Disclaimer: I do Not own The Truth about Forever or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.
Chapter 3
Chapter 2: Wes read.
My mother had called me once ("Macy, honey, people are starting to arrive") and then twice ("Macy? Honey?") but still I was in front of the mirror, parting and reparting my hair.
"Urg, she's like you Kristy, you take forever to leave the house," Bert groaned leaning into the couch. They had relocated to the couch to finish reading the book. Everyone let Delia have the comfy arm chair, she needed it more than they did.
"You can't rush quality." Kristy smiled smugly at him.
"What quality," Bert muttered.
"Can we read please," Wes interrupted. (no he's not referring to himself in the third person, it is no longer in his POV)
No matter how many times I swiped at it with my comb, it still didn't look right.
"I thought her hair looked fine last night," Bert shrugged.
"Oh, were you checkin' her out," Kristy wagged her eyebrows.
"No," Bert rolled his eyes. Wes smirked at his tell-tale blush.
Once, I didn't care so much about appearances. I knew the basics: that I was somewhat short for my age, with a round face, brown eyes, and faint freckles across my nose that had been prominent, but now you had to lean in close to see. I had blonde hair that got lighter in the summer time, slightly green if I swam too much, which didn't bother me since I was a total track rat, the kind of girl to whom the word hairstyle was defined as always having a ponytail elastic on her wrist.
"Urg, there is so much I have to teach her," Kristy frowned at the book.
"I'm sure she doesn't need your help," Wes smirked at her.
"You're as bad as Bert, were you both checking her out last night?" Kristy chuckled.
"No," Wes and Bert said at the same time.
"I just meant she probably won't take it," Wes huffed, Let just get back to the book, please!"
"Go ahead," Kristy smirked back at him, "Please continue."
I'd never cared about how my body or I looked-what mattered was what it could do and how fast it could go.
Wes smiled, he wasn't into appearances either, and they were superficial. All he cared about was what his hands could do, and how fast he could ran as well. It was eerie how much they had in common.
"Aren't you supposed to be reading ," Kristy said smugly, Bringing Wes back to reality, reminding him he was in a room full of people now snickering at him.
But part of my new perfect act was my appearance. If I wanted people to see me as calm and collected, together, I had to look the part. It took work. Now, my hair had to be just right, lying flat in all places. If my skin was not cooperating, I bargained with it, applying concealer and a slight layer of foundation, smoothing out all the red marks and dark circles. I could spend a full half hour
"Ha, are you kidding me, you can't do anything in only a half hour," Kristy rolled her eyes.
"Normal people can," Bert smirked at her.
getting the shadowing just right on my eyes, curling and recurling my eyelashes, making sure each was lifted and separated as the mascara wand moved over them, darkening, thickening. I moisturized. I flossed. I stood up straight. I was fine.
"Sounds like she made herself a robot," Delia muttered.
"Macy?" My mother's voice, firm and cheery, floated up the stairs. I pulled the comb through my hair, then stepped back from the mirror, letting it fall into the part again. Finally: Perfect. And just in time. When I came downstairs, my mother was standing by the door, greeting a couple who was just coming in with her selling smile: confident but not off-putting, welcoming but not kiss-ass. Like me my mother put great stock in her appearance. In real estate, as in high school, it could make or break you.
"Which is why I would never be in real estate," Wes said rolling his eyes.
"Why?" Kristy smirked, "If it was all about appearances you would be rich by now."
Wes glowered at her and continued reading. He did not care about looks, not in the least.
"There you are," she said, turning around as I came down the stairs." I was getting worried." "Hair issues," I told her, as another couple came up the front walk. "What can I do?" She glanced into the living room, where a group of people were peering at a design of the new townhouses that was tacked up on the wall. My mother always had these cocktail parties when she needed to sell, believing the best way to assure to convince people she could build their dream home was to show off her own. It was a good gimmick, even if it did mean having strangers traipsing through our downstairs.
"That would be weird," Bert muttered.
"But she's right it's a good tactic," Delia nodded, "with a house as beautiful as theirs, I would buy anything she was selling." We all laughed quietly.
