Tyler chokes back a chortle of laughter as he says, “Well played ma’am. I should’ve known better than to go up against the master of verbal play.”
As I stand and give a mock curtsy, It’s one of the things that makes things so interesting with Tyler. He isn’t afraid to challenge me or listen to my ideas. We always have a great spirited conversation, no matter what the topic—even if it’s about scheduling our next date. It’s a refreshing change when I’m used to my opinion not counting for much.
“Dad, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t even in the food truck when it happened. No, we don’t know who did it. It’s probably just some neighborhood kids playing around. Tyler’s got it all under control. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.”
I have to pull the phone away from my ear to be able to deal with my dad’s response. Although, I don’t know his exact words, the gist is very clear. “Oh for Pete’s sake, Dad! I’m not sleeping with the man. I went out for pizza with him. He’s the friend of a friend and happens to be the officer that responded to the break-in. I think I can control myself long enough not to ravish him in the middle of a restaurant,” I reply with an eye roll, even though my dad can’t see it through the phone.
I listen as my dad berates me some more, and I try again to defend myself as we have the same conversation we’ve had every year for the past four years. “No, dad you’re right. I have terrible taste in men, and I’ve been known to make stupid mistakes. However, the break-in was not my fault. I parked the truck in a well-lit area, and it was secure when I left it.”
As the tongue-lashing continues, I wonder why I even bother to engage in these conversations. I sigh as I continue to try to defend myself, “Yes, the security system was set. No, I’m not going to come home and marry your partner’s nephew just because it’s the sensible thing to do. I’m sure he’s a nice guy, but I’m not interested in being married to a golf pro. Listen, dad, I need to go, I have a wedding cake to make.”
I hang up the phone feeling exhausted. I cringe whenever I hear the ring tone associated with my dad. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but sadly I do.
I tuck my phone into my jacket pocket and try to put the conversation behind me as I unpack the supplies and put them on Kiera’s kitchen counter.
Mindy comes bounding up to me— because like me—she never approaches anything slowly. “Whoa, Mindy! Remember what I told you about running in the kitchen? It’s never a safe practice for any chef,” I caution.
Mindy’s face scrunches up with confusion, “I thought that was only if I was carrying knives,” she replies.
“Nope, it’s pretty much true always. If I had had a pan of hot sugar, you could’ve been in real danger,” I explain.
“Okay, if I’m careful, can I help you?” asks Mindy hopefully.
“I brought you some cake scraps so you can make cake balls and if you want to, you can play with the gum paste scraps because I am making flowers,” I suggest.
“That’s rad!” exclaims Mindy excitedly, bouncing from one foot to the other.
“First, you have to go wash your hands. It’s always the first rule of safety. Are your mom and dad here?”
“Sure, Dad’s down in the basement with Tyler,” Mindy answers as she runs toward the bathroom.
“Tyler’s here?” I practically shriek.
“Well, Duh! He came over to watch the NASCAR race with Papa,” Mindy clarifies as if she’s talking to a simpleton. “What’s wrong Miss Heather? Mr. Tyler is so nice. He gives me piggyback rides, and he’s going to teach me how to ride his horse.”
“Nothing’s wrong Mindy Mouse,” I say quickly, trying to cover my earlier overreaction. “I just didn’t expect him to be here.”
“Then how come you’re all red like a stop sign?” asks Mindy as she plays with the ribbons on her ponytails. “Hey, did you know Uncle Ty is a real cowboy? He has a ranch-n-everything. The barn is even red just like in the movies.”
“That sounds neat. Weren’t you planning to learn to ride a horse so you can ride at Justice Gardner’s ranch?”
Mindy nods as she exclaims, “Uh-huh, Uncle Tyler said he would teach me when we have school vacation if the fields aren’t too muddy. I’m so excited. The Judge-man said I was a very good horseman. I thought that was funny because I’m a girl.”
“Well, you’re braver than me. I’m too scared to ride a horse,” I admit.
