My Funny Quarantine
Page 11
“I’m Marc-Andre,” said the stranger, his French accent barely audible.
“We know who you are,” said Rose. Despite the fact that her granddaughter’s reputation had been all but ruined by this man, it was hard not to want to flirt with him. She hadn’t spent a lot of time around classically handsome men. Not recently, anyway.
Chapter 15
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” Freddie’s voice was practically a squeak. “Last time I saw you…”
“We were in LA. It was not a good scene. Now I’m here and I think we should talk.” The Big Hurt grabbed a kitchen chair, the one Mike had placed at the front door in case The Grannies needed to catch their breath, turned it around so the back was facing them, and sat down without invitation, taking advantage of the positioning of the chair to indulge in some manspreading. It was impressive, both in terms of physical presence and the absolute aura of confidence that Marc-Andre generated. When you were used to adulation on such a massive scale, it became your comfort zone.
“I don’t think Freddie has anything to say,” said Mike defensively. He was standing in between Freddie and Marc-Andre, his body at a forty-five-degree angle, in exactly the stance he’d been taught in the conflict de-escalation class so many years ago.
“I can speak for myself,” said Freddie, feeling like the kind of dog typically referred to as an ankle biter. “And he’s right. My boyfriend is right. I have nothing to say.” Freddie stepped away from the front door, close to Mike and grabbed the sleeve of his flannel shirt. She was holding on so tightly that Mike thought the fabric might rip. Good thing she wasn’t grabbing actual flesh.
“Your boyfriend, huh?” Marc-Andre raked his hand through his legendary dirty-blond hair, even longer and shaggier because all the salons were closed. There were rumours that he’d had streaks done. Now that Freddie was more-or-less on the same level as Marc-Andre, she could see his telltale roots, even from a socially appropriate distance. She patted her own hair, hoping her dark undertones weren’t visible, and if they were, that she looked like she was channelling early Madonna.
“Yes. Mike’s my boyfriend.” Freddie smiled at Mike, but there was no warmth in her eyes. Only fear. Mike had never seen Freddie afraid of anything. He honestly didn’t know she had it in her. Even the idea of being dumped unceremoniously at a women’s shelter hadn’t fazed her. Why was this man having such a negative impact on her?
“Actually, she’s my fiancée,” said Mike. He’d never thought of himself as the guy who merited a comment like “Shots fired”. He’d just levelled up. Boom!
“She is?” Nana Fran could barely contain her excitement.
“I am,” said Freddie. “Too bad we can’t hug because of the physical distancing thing, eh?” Freddie wasn’t sure that even applied to people living under one roof. She hoped she was right, and if she were wrong, she was counting on the fact that nobody else knew better or would say anything to the contrary. This was A Moment.
“Why were you keeping it such a deep dark secret?” Rose twiddled her salad fork.
“Because we didn’t want you to react like this,” said Freddie. “I mean, look at you.”
Both grandmothers were sitting calmly, as if they were background extras on Downton Abbey. Marc-Andre, on the other hand, was tapping his left foot like he was Keith Moon in the throes of executing a wild and intricate drum solo. The only people without varying British reactions were Mike and Freddie.
Mike cleared his throat. “Actually, we wanted to tell our parents first. It wouldn’t be cool to have them learn about this on social media. Isn’t that right, Freddie?”
“Absolutely. My mom hardly ever checks her Instagram account,” said Freddie, shaking her head. “I have to remind her when I’ve posted something important. And Dad only reads political tweets. He follows a bunch of people on the other side of the fence just so he can get all cranked up about it.”
“That doesn’t really prove my point, babe,” said Mike, wrapping his arm around Freddie’s shoulder.
“I don’t see how you could come to that conclusion, babe,” replied Freddie, emphasizing the b-word. “I was totally on point. Srsly.” She pronounced it without the vowels, just like it was spelled in proper text-speak.