"If you could make sure the caterers have everything they need,
"Oh good we're in the story now," Kristy jumped smiling at the book with excitement.
"This already happened you don't have to be excited," Delia chuckled.
She said to me now, "that would be great. And if it looks like we are running low on brochures, go out and get another box from the garage." She paused to smile at a couple as they crossed the foyer. "Oh," she said, "and if anyone looks like they are looking for a bathroom-" "Point them towards it graciously and with the utmost subtlety," I finished. Bathroom detail/directions were, in fact, my specialty.
"That's a little weird," Kristy frowned.
"I'm guessing after doing this sort of thing for a while, it's not so weird after long," Delia shrugged.
"Good girl," she said, as a women in a pants suit came up the walk. "Welcome!" my mother called out, pushing the door open wider. "I'm Deborah Queen. Please come in. I'm so glad you could make it!" My mother didn't know this person, of course. But part of selling was treating everyone like a familiar face.
"Can you say, creepy?" Bert sang laughing.
"That would be really awkward," Kristy laughed too.
"Well, I just love this neighborhood," The woman said as she stepped over the threshold. "I noticed you were putting up some new town houses, so I thought I'd . . ." "Let me show you a floor plan. Did you see that all the units come with two car garages? You know, a lot of people don't even realize how much difference a heated garage can make." And with that, my mother was off and running. Hard to believe that once smoozing was as painful to her as multiple root canals.
"That is hard to believe, she seemed comfortable," Kristy shrugged.
"Well, sometimes you have to do annoying things, if you want to eat," Delia said.
"I guess, but I would want to do something I like too," Bert mused.
"And I hope you do." Delia smiled over at him.
But when you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if you were lucky, you did it well. Queen Homes, which my dad started right out of college as a one-man trim carpenter operation, already had a good business reputation when he met my mother. Actually, he hired her. She was fresh out of college with an accounting degree, and his finances were in shambles. She'd come in, waded through his paper work and receipts (many of which were on bar napkins and matchbooks),
"Urg, guys are so lazy," Kristy groaned, "they always needed and woman to come in and fix everything."
Delia laughed, "And it only gets worse with age."
Me and Bert looked at each other and rolled our eyes. I was anything but lazy and so was Bert for that matter. But there would be no point in trying to argue.
"Bettaquit," Accept if you're a monotone, no one can argue with you.
Handled a close call with the IRS (he'd "forgotten" about his taxes a few years earlier), and gotten him into the black again. Somewhere in the midst of all of it, they fell in love. They were a perfect business team: he was all charm and fun everyone's favorite guy to buy a beer. My mother was happy busying herself with file folders and The Bigger Picture. Together, they were unstoppable.
Everyone sighed at that, knowing they must have really loved each other. And knowing her mother lost her husband, business partner, and best friend.
Wildflower Ridge, our neighborhood, had been my mother's vision. They'd done small subdivisions and spec houses, but this would be an entire neighborhood, with houses and townhouses and apartments, a little business district, everything all enclosed and fitted around a common green space.
"Wow, that what I call a million dollar idea." Wes said in awe.
"And it looks like she's really doing it, not just talking about it, like most people would," Kristy added.
A return to communities, my mother had said. The wave of the future. My dad wasn't sold at first.
"Why? I thought he loved innovation and people with potential, " Kristy huffed.
Wes shrugged and kept reading.
But he was getting older, and his body was tired. This way he could move into a supervisory position and let someone else swing the hammers. So he agreed. Two months later, they were breaking ground on the first house: ours. They worked in tandem, my parents, meeting potential clients at the model home. My dad would run through the basic spiel, tweaking it depending on what sort of people they were: he's play up the southern charm for the Northerners, talked NASCAR and barbeque with the locals. He was knowledgeable, trustworthy. Of course you wanted him to build your house. Hell, you wanted him to build to be your best friend.
They all laughed quietly, but halfheartedly, they knew she was working up to his death. And, after hearing how great he was, it made it that much harder for everyone to accept. Wes still couldn't place where he had heard of him before, it was just too familiar.
