by Debby Mayne
It takes me an hour to take a shower, get dressed, and put on my makeup. When I go downstairs, I see Bucky pacing in the foyer.
I pause at the bottom step. “What’s wrong?”
“The cleaning people forgot to dust the chandelier.”
I glance up and squint to see the few particles of dust on one of the prisms. “It’s not that bad. I can—”
“No, you can’t.” He glares at me before looking back up at the light. “I’m going to call them and have them send someone out to finish what they started.”
“But it’s a holiday,” I argue.
He lifts his hands and lets them fall to his sides. “It’s not a holiday until tomorrow.”
“They probably have a ton of places to clean.”
“I don’t care. I paid them good money to clean our house, and now I expect them to do it right.”
This is an exhausting conversation, and my blood pressure is rising by the second. So I take off for the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. It’s clear that Bucky has forgotten his promise to take me to Mack’s for some catfish. He’s not a fan of what he calls the common dining area, but it’s always been one of my favorite places to eat. You get to sit at a long picnic table with a bunch of people you probably don’t know. They bring out baskets of fried catfish, french fries, coleslaw, and hush puppies. It’s an all-you-can-eat place, and when Bucky and I first got married, it was the best place for us to eat because we never left hungry. Now I have to beg him to take me there.
Bucky is getting increasingly difficult to live with. In fact, I’ve actually considered demanding we get counseling and moving out until we get things straight. I think that deep down, he knows he’s acting like a snob, and his internal demons are fighting so hard they’re showing their horns. Just when I think he’s making progress, he slides back even more.
People who think money takes away all their cares haven’t seen what it can do to people like my husband. And I have to admit, people like me. I don’t think it’s changed me all that much deep down, but I do see how people react to my frustration. They probably think it’s snobbery, but it’s not. I just don’t know what else to do or say when my husband acts like he’s too good for his own family, and our son is becoming a spoiled brat.
I’ve expressed my concern to Bucky about Julius, but he says, “Boys will be boys.” When I look around and see sweet boys like Brett and some of the other kids close to our son’s age, I don’t see the same attitude. Sure, they get in trouble, but they always seem contrite when they do. Not Julius. He acts like he’s entitled.
“Mama, I’m bored.”
I glance up to see my surly son dragging his feet as he walks into the kitchen. He flops into a chair.
“Sit up straight, Julius.”
He tips his head forward and gives me one of his why-should-I-listen-to-you looks. “I’m hungry.”
“I was too.” I can’t stand his expression, so I look away. “So I fixed myself something to eat, just like you can.”
He cranes his neck. “What are you eating?”
“A sandwich.” I take another bite and resist the urge to hop up and fix him one.
“I want one.” His head bobs, making me want to knock it off his shoulders.
I turn slightly away from him so he can’t see my face. “Then get your fanny out of that chair and fix yourself one.”
“But—”
I turn and give him one of my sternest looks and force myself not to crack. Finally, he gets up and saunters over to the refrigerator. I have to remind myself to breathe as he opens the fridge door and just stands there, looking inside without pulling anything out.
After a couple of minutes, I clear my throat. “Get what you need and close the door. You’re letting all the coldness out.”
He glances over his shoulder, his lips turned downward in a cross between a frown and a scowl. Finally, he yanks open the meat and cheese drawer, pulls out a couple of packages, and closes the door. I remain seated as he fixes himself a sandwich, but it’s hard because he’s making a humongous mess.
It takes him what seems like forever, but he eventually joins me at the table. He casts a long look at my sandwich before looking at his. I half expect him to ask me to trade with him, but he doesn’t. He lifts it to his mouth and chomps down.
“So, what are you doing today?” I ask.
He shrugs as he chews with his mouth open. “There’s nothin’ to do.”
“Close your mouth while you eat, son. I don’t want to see your chewed food.”
He stares down at his sandwich and pushes it away. “It’s too dry.”
“Then get up and put some mayonnaise on it.”
He rolls his eyes and lets out a sound of exasperation.
“Why don’t you hang out with some of your friends?”
“They’re all busy doing lame stuff.”
“Lame stuff?” I narrow my eyes and meet his gaze. “Like what?”
He shrugs and looks down. “I don’t know, like cleaning and cooking and raking and washing cars and stuff.”
Deep down, I’d love for Julius to hang out with Brett more than the few times they’ve been around each other, but Bucky says Digger and Puddin’s young’uns are all a bunch of wimps who’ll never amount to anything. I have to bite my tongue to keep from reminding him that we barely scraped by before the oil company came along. In fact, we were both ecstatic about the five thousand dollars they were paying us annually to lease the rights on our property.
I glance out the back picture window and see the rigs all lined up about fifty yards away. They’re ugly as all get out, but Bucky likes to remind me of the beautiful life they’ve enabled us to have. I reckon there’s a lot of truth to the old saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. However, I can’t help seeing the ugliness of what’s become of us.
I have no idea how Shay does it, but she has managed to calm Jeanine down and gotten her to actually listen to reason. Somehow the condo deal is back on—with Nate’s approval. Shay managed to get Jeanine to part with her furniture for a fraction of what I’d offered, and she has a signed paper to prove it.