The doorbell rang. “If there’s a god, that’s the chicken,” said Mike, looking for any excuse to flee the scene. He flung the dishtowel on the counter, sprinted to the door, and returned seconds later, carrying the bags of food.
“When they say no-contact delivery, they mean no contact,” he commented. “I think it must have been dropped off by a drone. I didn’t even hear a car.”
“And speaking of no-contact,” harrumphed Freddie. “We were just about to eat, so if you don’t mind…”
“Of course not,” said Marc-Andre, rising to his full height. He was half a head taller than Mike, much more muscular and everyone knew that if he swung one punch, the recipient would be on the ground crying like a baby. That was what NFL ‘enforcers’ did, after all. But he looked shrunken, for lack of a better word. It was probably not in his frame of reference to admit defeat, especially against an Average Joe. Or Average Mike, in this case.
“I should take off,” conceded Marc-Andre, returning the chair to its original position. “But I have a couple of things I want to say. First of all, you’re a lucky man. Freddie’s a wonderful person, and she deserves every happiness. And I wanted to tell you both that I’ve been in touch with the hospital’s foundation and they’re going to ask both of you to participate in a fundraising project. If that’s okay with you, that is. Charlotte Lanthier’s mother suggested that we all work together. I’ve been giving them a helping hand,“ he humblebragged. “I have a condo in Philly and obviously I’m not there because the season was cancelled, so they’ve been crashing at my place. The building has a salt-water pool,” he added irrelevantly.
“That sounds very nice,” said Mike. “And I wasn’t referring to the pool. Although that does sound cool. I’m sure the family's happy to stay in a home instead of a hotel.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Marc-Andre. “Charlotte’s going to have to be there for a while, until things have died down and she’s stable enough to come back to Montreal. She couldn’t stop talking about you. If we weren’t no-contact, I’d shake your hand.”
“Thanks, man,” said Mike. This was getting weirder and weirder. Despite his best intentions, he didn’t hate The Big Hurt. Actually, he kind of liked him.
“Look, dude, I’d ask you to join us, but I don’t think you’re supposed to come into the house. Which is too bad, because we could have used some help moving the stuff for Freddie’s factory.” Mike smiled at Freddie. She smiled back. All was well in the world!
“No, even if we didn’t have to physically distance, I should take off,” said Marc-Andre. “The one advantage of this… well, you know… is that there’s hardly any traffic. I can get back to Boucherville in half an hour. That’d never happen normally. Right?”
Mike nodded his head in agreement, pretending he knew how long it usually took to drive to Boucherville during rush hour. He had been there once, when one of his work colleagues had their birthday party at a popular steakhouse. If not for the app, he would still be driving around in circles looking for the road back to civilization.
Freddie and Mike were holding hands when they went into the kitchen. The Grannies had already started unpacking the food, arranging the quarters of chicken neatly on a platter and finding a bottle of ketchup in the fridge in case someone didn’t just want the restaurant’s famous sauce on their fries.
“He seems nice,” said Fran as she helped herself to half a hamburger bun, making sure she got the bottom half.
“He is,” said Mike, noticing that nobody was using his name. It was a very Voldemort moment. “He has the reputation of being a nice guy off the ice. I especially liked the way he didn’t barge in. That would have been a real dick move.”
“Good that he’s respecting
social distancing,” said Nana Fran.
“Or, he could be a vampire,” murmured Freddie. “They can’t come in unless they’re invited. But he does log an awful lot of mirror time. He must be seeing his reflection, or he wouldn’t bother. So, probably not a vampire.”
“Glad we got that settled,” said Mike. “Nana, could you please pass the coleslaw?”
“Enjoy,” chorused The Grannies.
And without another word about He Who Also Will Not Be Named, dinner continued. Dessert was eaten, diet Cokes were refreshed, and ultimately plates were washed and put away. Same as it ever was.