“No, way!” Mindy says with her mouth gaping. “How can you be a grown up and not ride horses? I thought everybody rode ponies when they were little.”
“Nope, I was too big of a chicken. I was afraid they were going to step on me. So I never even tried. I wish I had been braver when I was little. Now I feel stupid that I never even tried,” I concede, sheepishly.
Just then, Tyler emerges from the basement. It’s clear from the expression on his face that he’s overheard our conversation. He is studying my body language as he asks me, “Would you mind coming out to my ranch so that I can show you my babies. They’re so gentle that they wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. In fact, I think Fannie Farmer is harboring a family of fugitive flies in her mane.”
I giggle, and Ty gives me an odd look. “I’m sorry, but the name of your horse is funny in light of our conversation this afternoon. I don’t know if you realize this, but your horse is named after a vintage cookbook. I find that ironic, especially since your favorite food is microwavable pizza.”
“If you think that’s funny you’ll get a kick out of the fact that I have two other horses named Julia and Jacques.”
“You’re kidding me! Please tell me it’s not coincidental and that you get the cultural reference behind their names.”
“Gidget, I didn’t say I was never exposed to cooking. My mom is a huge fan of Public Television. I think you’re reading far too much into my dislike of noodles. My transition from dorm food to the Army’s finest cuisine didn’t do much to develop a sophisticated palate either. But, it doesn’t mean I’m a total idiot. In fact, my mom would be pleased as punch to meet you. She always wanted to go to culinary school.”
“What does your mom do now?” I ask, realizing that I’ve never seen her at any of Jeff and Kiera’s family events.
“My mom is a retired third-grade teacher and my dad owns a local hardware store back in my hometown in Oklahoma.”
“You’re from Oklahoma? I knew you had an accent, but I didn’t realize that’s where you’re from.”
“I’ve been from so many places recently, sometimes it’s hard for me to remember. What? You don’t think I have an authentic Ory-gun accent?”
“I’m probably not the person to ask about that since I grew up around Harvard Yard and spent my summers in North Carolina and Texas. My dialect is so confused it doesn’t know if it’s coming or going,” I tease.
“Speaking of places to visit, I would like you to come see my ranch, remember? You never answered my question,” Ty remarks, pinning me with a direct gaze. I look into his eyes that are so sexy, and I almost forget what my objections are.
“I was hoping you would miss that artful little dodge,” I confess “If I come see you, do I have to touch the horses?”
Tyler chuckles as he assures me, “No, Heather, I wouldn’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I promise. We’ll just have a nice visit. Maybe you can even Skype with my mom and say hi. That way you can hear what a real Oklahoman accent sounds like.”
“Okay, that doesn’t sound too dangerous,” I remark.
“Well, Gidget, I suppose the level of danger is entirely up to you.”
I can’t believe I cut myself shaving today. I haven’t done that since I was a kid. I guess it just goes to show how nervous I am which is weird because this isn’t even my first date with Heather. If you count the time I spent helping her with the wedding cake, it’s almost like our third or fourth date. The whole food truck fiasco turned out to be a positive experience for me because it’s given me an excuse to hang out with Gidget. Although, it feels odd to call h
er that now because I can see her fashionable clothes are more of a defense mechanism than a reflection of who she is comfortable being.
The lot where her food truck was parked turned out to be the center of a turf dispute in a gang war between drug factions. They had actually been shooting at each other from inside her truck like some sick kids game using her humble little business as their home base. The narcotics task force in Salem made an arrest. Hopefully, that nightmare will soon be over. Unfortunately, because of the complexity of the case, her food truck has been tied up as evidence far longer than any of us anticipated. There was a fire in the commercial kitchen that she rents which complicated matters even more. She got permission from her client to use my kitchen at the ranch to make the cake since the facility was once used as a bed-and-breakfast.