Now Shay, Sara, and I are inside the condo I still share with my sister and her husband, looking at the paper. I tap the edge of the paper and look directly at Shay. “I can’t believe you even thought to do this.”
“I’ve been in the business world for a long time.” Shay pauses and smiles back and forth between Sara and me. “People do a lot of talking, but until they sign their names, it can be hard to hold them to what they say they’ll do.”
I glance at Sara and see an unfamiliar expression. “Are you okay?”
She starts to nod but stops. “I can’t lie. I’m sad you’ll be moving.”
“You know it’ll have to happen sooner or later. You and Justin were already talking about moving out . . . or having me move out anyway.” I pause and give her a few seconds to think about that. “Besides, based on how Jeanine has been acting, that can still change.”
Shay holds up a finger to get our attention. “One thing you need to do is be firm. Offering her more money than she originally wanted for her furniture made her perceive you as a pushover.”
I ponder that. “I want to be fair.”
“Oh, trust me, you’re being very fair. If someone doesn’t come along and purchase that place, her credit will be messed up for a very long time. And I’m sure she’ll probably have quite a few sleepless nights.” She gives me a comforting smile. “In a way, you’re saving her from a much worse situation.”
“True.” I smile at Shay before focusing my attention on my sister. “And remember that I won’t be far. This is actually the best of both worlds for you. You’ll have your family home, and I’ll be less than five minutes away.”
Sara’s lips form into a pout. “It still won’t be the same.”
“It never is after we become adults.” Shay nods toward the kitchen. “I can’t wait to taste what y’all have been working on for t
he reunion.”
I pull the cold items out of the refrigerator while Sara takes the other plate to put in the microwave. As soon as Shay sees the array of food, her eyes widen. “Y’all did all this?”
Sara and I both nod with pride, and I hold up my hands. “With our own four little hands.”
Shay’s expression lets us know she’s surprised but impressed. “Y’all’s food will be the hit of the reunion. I have to admit I didn’t see this one coming.”
I laugh. “Quite honestly, neither did we. I never saw myself as domestic, but now that I’ve had a little experience in the kitchen, I actually enjoy it.”
Sara sighs. “And I’ll need to be a good cook so I won’t have to take my kids through a fast-food drive-through for every meal.”
I look at Shay, and she makes a funny face. “Glad I could save your kids from that.”
“I know, right?” Sara laughs. “I remember when we were growing up, I felt neglected because everyone else ate fast food most of the time, and our mama cooked all our meals.”
I nod. “And then we moved out on our own and fell into the fast-food trap until you came along.”
Shay takes a bite of one of my fruit and prosciutto appetizers and lets out a deep sigh. “This thing is heavenly. Whatever made you think of doing this?”
Before I have a chance to say a word, Sara gives away my secret. “She’s been watching the food channel. The chefs on there do stuff like this all the time.”
Shay gives a thumbs-up. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up. This will definitely be a huge hit at the reunion.”
“Yeah, it might even make the favorites table, alongside Aunt Willa Dean’s Coca-Cola ham.”
Shay laughs. “Willa Dean’s ham has lost some of its standing. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s edging its way toward the second-tier table.” She glances down at her plate before picking up one of the celery spears. “What did you stuff this with?”
“Hummus.” Sara offers a shaky smile. “I made it myself.”
“Homemade hummus, huh?” Shay’s eyes light up as she takes a bite and chews. “I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. Seriously, ladies, y’all have become quite the culinary twins.”
Sara nudges me. “Maybe if we get tired of making hair bows, we can apply for our own show on the food channel.”
I start to tell her we’re not good enough for that, but Shay speaks up. “Y’all have an interesting angle that they just might like. You can play up the fact that you’re twins, but you’re very different in your approach.” She takes a bite of one of my stuffed mushrooms and sighs again. “And both of them work.”
“Before we start having dreams of being famous chefs, let’s see how the family likes our cooking first.” Someone has to be the voice of reason, and for some reason, it’s not Shay. Unless our food is better than I think it is. “At least let’s give it another year or two.”
Shay laughs and tries one of my meatballs next. “This is even better than mine. Seriously, Sally, you might want to consider trying out for the food channel. I think they’ll actually consider you.” She takes another bite, chews, and swallows it. “Or you can continue perfecting it and try in a year or so. Y’all can be the ‘Appetizer Twins.’”
Suddenly, it feels as though everything in my life has gone totally haywire. Shay has always had her feet firmly planted, but now she’s talking just like Sara.
After Shay finishes trying all the samples on the plates in front of her, Sara stands up and walks over to the counter. “Now for dessert. I made a mini apple pie so you can try it out.”
“Wait a minute.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes. “You made the apple pie? You didn’t buy it from the bakery?”
She holds up both hands and wiggles her fingers. “I did it with these two hands, and I think it turned out really good.”
Shay has already taken a bite, and she’s nodding with enthusiasm. As soon as she swallows, she gestures toward the pie that’s left on her plate. “This is your pièce de résistance. It is absolutely fabulous.” She takes another bite and closes her eyes in what appears to be ecstasy. “I cannot believe you’ve gone from never cooking to something like this.” She glances at Sara and then me and smiles. “Good job, ladies.”