The houses sold like crazy. It was everything my mother said it would be. Until it wasn't. I knew she blamed herself for his death, thought that maybe it was the added stress of Wildflower Ridge that taxed my dad heart,
"That's not fair, there are many things that can contribute to heart attacks, it wasn't her fault," Delia sighed sadly, " She shouldn't blame herself."
"Yeah, and it sounds like he might have had one earlier, if her mom hadn't got him off the frontline when she did." Kristy agreed.
"Right now I think they just need a reason, and both of them are willing to take the blame," I shrugged sadly.
And if she hadn't pushed him to expand so much everything would be different. This was our common ground, the secret we shared but never spoke out loud. I should have been with him; she should have left him alone. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense. But here in the present,
"it's not easy in the past tense or present," Wes and Bert muttered together. No one looked at them this time, just let them get their feeling out.
My mother and I had no choice but to move ahead. We worked hard, me at school, her at outselling other builders. We parted our hair cleanly and stood up straight, greeting company-and the world-with the smiles we practiced in the quiet of our now-too-big dream house full of mirrors that showed the smiles back.
"That sounds so cold," Kristy whispered quietly.
"I know, I couldn't imagine living like that, and she seemed so relaxed, a little shy, but still," Delia sighed, "I would never have guessed she lived like this."
"I think that's the point," Wes commented.
But under it all, our grief remained. Sometimes she took more of it, sometimes I did. But always, it was there. I had just finished directing an irate woman with a red wine stain on her shirt to the powder room-one of the catering staff had apparently bumped into her, splashing her cabernet across her outfit-
"Bert!" Delia yelled exasperated.
"I know, I'm sorry," He muttered into a pillow.
When I noticed the stack of flyers on the foyer table was looking a bit low. Grateful for the excuse to escape, I slipped outside.
Bert and Wes were cramming their fist into their mouths, in a vain attempt to stifle their laughter, at what was about to happen.
Delia and Kristy were shooting both boys glares from across the room. While Monica looked vaguely at the book with blank interest.
I went down the front walk, cutting around the caterer's van in the driveway. The sun had just gone down, the sky pink and orange behind the line of trees that separated us from the apartments one phase over. Summer was just starting. Once that had meant early tract practice and long afternoons at the pool perfecting my backflip.
"Ooh, sounds like fun," Kristi smiled.
"She said "Once that Meant" meaning past tense," Wes reminded her. She pouted and slumped back in her seat.
This summer, though, I was working. Jason had been at the library information desk since he was fifteen, long enough to secure a reputation as the Guy Who Knew Everything.
"That's not hard to believe," Kristy muttered groaning.
Patrons of the Lakeview Branch had gotten accustomed to him doing everything from finding that obscure book on Catherine the Great to fixing the library computers when they crashed. They loved him for the same reason I did: He had all the answers.
"So she in love with him," Kristy said surprised, "I still don't fully get why."
Wes didn't know why that bothered him so much, he actually felt kind of disappointed, and completely deflated.
He also had a cult following, particularly among his co-workers, who were both girls and both brilliant. They'd never taken kindly to me being Jason's girlfriend, seeing as how, in their eyes, I wasn't even close to their intellectual level, much less his.
"That's completely ridiculous, they are probably just jealous, " Kristy smirked.
I'd had a feeling that their acceptance of me as a sudden co-worker wouldn't be much warmer, and I was right. During my training, they snickered as he taught me the intricate ins and outs of the library search system, rolled their eyes in tandem when I asked a question about the card catalog.
"Forget that, you couldn't pay me enough money to work there," Kristy grimaced.
Jason hardly noticed, and when I pointed it out to him he got impatient, as if I was wasting his time.
"Really, Why?" Kristy practically scream angrily, throwing her hands in the air, in a surrender.
The more Wes read, the more he truly did not get why she loved him, much less why she choose to keep dating him. Wes was almost as frustrated as Kristy.
That's not what you should be worrying about, he said. Not knowing how to reference the tri-county library database quickly in the event of a system cash: now that would be a problem.
"Dump him please, I'm begging you," Kristy whined.
"I concur," Bert said throwing up his hands, and letting them flop back to his legs.