Was this the New Normal? Maybe it was. Mike went home at eight o’clock, in case everyone (meaning The Grannies) wanted to make an early night of it after the exertion of moving. Then, he and Freddie texted for a few hours. She wasn’t responding immediately to the texts, but that was because she was too busy arranging her workspace. Mike knew this because Freddie sent him a picture after every decision had been made. The basket of bobbins, the shears, even the straight pins – each item had its designated space to ensure maximum efficiency.
By ten p.m., Freddie and Mike were exchanging good night texts, with appropriate emojis, and some emojis that fell into the NSFW category. Freddie cradled the unfamiliar pillow, moved around the oddly crunchy-feeling mattress, and eventually found a comfortable spot. But she couldn’t sleep. Not the way things were going. She’d received an unsolicited visit from Marc-Andre, along with spontaneous and sincere-sounding compliments. She’d moved into her house, a house that she actually owned, or would, once the necessary paperwork was completed. The arrangement was to do a “dollar sale”, which meant she’d give Bubbie Rose a loonie in the notary’s office, they’d sign their name like it was Autograph Day, and then they’d probably head home, unless the restaurants had reopened, in which case, it would be brunch-time. What was more celebratory than Eggs Benedict? When she was a kid, Freddie loved it so much that she thought it was called “Holiday Sauce” instead of Hollandaise.
Tomorrow was going to be a huge test of her will and determination. She’d cut and sew the prototypes for her masks, then take selfies with each of the designs and send them to the web designer for posting. Hopefully, orders would start to trickle in. Freddie didn’t know how long this would take, because it could be either instantaneous, or non-existent. There was a possibility that she’d been canceled for good, and no attempts at unconceding would work. If not, there was a Plan B – she’d have more masks to donate to the hospital. It would all work out in the end.
Mike was alternating between tossing and turning, neither of which were contributing to a restful night’s sleep. He missed having Freddie, her body snuggled up to his in the bed they’d shared for such a short time. He could smell Freddie’s hair products on the pillowcase, and he was tempted to avoid doing laundry because that would be erasing her presence.
She was everywhere, in the mug she’d used for her green tea, in the razor she’d used for her legs, in the products she’d left behind in the shower. The Tomato Tower on the balcony was ready to be planted. Again, Freddie’s doing. The space on the wall that used to hold the whiteboard was empty. It was only appropriate, considering how the rest of the house was also empty. Sterile. It wasn’t as much of a home as it had been two weeks ago.
“Maybe I’ll just watch the news for a bit,” he said to himself. He turned the TV on to CNN, because the Canadian news stations, although more pertinent, were in constant repeat mode of the more interesting segments. The only other option was the shopping network, which was featuring some sort of exfoliant with sand from the Island of Fiji. Mike didn’t understand half of what they were saying, so he turned his back to the TV, set the sleep timer and eventually zoned out.
Chapter 16
The next morning flew by so quickly that Freddie barely had time to check her messages. After supervising breakfast, she retreated to the basement, an ancient baby monitor positioned where she could see the flashing light. That was the best way she could be in two places at once, in case The Grannies needed a helping hand. The CLSC nurse was coming at three o’clock to do an assessment, looking to see if the grab bars in the bathroom were installed properly, or if there were area rugs that weren’t anchored down, putting the elderly occupants at risk for falling with potentially disastrous results.
Freddie took a deep breath, picked up a small rectangle of fabric, inspected it critically, then started sewing. With the powerful machine, it didn’t take long to stitch all the seams, and attaching bias tape ties took a matter of seconds. Then, she removed the pins that had held the pleats in place, stuck them in the block of florist’s foam she was using as a pincushion, and patted the mask lovingly before placing it in the basket. By the time lunch rolled around, she’d made an entire basket full of masks, and she sent Mike a picture of it. She hoped he was having a good day Zooming with his students. It was lonely without him, even if most of his time had been spent doing unexciting things like reading, correcting papers, or planning lessons as opposed to interacting with her.
