Last Family Standing

by Jennifer AlLee

  A knock sounds and I sit up quickly, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Come in.”

  The door opens and in walks Jess. “Are you hungry? Mo– uh, we thought you might be ready for lunch.”

  I smile at her attempt to be diplomatic. The funny thing is, even though I’ve been battling unnecessary jealously, her need to be sensitive to my emotional needs doesn’t make me feel better about myself. It makes my heart go out to her.

  “Jess, you don’t have to avoid calling her Mom. It’s sweet of you to consider my feelings, but it’s not necessary. She’s your mother. I know that.”

  Her eyes dart away for a moment. “It’s just a weird situation, you know? I’m still trying to figure out how to act when we’re all in the same room.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. But we’re all rational, well-intentioned adults. We’ll get there.” I pat the mattress beside me. “Can we talk for a minute?”

  “Sure.” She perches on the edge of the mattress, and I imagine she wants to be able to make a quick getaway if the conversation becomes uncomfortable.

  “Someone in this house sure loves pink.”

  She laughs and relaxes a little. “That would be me.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “I’ve always loved pink. Maybe because I can’t wear it.”

  “Why not?”

  She pulls a lock of her long hair over her shoulder and waves it between her fingers. “Red hair and pink clothes do not a pretty girl make.”

  I chuckle and nod, understanding her point. “You strike me as the type who wouldn’t let that stop you. I’d expect you to find a way to make pink work.”

  “Oh, I tried. But not many times. Mom . . .” She hesitates, but when I smile at her, she continues. “Mom said to me one day, ‘Just because you can wear something, doesn’t mean you should.’ Her point was that part of a woman’s personal style is being comfortable in her own body and understanding what works with it.”

  “Good advice.”

  “It was. And it’s why I became interested in fashion. I started to see clothes not as mere decoration, but as a way for a woman to express who she is. I began to understand that I could empower women through fashion that flattered their true selves. Oh boy.” A red tinge creeps up her neck. “There I go again. I kind of get carried away when I talk design.”

  “Feel free to get carried away with me anytime.”

  She laughs and stands up. “You say that now, but after a few hours of listening to my thoughts on beachwear and the power of the maillot, you might want to stuff cotton in your ears.”

  “Highly unlikely.” I stand up too, and glance at the clock on the nightstand. “But now, we probably should go downstairs for lunch before they wonder where we are.”

  40

  It’s so nice to sit at a table and eat a sandwich.” Jess is savoring her BLT, holding it with gentle reverence in both hands.

  “I’m just happy to eat food with no sand in it.” There’s nothing reverent about my one-handed sandwich grasp. The bread is falling apart, and as I take a bite, a piece of tomato falls out and splats onto my plate.

  “Da ya want some help with that, Nikki?” Duncan leans closer, holding out a napkin.

  I shake my head. “It’s okay.” I look across the table at Robert and Susan. “As you can see, I really get into my food.”

  Robert smiles as he wipes his hands on a napkin. “Jess tells us you’re a chef. I’m sorry we didn’t have something more exciting to offer you.”

  “Please, there’s nothing to be sorry about. Even simple food becomes elevated when you eat it with the right people.”

  “I agree.” Susan says.

  In the short time we’ve been around her, I’ve come to realize that speaking is difficult for Susan, so when she chooses to speak, she doesn’t mince words. Trying to watch without staring, I marvel at the care Robert takes with his wife. In between bites of his own lunch, he dips a spoon into the bowl near Susan, and feeds her what looks like vanilla pudding. His movements are loving, but matter of fact. He doesn’t baby talk her, like so many people would be tempted to do. He acts like it’s the most natural thing in the world to spoon-feed his wife, and Susan receives his actions with quiet dignity. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Don’t forget, Monica.” Jess talks around a mouthful of sandwich. “You promised to make crème brûlée for me.”

  At the mention of the dessert, Robert and Susan look at each other and smile, making me think it has some special meaning to them. Which gives me a great idea.

  “Why don’t I make it for all of us?”

  Jess finally puts down the sandwich remains. “Really?”

  “Sure. If you have all the ingredients, I’ll make it tonight.”

  “If we don’t have all the ingredients, I’ll just take you to the market.” Jess pushes back her chair and hurries to the pantry. “What do you need?”

  Conveniently, I know the recipe by heart and can count the ingredients on one hand. “Eggs, granulated sugar, heavy cream, and vanilla extract.”

  “Eggs are in the fridge. Sugar is right here. Hmm.” She hums to herself as she shifts cans and bottles. “I don’t see any vanilla.” Stepping back, she puts a hand on her hip and looks at Robert. “How can you not have vanilla?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “When was the last time anyone in this house cooked from scratch?”

  “Good point,” she says.

  “Besides, we don’t have heavy cream, either.” He points the spoon at me before scooping up another portion for Susan. “Looks like you’re going to take a trip to the market. We’ll pray for you.”

  Before I can ask what he means by that, Jess walks up behind him and hooks her arm around his neck. “That’s Dad’s gentle way of saying I’m unsafe behind the wheel.” She kisses the middle of his bald head, then straightens up. “I don’t know how he got that idea. It’s not like I’ve ever been in an accident.”