He was right, of course. He was always right. But I still wasn't looking forward to it. Once I was in the garage, I went to the shelves where my mom kept her work stuff, moving a stock of For Sale and Model Open signs aside to pull out another box of flyers. The front door of the house was open, and I could hear voices drifting over, party sounds, laughing, and glasses clinking. I hoisted up the box and cut off the overhead light. Then I headed back to the party. I was passing garbage cans when someone jumped out from the bushes. "Gotcha."
"That's not funny," Delia huffed at Bert and Wes who were laughing hysterically at the book. "She could have refused to pay us for that stunt you two pulled on her daughter."
"Yeah idiots," Kristy hit Bert with a pillow but it was no use he was still laughing.
I shrieked and dropped the box, which hit the ground with a thunk, spilling fliers sideways down the driveway.
Wes and Bert just kept laughing, which made it hard to hear, since Wes was also reading at the time.
Say what you will, but you are never prepared for the surprise attack. It defines the very meaning of taking your breath away: I was gasping.
That broke Kristy, she cracked up laughing into her hands.
"Not you too," Delia groaned trying to keep herself from laughing.
For a second, it was very quiet. A car drove by. "Bert?" A voice came from down the driveway, by the catering van. "What are you doing?"
"And Wes makes his grand entrance," Kristy clapped.
Wes just smile and gave a small bow.
"I wonder what she first thought of you," Bert chuckled. He wagged his eyebrows at Wes.
"Don't you start this too." Wes groaned, though he would be completely lying if he did not admit, he'd been thinking about that a little bit himself.
Beside me, a bush rustled. "I'm . . ." a voice said hesitantly –and much more quietly- from somewhere within. "I'm scaring you. Aren't I?"
Bert laughed, "I couldn't figure out why your voice was so far away, then I realized, that scream was much more high that Wes could ever go, I knew I was in trouble."
Delia glared at him, "You bet you were, I never punished you for that, you have to clean out the van next time."
"Ah, come on," Bert groaned, he walked over to Delia with his hands clamped together, begging. "Please don't make me?"
"Not a chance, and Wes can help you hose down after it's empty, then use a rag to dry it out," Delia wiped the smirk right off Wes's face. Earning Bert a smack to the head.
"Thanks a lot," Wes pouted.
I heard footsteps, and a second later could make out a guy in a white shirt and black pants walking towards me up the driveway. He had a serving platter tucked under his arm.
"He was also unbelievable sexy and seductive," Kristy murmured in that romance novel sexy voice.
"Seductive?" Wes rolled his eyes. Why everyone had this ridiculous image of him he would never know.
As he got closer he squinted, making me out in the semi-dark. "Nope. Not me," He said
"Really, that's all you say," uuh Nope. Not me", you're a dork sometimes Wes," Kristy rolled her eyes.
"What was I supposed to say, I was just as confused." Wes chuckled leaning his head back to avoid Delia's glare.
Now that he was right in front of me, I could see that he was tall and had brown hair that was a bit too long.
"Told you, you need a haircut," Kristy grip a bit of Wes's hair in her hands.
"My hair is fine," Wes shimmied out of Kristy reach. Delia and Bert just chuckled in the back ground.
"Bettaquit." Monica smirked.
He was also strikingly handsome, with the sort of sculpted cheekbones and angular features that you couldn't help but notice, even if you did have a boyfriend.
"Ha, is that a blush I see Wes, was someone checkin' her out too," Bert said, baiting Wes.
Wes said nothing, just looked intently at the book, but yes, he could feel the heat in his cheeks. He was blushing. Also ye he had been checking her out.
To me he said, "You okay?" I nodded. My heart was still racing, but I was recovering. He stood there, studying the bush, then stuck his right hand into its center.
"How did you know I was there?" Bert groaned annoyed.
"Well, I could make out your big head in the middle so I figured that's the part of the bush you were in." Wes snickered.
A second later, he pulled another guy, this one shorter and chunkier but dressed identically, out through the foliage. He had the same dark eyes and hair, but looked younger. His face bright red.
