make sure he kept you safe. We were practically kids ourselves, but in that instant, he grew up. Just like that.” Her voice dropped into sadness. “He wasn’t the one who ran. That was me. In the end, I was the one too scared to stay.”

  My anger rose to the surface then. “Scared of me?”

  “The responsibility of you. Of knowing how easily I could mess everything up, or mess you up.” Her voice wavered, and she dabbed at her eyes. “It wasn’t bravery that made me leave. I told your dad I wanted adventure, but really, I was terrified of the biggest adventure of all.” She met my gaze, tears in her eyes. “Raising you.”

  I battled back my own tears, not willing to show her how much her words hurt.

  “I knew I was making mistakes as a young mom,” she said, “but what scared me the most was the mistakes I might be making with you that I didn’t know about yet. There were so many things that could go wrong, and I was responsible for your whole life …” Her voice trailed off. “My fear robbed me of you, and I’ll regret that forever. What I wish for you”—she met my gaze—“is that you don’t let fear control you, or leave you with regret for all the things you might’ve done but didn’t. What a loss that would be, for you … and the world.” There was glimmer of feistiness in her eyes, the same feistiness that had carried her around the globe.

  I clenched my hands together, frowning. “I’ve hated you for leaving.”

  Her mouth crumpled, but she nodded. “That’s fair. Nothing I could ever say will make up for the years I’ve missed. All I’m hoping is for a chance to get to know you again. I’ll be as big or as little a part of your life as you’d like.” Her voice broke, and for a few minutes, she couldn’t speak. Then, at last, she added in a whisper, “I’d just like to be a part. Any part.”

  My heart skipped with fear, doubt, and hope. “I’m not sure what I can give you,” I said. “I don’t trust you.” I swallowed, then added, “Yet.”

  “I don’t blame you.” She wiped her eyes again.

  Then it was my turn to cautiously reach out and slowly take her hand. “But I’ll try.”

  She squeezed my hand, smiling. “I’ll try, too.”

  I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted to the bone. I hadn’t slept well the past few nights. It had only been a couple hours since Mom had arrived, but there was a universe of change between then and now. I’d opened a door to her, and no matter how terrifying the prospect of it was, I wanted it to stay open. But I also needed time to process.

  “This is a lot.” My voice was quiet. “But … I think it’s good.”

  Mom’s eyes brightened. “Me, too,” she whispered. Then, as if she’d picked up on my fatigue, or maybe my need to be alone for a while, she stood. “Your dad’s probably going to be home soon, so I think I should go.” She paused, then added, “I did call him earlier to tell him I was on my way over. You might not like that I did that, but in order for this to work, we have to start off on the right foot. Honesty is an absolute nonnegotiable.” I nodded, somewhat grudgingly, but then she added, “And he’s not angry with you about missing school. He said he was sure it was a one-time thing.”

  “It was.” Guilt over missing school had zapped me countless times today. I still wasn’t cut out for b
reaking the rules, but since I hadn’t brought on Armageddon, I guessed it was okay … just this once.

  I followed Mom to the entryway, and we hovered by the door, both of us stalling.

  “Well,” Mom said, “I’m not sure how much of a help I was. Six years makes for a steep learning curve.” She smiled at me. “But I’m so glad you called.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and meant it. “And you did help.”

  She hesitated, her hand on the door. There was a yearning in her eyes, and I guessed that she wanted to hug me. She was letting me take the lead, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted or was ready for, either.

  “All right, well …” She opened the door.

  “Mom, wait.” I wrapped my arms around her, at first tentatively, and then more snugly. She enveloped me in the warmth of her own arms. “I hope we’ll talk again soon.”

  “Anytime,” Mom whispered, giving me a squeeze. I let go first, and she stepped through the door.

  I waved as her car pulled out of the driveway. Then I collapsed back on the couch, feeling drained but relieved and unconscionably happy.