This process has been entertaining and educational for me. At first, she didn’t want me to help her. She was shocked to learn that I have a food handler’s card. I’m so grateful for the time I spend with the Explorers program, which requires me to have one. She and I spent a very adventurous evening baking cake under Kiera’s watchful eye. Kiera wasn’t able to help as much as she typically does since my kitchen isn’t set up for her wheelchair, but she was very helpful in giving me step-by-step instructions. Even Heather said I make an excellent sous chef. I also got to show off my woodworking skills when I built the structure for the cake. The cake design was very abstract, with lots of odd angles that needed to be supported so the cake would not collapse on itself. I’ve seen cakes like that on television, but I had no idea they required internal supports. It was quite fascinating. I think the most entertaining part was making all the flowers. It was tedious in a way, but also a lot like playing with Play-Doh. Heather was sweet and didn’t tell me my stuff looked like a first grader made it, so I guess I did okay. Heather told me the bride emailed her and told her she was thrilled, so it all worked out okay in the end.
Heather was out here a couple weeks ago when we did the cake, but she didn’t go anywhere near the barn. So, I’m trying to figure out a way I can introduce her to the barn without it totally overwhelming her. At first, I thought she was embellishing her fear of horses for dramatic effect, to entertain Mindy. But I quickly found out the truth. Even talking about them makes her nervous. It just seems so opposite to her typical personality. In many ways, she’s the type of person who takes on any challenge with absolute fearlessness. I can’t even begin to fathom being afraid of horses. Being raised in Oklahoma, I was around horses before I could sit up on my own. I had Julia and Jacques shipped from Oklahoma after I returned from Iraq. I adopted Fannie Farmer from the Humane Society, and I can’t imagine my little herd without her. She was a senior citizen horse that they considered un-adoptable because someone had allowed her hoof infection to become so advanced, they didn’t think it would heal correctly. Fortunately, with a little tender loving care, she healed right up, and she’s my most gentle horse now.
So I’ve decided that we’re going to play some traditional yard games in the field outside of the barn. I know Heather has a competitive streak a mile wide; I figure if she’s playing a game, she may not notice how close the horses are to us. I thought we might play a rousing game of lawn bowling and croquet. Heather likes retro things, so I thought she might get a kick out of it. I hunted long and hard on eBay for an intact, authentic lawn bowling set.
I examine the food I picked up from the nearby specialty deli and hope it meets her expectations. I know she’s a phenomenal cook, but I know very little about her personal tastes in food. She is reluctant to eat in front of other people, so I don’t get a chance to check out her preferences much. I checked with Mindy, my secret source of information on all things Heather, but Mindy didn’t seem to know much either, except to say chocolate bars are always a good choice.
At noon exactly, the doorbell rings and I’m presented with the gift that is Heather. Today, she’s exquisitely wrapped in a traditional red and white gingham shirt and overalls, with red Converse shoes. She even has little cowboy boot charms on the end of her shoelaces, and it’s hard to miss the fact that she’s brought one of her famous pies along. It’s impossible not to grin because her pies are legendary. In fact, Jeff and Kiera credit a peach pie, which she helped make, with bringing them back together after a disagreement.
When I take the pie from her, I notice she’s done some incredibly intricate latticework and placed a cool design around the crust. “This looks like a piece of art!” I exclaim. “Are you sure you want us to eat this?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I?” she asks. “It’s only apple pie. I usually make apple cranberry, but I thought you might like a more traditional pie better.”
“Heather, our bet is only about pasta. You can feel free to make anything you want to. I like cranberries, but regular apple pie is amazing too. I’m not picky. I’m just happy to eat something that’s not in a box or from a takeout menu.”
Heather wilts a little. “Darn it, I knew I should’ve gone with the cranberries.”
“Gidget, honey, I’m blown away that you brought me anything at all. I don’t care if it’s got cranberries, apples, pumpkins or lemons. I’m gonna love it because you made it for me,” I insist.