"Hey! I am NOT chunkier," Bert yelled, outraged.
"Well," Wes chuckled, before he could finish Bert shot him a glare that just made him laugh harder.
"And," Bert continued, "I'm only slightly shorter than you."
"Bert," the other guy said, sighing, as he let his hand drop. "Honestly." "You have to understand." This Bert said to me, solemnly, "I'm down in a big way." "Just apologize," The older guy said. "I'm very sorry," Bert said. He reached up and picked a pine needle out of his hair. "I, um, thought you were someone else."
"Well, duh." Kristy glowered at him.
"It's okay," I told him. The older guy nudged him, then nodded towards the fliers. "Oh, right," Bert said, dropping down on his knees. He started to pick them up, his fingers scratching the pavement, as the other guy walked a bit down the driveway, picking up the ones that had slid there.
"Good, that was very polite of you," Delia murmured, "But both still have truck duty."
Bert huffed, and mumbled something about child labor laws. Wes grimaced but laughed at him.
"That was a good one, too," Bert was muttering as I squatted down beside him to help. "Almost had him. Almost." The light outside the kitchen door popped on, and suddenly it was very bright. A second later the door swung open. "What in the world is going on here?" I turned to see a woman in a red apron, with black curly hair piled on top of her head, standing at the top of the stairs. She was pregnant, and was squinting out into the dark with a curious, although somewhat impatient, expression.
Everyone smiled and turned to Delia, who blushed and looked at the books with a small smile.
"Where's that platter I asked for?" "Right here," the older guy called out as he came back up the drive way, a bunch of my flyers now stacked neatly upon the platter.
"Is she ever going to learn your name?" Kristy snickered.
"I don't know, now that I think about it, I don't remember telling her it." Wes laughed shrugging.
He handed them to me. "Thanks," I said. "No problem." Then he took the stairs two at a time, handing the platter to the women, as Bert crawled under the deck for the last two fliers that had landed there. "Marvelous," she said. "Now, Wes, get back to the bar, will you? The more they drink the less they'll notice how long the food is taking."
"If I had known she was standing there I wouldn't have said that so loud," Delia muttered embarrassed.
"I don't think she really cared." Bert shrugged.
"Sure thing," the guy said, ducking through the doorway and disappearing into the kitchen. The women ran her hand over her belly, distracted, then looked back out into the dark. "Bert?" she called out loudly. "Where-""Right here," Bert said, from under the deck. She turned around and stuck her head over the side for the rail. "Are you on the ground?" "Yes." "What are you doing?"
"Somebodies getting angry," Bert smirked at Delia.
"Well, I thought you were out playing in the dirt when we had work to do, I didn't know you were being an idiot," Delia huffed at him.
"Nothing," Bert mumbled. "Well," the woman said, "when you're done doing that, I've got crab cakes cooling with your name on them. So get your butt in here, please, okay?" "Okay," he said, "I'm coming." The woman went back inside, and a second later I heard her yelling something about mini-biscuits. Bert came out from under the deck, organizing the fliers he was holding into a stack, then handing them to me. "I'm really sorry," he said. "It's just this stupid thing."
"Yeah, a very stupid thing that you guys just won't give up," Kristy glared.
"Because I'm winning," Wes laughed.
"Its fine," I told him, as he picked another leaf out of his hair. "It was an accident." He looked at me, his expression serious. "There are," he said, "no accidents." For a second I just stared at him.
"Really Bert, are you serious," Kristy eyed him.
"What it's just something my mom told me," he said looking down.
He had a chubby face and a wide nose, and his hair was thick and too short, like it had been cut at home.
"Ha, I told you your hair cuts suck," Bert huffed at Wes.
Wes just shrugged, "You're the one that still let me cut your hair."
Bert glared at Wes while Kristy shoved her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
"Donneven," Monica said in the usual monotone.
He was watching me so intently, as if he wanted to be sure I understood, that it took me a second to look away. "Bert!" the woman yelled from inside. "Crab cakes!" "Right," he said, snapping out of it. Then he backed up to the stairs and started up them quickly. When he got to the top, he glanced back down at me. "But I am sorry," he said, saying the words that I'd heard so much in the last year and a half they hardly carried meaning anymore.