  I burrowed beneath a blanket, unable to keep my eyes open a second longer. My insides had been wound so tight for so long, and now the coil gave way, unspooling. As I fell into a deep, restful sleep, Mom’s words fluttered through my drifting thoughts: Don’t let fear control you.

  I won’t, came my mind’s far-off answer.

  “Nadi,” a familiar voice was whispering, and there was a gentle hand resting on my shoulder. “Nadi, hon. It’s time to wake up.”

  “Dad?” I asked, pulling myself from the depths of my dreamless sleep. I sat up slowly, disoriented for a minute by the dimly lit family room and crackling fire in the potbellied stove. Dad was perched on the arm of the sofa, looking down at me with a tender smile—a smile I hadn’t seen on his face in I couldn’t remember how long. “Wha—what time is it?” I glanced out the darkened window.

  “Not too late,” he said. “Around six. You still have plenty of time.”

  “Plenty of time to do what?” I sat up straighter, for the first time noticing the paper bag Dad was holding in his lap, and the purposeful expression on his face.

  “To get ready for your audition tomorrow.” His tone was steady and straightforward, and it made my stomach sink.

  “Dad …” I shook my head. “I thought Mom might’ve told you already, but … I canceled the audition. I’m not going tomorrow.”

  “Your mom didn’t tell me. Daniel did.”

  My pulse triple-timed at hearing Daniel’s name. “What?”

  Dad nodded. “He texted me yesterday, right after you left the Snug Mug.”

  “But …” I tried to piece together this information. “You didn’t say anything. You knew last night, and—”

  “I figured that if I brought it up, you’d only make it impossible for me to do what I knew I had to do.”

  My brow crinkled in confusion. “What did you do?”

  “I called Interlochen, and your audition is back on for tomorrow.” He gave my knee a single, definitive pat. “So that’s that.”

  I opened my mouth, prepared for panicked words of refusal to fly out. None came. I waited for my heartbeat to race full throttle into terror, for alarm bells of anxiety to scream in my head. Nothing. What I felt, instead, was an ember ignite inside me, in the very spot where my fear had lodged for so long. My body had already decided what my mind hadn’t caught on to yet—that I still wanted to audition. That, no matter how ill-prepared I was, I needed to try.

  I stared at Dad, and saw in his eyes a mirror of my resolve. “How … how did you know I’d still want to?”

  “I didn’t.” He leaned toward me. “But you’re not a quitter, so I thought my chances were pretty good.” He smiled again, then took a deep breath. “You’ve been angry with me, and I’m sorry. I’m not the world’s best conversationalist. Never have been.” He swept a hand through his hair. “It used to bug your mom, too. It was one of the things we fought about, that I wasn’t good at ‘emoting.’ ” He gave a small laugh at the word.

  “It’s the way you are,” I conceded, “but … I get lonely sometimes.”

  He moved to sit beside me on the couch. “I’m so sorry about that, hon. You’ve made it too easy on me, being as grown-up as you are. You were always like that, even as a little kid.” He gave me an awkward side hug. It didn’t last long, but I felt its warmth, all the same. “Heck, you even organized your carpools in elementary school, remember? I started thinking that there wasn’t much left for me to do. You handled everything so well on your own.”

  “I always needed you, Dad.” I took his hand. “I still do.”

  He smiled at me. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder, and the two of us sat there for a long minute in comfortable silence.

  “I’ve been thinking we should shake things up in the kitchen,” Dad said then. “I’m sick of chili, aren’t you?”

  I laughed. “Dad, I’ve been sick of it for the last two years.”

  He reached into the paper shopping bag in his lap and pulled out a book called How to Cook Everything. “I thought we could work our way through this cookbook together. And I’ll keep learning recipes while you’re at Interlochen. By the time you come home at the end of summer, I’ll be able to cook … well, anything.” He seemed to consider what he’d just said, then added, “Except for lima beans. I’ve never liked them much.”

  I laughed. “Me, neither.”

  “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you when you’re gone,” Dad said.

  “You’re assuming I’m going to get accepted,” I replied.