The loud whir of the sewing machine couldn’t drown out her thoughts. What was the deal with the “fiancée” stuff? Freddie wanted to ask Mike about it, in private, of course. Their little fan club couldn’t be privy to this conversation, or terrible things would happen. Bubbie and Nana were so happy to see them as a couple. After all, they’d pressed so hard to have Freddie go out with Mike. They had earned a huge “I told you so”, maybe more than one. Freddie could afford to be generous.
The day ended on a high note, with the website going live and the very first orders starting to trickle in. They had five actual customers, with enough faith in the quality of Freddie’s designs to entrust their credit card information to the secure payment platform.
Freddie sent Mike pictures of the inkjet printer set up next to Rose’s clunky but still-functional desktop computer, a screenshot of the special label printer she’d ordered, and the stacks of boxes, tissue paper and mailing envelopes that had taken over the dining room. This was the Order Fulfilment Centre, and while it sounded grand, it didn’t really mean anything until there were more than five orders to fill.
Five orders turned into three hundred and fifty by the time the morning came around.
“Are u starting to panic?” texted Mike.
“I started a long time ago,” Freddie replied. She spent the next hour convincing her mother to work on a regular sewing machine when she arrived in three days, abandoning her beloved hobby of quilting in favour of the opportunity to help her sweet little daughter.
“You’re the best, Mom,” squeaked Freddie. “Is Dad okay with being the hunter-gatherer?”
“Of course, sweetie. That’s right in his wheelhouse.” Gayle’s tone turned serious. “Look, Freddie. You and me, we can make maybe forty completed masks an hour. We need reinforcements. Can I ask some of the ladies from my quilting group to do piecework? They’ll volunteer to do the charity giveaway masks if I ask them nicely. We can take care of the for-profit side. What do you think?”
“You know what I think? You’re a genius, Mom. That’s what I think! Maybe we can make quilted rainbows for people to hang in their windows. The proceeds can go to foodbanks. Would that be something the quilting group would be okay with?”
“The apple did not fall far from the tree,” said Gayle with pride. “Larry! I hope you’re sick and tired of sitting around and doing nothing. You are? Great! Because we have a few special assignments for you.” Freddie had never heard her mother’s evil laugh. She’d get used to it.
Within five days, the bungalow had been turned into a factory, a warehouse, and a shipping depot. The Grannies spent their days listening to CJAD while they packed masks, stuck labels on shipping envelopes and stacked the parcels in the foyer for pickup by Canada Post.
Larry was in charge of “sourcing”, which meant reordering things from Amazon, going to get groceries, and contact-free delivery and pickup from the quilting ladies.
It was very harmonious, and so much work that Freddie barely had time to be lonely. As she posted on Instagram, wearing one of her masks (natch!), she hoped Mike was at least keeping up with her. There wasn’t a lot of time to read the comments, so she could only hope he was. Mike’s texts kept coming at the same time every day, but Freddie wondered if the relationship had plateaued, after going from ‘I never want to see this person again’ to ‘We’re engaged’ in the space of two weeks.
“I’m taking a break,” said Freddie. “Why don’t you and Dad go out for a drive or something? Take the Golden Girls with you, too. If you go to the Orange Julep, get me a Julep. The biggest one they have. And some fries. We can heat them in the oven and they’ll be perfect.”
Gayle held the baby monitor to her mouth as if it were a microphone. “Larry? Are you there? Freddie’s asking for fries from the Julep.”
“On my way. What can I get you, sweetie?”
“I’m coming with you,” said Gayle, switching off the light on her sewing machine. “It’ll be good to get a change of scenery. We can all go.”
Within ten minutes, during which time Freddie got to hear her mother and grandmother discuss whether they needed to take ‘a little sweater’ or not, the house was empty except for Freddie. (Spoiler alert: They were going in and out of a car, so there was no need for the ‘little sweater’. Rose took one anyway.)
Freddie stepped away from the sewing machine and gave a stretch. It felt so good that she decided to do the ten-minute yoga routine that she’d seen on YouTube. Then, she gathered her strength and dialed Mike’s phone number.