"I meant it when I said it, but I can understand how she feels." Bert nodded.
Although I had a feeling he meant it. Weird. "I'm sorry," he said again. And then he was gone. When I got inside, my mother was in some deep conversation about zoning with a couple of contractors. I refreshed the fliers, then directed a man who was a bit stumbly and holding a glass of wine he probably didn't need to the bathroom.
"Urg, I hate dealing with drunken people, they always make a mess," she said glaring at Wes.
"What, I merely fulfill their request, if I cut them off they would cause a scene and we wouldn't get paid," Wes groaned.
I was scanning the room for stray empty glasses when there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Everything in the front of the house stopped. Conversation. Motion. The very air. Or so it felt.
"Dear lord, did everyone have to notice," Delia huffed and flopped her head back into the couch cushions.
"It's us, what do you expect." Bert snickered, which lead to Wes hitting him in the head with a pillow. "That was completely unnecessary, and a little mean."
"Its fine!" a voice called out, upbeat and cheerful, from the other side of the door. "Carry on as you were!"
"Trust me, I was anything but, upbeat and cheerful," Delia surprised us all by laughing loudly.
There was a slight surprised murmur from the assembled crowd, some laughter, and then slowly the conversation built again. My mother smiled her way across the room, then put a hand on the small of my back, easing me toward the foyer. "There's a spill on a client, not enough appetizer's, and a crash," she said, her voice level. "I'm not happy. Could you go and convey that, please?"
"You needn't have bothered, no one was happy, you didn't have to say it," Kristy muttered.
"I'm feel so bad that we messed up her party, she will probably never use us again, and that could have been a steady relationship." Delia sighed, disgruntle.
"Right," I said. "I'm on it." When I came through the kitchen door, the first thing I did was step on something that mushed, in a wet sort of way, under my foot. Then I noticed that the floor was littered with small round objects, some at a standstill, some rolling slowly to the four corners of the room. A little girl in pigtails, who looked to be about two or three, was standing by the sink, fingers in her mouth and wide eyed as several of the marblelike objects moved past her. "Well." I looked over to see the pregnant women standing by the stove, an empty cookie sheet in her hands. She sighed. "I guess that's it for the meatballs."
"In retrospect, we probably should have noticed she was there by now." Bert snickered.
"Yeah right, like you two noticed anything when Delia's full meltdown mode," Kristy laughed.
I picked up my foot to examine it, stepping aside just in time to keep from getting hit by the door as it swung open. Bert, now leafless and looking somewhat composed, breezed in carrying a tray filled with a tray filled with wadded-up napkins and empty glasses. "Delia," he said to the woman, "we need more crab cakes." "And I need a sedative," she replied in a tired voice, stretching her back, "but you can't have everything. Take the cheese puffs and tell them were traying the crab cakes up right now."
"Crab cakes and meatballs are always the first to go," Kristy rolled her eyes.
"I don't even really like crab cakes." Bert mutters.
"Are we?" Bert asked, passing the toddler, who smiled widely, reaching out for him with her spitty fingers. He sidestepped her, heading for the counter, and, unhappy, she plopped down into a sitting position and promptly started wailing. "Not exactly at this moment, no," Delia said, crossing the room. "I'm speaking futuristically."
"More like optimistically," Kristy muttered.
"Yeah, you were completely lost weren't you," Wes smirked at her.
"Does it matter," Delia glared at them.
"Is that a word?" Bert asked her. "Just take the cheese puffs," she said as she picked up the little girl. "Oh, Lucy, please God okay, just hold back the hysterics for another hour, I'm begging you." She looked down at her shoe. "Oh no, I just stepped in a meatball. Where's Monica?"
"She's a slippery one, that girl?" Bert winked at her.
"Bettaquit," Monica stared blankly at him.