“I get weird about this stuff, I guess. I want everything to be perfect,” she admits with a shy grin. “I drive Tara and Kiera crazy, always trying to fix recipes.”
“I can understand where you’re coming from. In my spare time while I was stationed overseas, I started making small jewelry boxes and clocks out of wood and antlers. I wanted to do it right, so I studied hundreds of woodworking sites online when I had access to computers in the barracks, and I downloaded books on it to my Kindle. It took me a long time to get up the courage to show anyone anything I had made. Even after people started telling me they loved it, I wondered if they were just telling me that because I was their commanding officer or their friend, or if really they liked it. I’ve been doing them for several years, and I even have a website now, but there are still days when I wonder if I am any good at it,” I confess.
“I know what you mean about the boundary between friends and constructive criticism. Fortunately for me, the Girlfriend Posse knows they can tell me anything without hurting my feelings. My family is a whole other story, of course. Can I see something you’ve made? I promise just to look and not say anything.”
“Since when have we ever kept our opinions to ourselves, Gidget?” I tease. “If we did, it would fundamentally alter the nature of our relationship. I like our relationship the way it is, so feel free to give me an ass-kicking if I need one. Consider this a people-pleasing-free-zone.”
Heather gives me a slightly menacing grin, “Just remember you said that. Someday, you may be sorry you ever uttered those words. I often have strong opinions that I don’t always share. My grandma taught me to be a nice Southern Belle, even if I had to bite my tongue in half to do so,” she explains.
“Southern grandma?” I ask. ”I thought your Nonna was Italian.”
“I had both,” Heather answers with a laugh. “Imagine how confused my childhood was. My dad was an East Coast Italian from New Jersey. He was one of the first in his family to go to college and he’s Mensa smart. So he got a scholarship to Harvard. Well, my mom is from North Carolina and was visiting one of her high school friends at Harvard. My dad apparently was quite a looker in his day, and my mom fell head over heels for him. Well, imagine my mother’s surprise, with her very cultured, North Carolinian debutante background, when she found out that the Harvard scholar she was in love with was from the projects in New Jersey. They stayed together, but they did everything in their power to reinvent themselves as a moneyed yuppie couple, with picture-perfect kids, and a manicured lawn. It was a mixed-up world to grow up in. I had grandparents who were very proud of their heritage, and parents who were running away from theirs just as fast as they could. I didn’t know where I fit into all of that. Added to all the confusion was the fact that I didn’t fit into
the conformist family mold. It didn’t take much to get me labeled a complete rebel.”
After what I’ve seen in the military, the idea of Heather being in the role of the rebel is ludicrous to me, but I know family politics can be complicated. “How did you end up here in Oregon? It’s a long ways from Harvard Yard.”
“Yes, it is,” Heather agrees. “Kiera and I met when she came to Boston’s Children’s Hospital for an experimental treatment when she was younger. When I changed my major from business to culinary, I decided to follow her to Oregon. It took me a while to be brave enough to take the plunge as a chef. I tried more ‘respectable’ careers like nursing and teaching first, before finally deciding I could follow my passion without guilt. My dad held all the purse strings, and that made it difficult. Thank God for Kiera and Denny. They let me move in for free and fed me. Denny treated me like a daughter.”
“They’re good people. Jeff found himself a keeper when he found Kiera and her family.” I agree.
“I think Kiera is pretty lucky to have found Jeff, too. How did you guys become friends?” Heather inquires.
“We met in college. He ran track, and I played football. Jeff was one of the few people who wasn’t okay with my ‘lifestyle choices’ and tried to steer me in the right direction. I was too damn stubborn to listen, but Jeff was decent enough to stick around while I collected the pieces of my life and started over in the military. He was there for me again when my life blew up a second time. I didn’t even need to ask him. He’s just that kind of guy,” I explain.
“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot. This time, I have all the time in the world to listen. It’s my turn to have broad shoulders,” Heather offers.
Joy and Tiers Page 4