  Robert winks at me, then says with a straight face, “Her mother and I have done a lot of praying since she turned sixteen.”

  Susan nods. “Cars, boys. Lots of prayer.”

  “Okay, that’s enough. If you keep talking like that, Monica won’t want to ride with me. Then nobody gets crème brûlée. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” they say together.

  “Na way,” Duncan adds.

  Like anything would keep me from spending time with Jess. They could tell me she’s been in an accident every day for the last year and I’d still get in the car with her.

  She turns to me. “Ready to go now?”

  “Sure.” I stand up and grab my plate, intending to help clean up before we go.

  “Ah no ya don’t.” Duncan takes it from me. “Ya two go on. I think Robert and I can handle the kitchen.”

  Robert nods. “Absolutely. Have fun, girls.”

  I turn to remind Duncan to check on Ranger, but when I do, I catch Susan’s eye. She smiles at me, but there’s something else there now. It’s a look of longing, and I try to put myself in her place. Even the simplest outing, like going to the store for groceries, must be a major production for her now. And as the disease progresses, it will only get worse. To watch Jess and me casually going out the door together can’t be easy. My insecurities suddenly pale in comparison to what Susan has faced every day since her diagnosis.

  “We’ll be back in a bit.” Jess calls out to anybody who’s listening, then leads me out through a door in the kitchen that leads to the garage.

  There are two vehicles parked side by side. One is a mini-van, the other is a lime-green compact. It’s not hard to figure out which one to get in.

  As we drive down the street, I figure this is as good a time as any to talk. “Your parents are great.”

  She smiles. “Thanks.”

  “Does Susan have any food restriction? Like dairy or sugar?”

  “No.”

  “Great. Then she should be abl
e to eat the crème brûlée. The consistency is similar to the pudding she was eating.”

  Jess glances at me. “It’s sweet of you to think of that. She’s had problems swallowing for the last six months. It finally got to the point where she couldn’t get down anything that had to be chewed. Now, she lives on pudding, ice cream, Jell-O, and protein shakes.”

  Despite her attempt to keep things light, I see how tightly her fingers curl around the steering wheel. Susan may be the one with the disease, but the entire family has been affected by it.

  The grocery store is huge, which is good, because that means they might have a brûlée torch, something I’d totally forgotten about needing. If they don’t, I can still make dessert, but it will just be a yummy baked custard.

  Since Jess knows her way around the store, she pushes the cart. In the dairy section, I grab the heavy cream.

  “How many eggs do you have at home?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t think to look. I just know we have some.”

  I grab a dozen eggs. “Better to have too many eggs than not enough.”

  “Sounds like something you’d read in an Amish fortune cookie.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  “I don’t know, but wouldn’t it be cool if there was?”

  As we stroll down the aisles to collect vanilla and a bag of just-in-case sugar, we laugh and come up with more Amish fortunes. In an aisle marked “Kitchen Equipment” we find one brûlée torch. It’s low quality and high priced, but it will work.

  When we get to the checkout, Jess hands the woman her Preferred Shopper card.

  “Thank you, Miss Beckett.”

  She scans our items, and since I want to reserve my cash, I swipe my debit card. When the little screen reads, Please show card to cashier, I do.

  “Thank you very much Miss . . . Stanton. Wait a minute.” She looks from me, to Jess, and back to me. “Monica Stanton. And you’re Jess! I saw you two on Last Family Standing!”

  Uh oh. I never stopped to think anybody might recognize us. “Thank you,” I say politely. Jess scoops up our bags and motions for us to leave, but the cashier is still holding my card.

  “I can’t believe this!” With every word, her smile gets bigger, and her voice grows louder. “I’ve been watching that show for years, but you two are my favorite contestants so far.”

  Other people are starting to look now. In the line behind us, expressions are changing from irritation at having to wait, to interest in who the famous people are and what they’d come to the store to buy. We’ve got to get out of here.

  “That’s really very sweet of you. If I could just have my—”

  “Oh, you broke your arm! You did that on the island, didn’t you?”

  “I really can’t talk about it.” I bite my lip and reach for the card. “Please, we really need to go.”

  From the neighboring check stand, an elderly woman squints in our direction. “For heaven’s sake, it is you.”

  Behind me, another woman starts talking. “If you and Jess are together now, the reunion must go well. Did you two make it to the end?”

  Jess slips her arm through mine and tries to pull me away. “Leave the card,” she whispers in my ear. “Let’s get out of here before the mob grabs their pitchforks and turns violent.”

  She’s right, but I can’t do it. It’s my debit card, for crying out loud.

  The woman is talking again, waving my card in the air to the beat of her animated, one-sided conversation.

  “Is Rick Wolff as hot in person as he is on television? He must be if he dates all those gorgeous women.”

  It occurs to me that I may have no choice but to give up and run, when a man walks up beside the checker. I’m relieved to see he’s a manager. “Is there a problem here?”