"Here," a girl's voice said from the other side of the side door. Delia made an exasperated face. "Put out that cigarette and get in here, now. Find a broom and get up these meatballs . . . and we need to get some more of these cheese puffs in, and Bert needs . . .what else did you need?" "Crab cakes," Bert said. "Futuristically speaking. And Wes needs ice." "In the oven, ready any second," She said, shooting him a look as she walked over to the broom closet, toddler on her hip, and rummaged around for a second before pulling out a dust pan. "The crab cakes, not the ice. Lucy, please, don't slobber on mommy . . .And ice is . . .oh, shit, I don't know where the ice is. Where did we put the bags we bought?" "Cooler," a tall girl said as she came inside, letting the door slam behind her.
"And Monica makes her grand entrance," Bert snickered, bowing to Kristy.
"The best damn entrance in this book, yet anyway." Kristy smiled.
She had long honey-blonde hair and was slouching as she ambled over to the oven. She pulled it open, a couple of inches at a time, then glanced inside before shutting it again and making her way over to the island, still moving at a snail's pace.
"She does kind move that slow," Kristy sighed, "sorry."
"Yes, you do, it takes you forever to do anything," Bert laughed at he. Then he got a mouth full of pillow.
"Bettaquit," Monica glared at him.
"Done," she announced. "Then please take them out and put them on a tray, Monica," Delia snapped, shifting the toddler to her other hip. She started scooping up meatballs into the dustpan as Monica made her way back to the oven, pausing entirely too long to pick up a pot holder on her way. "I'll just wait for the crab cakes," Bert said. "It's only-" Delia stood and glared at him.
"Much like she is right now," Bert muttered. As in fact Delia glared at him.
It was quiet for a second, but someone told me this was not my opening. I stayed put, scraping
Way. People are grabbing at me like you wouldn't believe."
"Yeah, this one chick, grabbed my butt, she was a total cougar," Bert shivered.
"Way too much information Bert." Kristy made a gagging sound.
"Monica, get back out there," Delia said as the tall girl ambled back over, a tray of sizzling crab cakes in her hand. Putting down the dustpan, Delia moved to the island, grabbing a spatula, and began with one hand, to load crab cakes onto the plate at lightning speed. "Now." "But-" "I know what I said," Delia shot back, slapping a stack of napkins of the edge of the tray, "but this is an emergency situation, and I have to put you back in, even if it is against my better judgment. Just walk slowly ND and look where you're going, and be careful with liquids, please God I'm begging you, okay?"
"In a crisis situation always look to Delia, to add the drama," Bert laughed at her.
"It's not my fault, that I have a catering company filled with klutzy people," She huffed throwing her hands in the air.
The last part, I was already beginning to recognize, was a mantra of sorts for her,
"Working with these people, you had better believe it," Delia sighed.
As if by stringing all these words together, one of them might stick. "Okay," Monica said, tucking her hair behind her ear. She picked up the tray, adjusted it on her hand, and headed off around the corner, taking her time. Delia watched her go, shaking her head, then turned her attention back to the meatballs, scooping the few remaining into the dustpan and chucking them into the garbage can. Her daughter was still sniffling, and she was talking to her, softly, as she walked to a metal cart by the side door, pulling out a tray covered in Saran Wrap. As she crossed the room she balanced it precariously on her free hand, her walk becoming a slight waddle. I had never seen anyone so in need of help in my life.
"I know we are a hot mess," Delia sighed, but still smiled at everyone.
"But, at least we have fun, " Kristy laughed, jumping up and dancing around.
"What else, what else," she said as she reached the island, sliding the tray there. "What else did we need?" She pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. "Ice," I said, and she turned around and looked at me. "Ice," she repeated. Then she smiled. "Thanks. Who are you?" "Macy. This is my mom's house." Her expression changed, but only slightly. I had a feeling she knew what was coming.
"I've gotten used to it by now," Delia sighed again.
I took a breath. "She wanted me to come and check that everything's all right. And to convey that she's-" "Incredibly pissed," she finished for me, nodding. "Well, not pissed." Just then, there was another crash from the next room, followed by another short silence. Delia glanced over at the door, just as the toddler started to wailing again. "Now?" she said to me. "Well . . .yes," I said. Actually, I was betting this was an understatement. "Now, she's probably pissed."
"Who wouldn't be, sometimes we really suck," Bert grumbled.