  “You will,” he said simply, then stood up. “Oh, and that reminds me. There’s one other important thing I picked up while I was shopping today.” He held up a finger. “Wait right here.”

  He disappeared into his bedroom and returned a minute later, holding a brand-new, beautiful Ivan Dunov cello.

  “Omigod.” I ran my hands over the cello’s polished surface. It was absolutely stunning. “Wait, Dad!” I cried, glancing up at him in shock. “Is this … Is it …”

  “It’s all yours.” Dad grinned proudly. “I drove to Rutland to pick it up today. I had to have it special ordered. I’ve been saving for it since your first concert years ago. I’m only sorry it’s taken me so long to be able to give it to you.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. When I pulled away, his face was bright red. “Dad, this is incredible. I love it.” My eyes welled. “Thank you.”

  He cleared his throat. “You better get practicing. You have an audition to get ready for, and I have to unpack some groceries.” As he turned toward the kitchen, the doorbell rang. “Well, now, I wonder who that could be?” He shot me a smile, then added a mysterious, “Nadi, get the door while I unload the bags?”

  I gave him a questioning glance, but opened the door to find Daniel on the other side, holding a Snug Mug takeout bag. I tried not to blush at the sight of him.

  He didn’t even wait for me to say anything, but blew past me into the entryway, nodding at my dad, as if the two of them had this plotted out all along.

  “I’m here for the long haul,” Daniel said matter-of-factly. “I’m not leaving until your composition piece is finished and you’re audition-ready.” He reached into the Snug Mug bag and set down two takeout containers overflowing with s’mores waffles. “I brought these, and your dad picked up all the ingredients for Pumpkin Spice Supremes.”

  I glanced into the kitchen to see Dad holding up a jar of pumpkin puree in one hand and a bag of espresso beans in the other.

  I shook my head, laughing. “You two did not!”

  “Oh, we absolutely did!” Daniel said. He pumped his fist in the air. “Team Nadi right here!”

  I laughed, and even Dad chuckled from the kitchen.

  “So.” Daniel planted his hands on the coffee table like a no-nonsense detective questioning a sus
pect. “Are you going to get to work or what?”

  I straightened my shoulders and nodded. “Bring on the pumpkin spice lattes and the sixteenth-note triplet runs.”

  Daniel blinked. “The lattes I can do. The … whatever you just said about triplet marathons … is all you.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up, but my heart tugged to follow him as he headed into the kitchen. I was beyond glad that he was here, but there were so many questions I wanted to ask him. Had he talked to Kiya about the dance? What had she said? What if he’d decided to go to the dance with her anyway, even after everything?

  I shook off the questions. Now wasn’t the time. If I was going to give the audition my all, I had to start right now.

  I dragged my practicing chair into the center of the room, set up my music stand, and then carefully took the amazingly beautiful Ivan Dunov cello into my hands. After a few tentative warm-ups, I lifted my bow, closed my eyes, and dove headlong into my music.

  Daniel leaned back against the pillows, his hands cocked beneath his head, listening as I drew my bow across the strings one last time. My eyes were trained on his face, watching and waiting anxiously for his reaction.

  My arms ached, my fingertips were stinging and partly numb, and even my calluses had calluses. The coffee table was strewn with waffle crumbs and empty coffee cups, water glasses and chocolate wrappers (when the waffles had run out, we’d resorted to Hershey’s Kisses for fuel). Composition sheets—those I’d rejected with their crossed-out measures and eraser smudges—littered the couch and floor. I had no idea what time it was, but when I’d last checked, my phone screen had read a quarter past two in the morning. Dad had gone to bed an hour ago, but Daniel and I had pushed onward. Finally, painstakingly, I’d finished my composition, and my audition piece was as smooth, polished, and good as it was going to get.

  I lifted my bow from the strings and held my breath as the music faded. When Daniel didn’t move a muscle, I started to worry he’d fallen asleep and missed the performance completely. “Daniel?” I whispered, setting down my cello to try to stretch the soreness from my arms. “Are you still awake?”