  “We need to go,” I say weakly. “She has my card.”

  He looks at the clerk. “Is there a problem with it?”

  “No, sir. These two were on Last Family Standing. You know, the mother who gave her daughter away and—”

  “Cecilia!”

  I could kiss the manager for cutting her off.

  He frowns at her. “Cecelia, give the woman her card. Now.”

  Cecilia is none too happy that her celebrity moment is coming to a close. She hands over the card and glares at me as if it’s my fault she got in trouble. I think it’s safe to say Jess and I just lost one viewer vote.

  “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.” The manager looks around, taking note of the worked up onlookers. “Let me help you with your bags, ladies.”

  Normally, I would politely decline. But when Jess lets him take the bags from her and we follow him out the door, I’m relieved. And when he puts the bags in the trunk and stands a respectful distance from the car before we drive away, all without turning into a crazy psycho guy, I say a silent prayer of thanks.

  “I think we screwed up.”

  Jess’s voice shakes, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s okay to drive. Then I realize I’m not in any better shape than she is.

  I squeeze my forehead with my fingers. “It never occurred to me that someone might recognize us. Ever. All I wanted to do was make crème brûlée.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Find the nearest time machine.”

  “Very funny.”

  Well, at least I got a laugh out of her. But seriously, what is there to do? We can’t undo it. We can’t keep the people who saw us from talking to their friends. Or worse . . . posting on a blog. And I’d be willing to bet Cecilia hangs out at more than one fan site.

  “I need to call Rick.”

  “You have his number?”

  “Sure. Don’t you?”

  “Uh, no.” Now she’s smiling. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t make a habit of handing it out to all the contestants. Just the special ones.”

  “The only special thing about me is I’m always getting in trouble. Which is why he gave me the number. He knew I’d need it.”

  And right now, I wish I didn’t have it. Because when I tell him what happened, he’s going to kill me.

  41

  I overestimated Rick’s reaction, but not by much. After muttering something I couldn’t repeat to anyone in the Beckett house, he said sharply, “You and Jess stay put. Don’t move. I’ll be there in an hour.”

  There must have been traffic, because the doorbell rings an hour and a half later. After introductions to Robert and Susan, we all gather in the living room for damage control.

  “Monica and I are so sorry,” Jess says.

  The rest of us are sitting, but Rick paces the room, as if the movement will help him think more clearly. “What was so important that you had to go to the market together?”

  “Crème brûlée.”

  He stops and looks at me. “What?”

  “I wanted to make crème brûlée. But I needed heavy cream and vanilla.”

  “And a torch,” Jess adds.

  “A torch?” Duncan asks me.

  “Yeah. To brûlée the top. We found one, too. Not a great one, but—”

  “Enough!” Rick’s on the move again. “I get it. You needed groceries.”

  I nod. “And we just didn’t think what would happen if anybody who watched the show saw us together.”

  “To be fair,” Jess says, “no one ever told us not to go out in public together.”

  I hold my breath as Rick stops again, then stares at her.

  “You’re right. We should have made that clear. It’s just never been a problem before.”

  The air whooshes from my lungs. At least he’s not mad at us. “What can we do now? How can we fix it?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” He scratches the back of his head and looks at the floor. “I know what you can’t do. No more mother/daughter shopping trips.” He looks at Susan, and I can tell he regrets what he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” She smiles. “It’s true.”

&
nbsp; Robert pats her arm. “Mr. Wolff, we are thrilled to have Monica and Duncan here. They were Jessica’s parents first. If it hadn’t been for them, we would have missed out on the greatest blessing in our lives.” He beams at Jess, who ducks her head in embarrassment. “There are no hard feelings here.”

  Just when I thought I couldn’t respect these two anymore than I already did, he goes and says a thing like that.

  Rick is equally impressed. “Thank you, sir. You can be very proud of your daughter. As you’ll see on the show, she’s quite a girl.”

  Beside me, Duncan tenses. He doesn’t mind sharing Jess with her parents, but apparently he minds sharing her with Rick.

  Then Rick addresses me. “Monica, may I have a moment alone with you?”

  Duncan’s leg slides over until his knee touches mine. Add me to the list of things Duncan doesn’t want to share. As if he has any say in who I talk to.

  “Sure.” I stand up and look at Robert. “Where would you recommend we go?”

  “Why don’t you take advantage of the patio?”

  “Great idea. Thanks.” It will also give me a chance to spend time with Ranger.

  Rick follows me out the sliding glass door. The backyard is just as beautiful as the front, with a water feature in one corner providing a calming gurgle. As we sit down at the round, glass table, barking cuts through the night air as Ranger runs around the corner. He pauses just long enough to give my knee a hello lick, then rushes to check out his new friend.

  “Good to see you again, Ranger.” Rick scratches him firmly behind the ears, rolling the dog’s head from side to side.

  “You remembered his name. I’m impressed.”

  “He’s memorable. Just like his owner.”

  I ignore his compliment and give them another minute to bond, then call Ranger over to my side and motion for him to lie down. To say I’m shocked when he does it on the first try is an understatement.