We chat for a few more minutes about the reunion that starts tomorrow. Shay gets up and takes a step toward the door. “I need to get my food ready, but it’s going to pale in comparison to what y’all have made.”
She walks toward the door, but I stop her. “What do I do next with the condo situation?”
“Talk to Nate and let him know you want this thing over with as quickly as possible. She’s a very skittish woman, and we don’t want to give her a chance to change her mind again.”
I nod. “Okay, I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Oh, and before you move in, you’ll want to get the locks changed.” She offers a closemouthed grin. “And you might want to consider getting a motion-activated camera for the front door.”
“What’s wrong with you, Sheila?” George points to the handful of olives I dropped on the floor. “You’ve been like this for a couple of days.”
“Like what?”
“Unsteady. You’ve been dropping things, running into furniture . . .” He gives me a worried look. “You don’t think you might have had a stroke, do you?”
“No, of course not.” I force a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Then what’s gotten into you?”
I don’t want to admit it, but I figure I might as well, since George knows the girls as well as I do. “Sara says they made a bunch of food for the reunion without Shay’s help.”
He gives me an odd look. “I don’t see how that can be a problem.”
“They’ve never been very domestic. Remember the time I told them to heat something up while we were out, and when we got home, the house was filled with smoke?”
“Is that what you’re worried about?”
I nod. “I don’t remember them doing any cooking . . . or any successful cooking without Shay or me watching over them.”
He laughs. “Then it should be interesting.”
“What if people get sick?”
“I doubt they’ll get sick, but they might not eat it after the first bite.”
“True.” I point to the pantry. “Would you mind getting me another jar of olives?”
He does as I ask and then leans against the counter to watch me prepare the food I’m bringing. “At least you’ll wow ’em with your cookin’. I just happen to think you’re the best cook in the family.”
“Thanks, Georgie.” I blow him an air kiss and continue putting the olives on top of my potato salad. I used to bring it without garnishment, but I saw an ad in a magazine that showed how much nicer food looks with something colorful to decorate it. After experimenting a bit, I discovered that sliced green olives with pimentos provide a nice touch to top off almost any kind of salad.
We chat a little about what we expect to happen. “At least we have nice enough weather to have it outdoors,” he says. “I know their mansion is big enough for the entire town of Pinewood, but I like not being all closed up.”
“You just want it to be easy to escape,” I remind him.
He laughs. “Yeah, there is that.”
After I finish everything I’m bringing, I head to the bedroom to start getting ready for the big day. Bucky and Marybeth have said we’re supposed to spend the whole weekend at their place, but I doubt if we will. In fact, I’ve been working on an excuse to leave tonight after everything is put away and we’ve had some time to chat with everyone.
There are only a few out-of-town folks, so they’ll definitely spend the weekend there. However, I’ve heard several people say they’re doing the same thing I plan to do.
The only problem is George. He wants to stay with them because he doesn’t want to hurt their feelings. He joins me in the bedroom and starts putting on the clothes I have laid out for him.
I remind
him of how Bucky and Marybeth have acted since they came into all that oil money. “They used to be more normal.”
“Bucky isn’t a horrible guy.” George steps into his shoes before looking back at me. “Maybe a little misguided, that’s all.”
“Too much money can do that to you.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think it would change you all that much.” He pauses and grins. “Me? I’m another story. I’d go out and buy the biggest, most expensive car on the lot.”
“Oh, you would, would you?” I toss a playful grin in his direction.
He pulls the shirt over his head and nods. “Yeah, and while I’m out shopping, I’d find you the most luxurious mink coat I can find in Hattiesburg.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I don’t want a mink coat. They make me sneeze.”
“Then I’d find you something else that lets everyone know we’ve made it.”
“As far as I’m concerned, we have made it.” I tilt my head forward and level him with one of my loving wifely gazes. “And I don’t have to do a thing to show off, because I’m confident without having to prove anything to everyone else.”
In spite of his hearing impairment, George clearly hears me just fine. I know this because he puts his arms around me and gives me one of those kisses that make my leg kick up—just like in the old movies.
He gives me a gentle pat on the rear and tells me he loves me before walking away. When he gets to the door, he stops, turns around, and says, “Do you need me? Because if you don’t, I need to clean the car out before we go.”
“I’m fine.” I grin at him. “I just need to put on some makeup so your kinfolk don’t think you married a hag.”
“Trust me, Sheila, they won’t think that at all.” He gives me one of his smoldering glances. “If anything, they’ll wonder how I managed to get such a gorgeous wife . . . and keep her.”
I think my husband really believes what he just said because he sees me through the lens of love. But I know the truth. I’ve given up coloring my hair, and it’s now more salt than pepper. My midsection has spread out quite a bit, and no amount of diet or exercise is doing me any good. The one thing I have a little bit of control over is my face, so I spend a lot of time working on making it the best it can be, although I know the wrinkles and fine lines remind me I’m not getting any younger.