"It took you this long to figure that out," Kristy said incredulously.
"Hey we just need to be positive." Delia said but even she wasn't convinced.
"Oh, dear." She put a hand on her face, shaking her head. "This is a disaster." I wasn't sure what to say. I felt nervous enough just watching all this: I couldn't imagine being responsible for it. "Well," she said, after a second, "in a way, it's good. We know where we stand. Now things can only get better. Right?"
"Speaking of Delia's positive thinking." Wes muttered.
I didn't say anything, which probably didn't inspire much confidence. Just then, the oven timer went off with a cheerful Bing! Noise. "Okay," she said suddenly, as if this had signaled a call to action. "Macy. Can you answer a question?" "Sure," I said. "How are you with a spatula?"
"I know that without her, we probably would have flopped, but this most likely wasn't my best idea, overall," Delia stared pensively at the book.
"Probably not." Kristy agreed shaking her head.
This hadn't been what I was expecting. "Pretty good," I said finally. "Wonderful," she said. "Come here." Fifteen minutes later, I'd figured out a rhythm. It was like baking cookies, but accelerated: lay out cheese puffs/crab cakes on cookie sheet in neat rows, put in oven, remove other pan from oven, pile onto tray, send out. And repeat. "Perfect," Delia said, watching me as she laid out mini-toasts at twice my speed and more neatly.
"It just takes practice that's all," Delia blushed pleased.
"You could have a bright future in catering, my dear, if such a thing even exists." I smiled at this Monica, the sloth like girl,
Bert started laughing, rolling on the floor. Before he could even open his mouth Monica looked over, "Donneven."
Eased through the door, carrying a tray laden with napkins. After her second spill she'd been restricted to only carrying solids, a status farther amended to just trash and empty glasses once she'd bumped into the banister and sent half a tray of cheese puffs down the front of some man's shirt. You'd think moving slowly would make someone less accident prone.
"You would think that wouldn't you?" Wes muttered under his breath for fear he'd get hit with a mouthful of pillow.
Clearly, Monica was bucking this logic. "How's it going out there?" Delia asked her, glancing over at her daughter, Lucy, who was now asleep in her car seat on the kitchen table. Frankly, Delia had astounded me.
"Aww, that's so sweet," Delia smiled flattered.
Wes looked over at her and laughed.
After acknowledging the hopelessness of her situation, she had immediately righted it, putting two more trays of canapés, getting the ice from the cooler, and soothing her daughter to sleep, all in about three minutes. Like her mantra of oh-please-God-I'm-begging-you-okay; she just did all she could, and eventually something just worked. It was impressive.
"It not as easy it looks trust me," Delia huffed with a wary smile.
"And it doesn't always work either." Kristy smirked.
"Fine," Monica reported flatly, shuffling over to the garbage can, where, after pausing for a second, she began to clear off her tray, one item at a time. Delia rolled her eyes as I slid another tray into the oven. "We're not always like this," she told me, opening another pack of cheese puffs.
"Yes, we are," Bert snickered chuckling.
"I know, but that not something you say to the people who hired you," Delia rolled her eyes at him.
"I swear. We are usually the model of professionalism and efficiency." Monica, hearing this, snorted. Delia shot her a look.
"You couldn't help me out at all?" Delia glared at her.
"What?" Monica said blankly.
"Whatever," Delia gave up; you can't really fight with a monotone anyway.
"But," she continued, "my babysitter flaked on me tonight, and then one of my servers had other plans,
"Meaning a guy," Bert clarified.
"No!" Kristy glared, blushing slightly. Everyone knew it was a guy, even Delia who just chuckled slightly annoyed.
And then, well, then the world just turned on me. You know that feeling?" I nodded. You have no idea, I thought.
"Yes, I do," Delia sighed glancing briefly at Wes and Bert, who were quiet.
Out loud I said, "Yeah. I do." "Macy! There you are!" I looked up to see my mother standing by the kitchen doorway. "Is everything okay back here?" This question, while posed at me, was really for Delia, and I could tell she knew it:
"Definitely, her mother looked ready to kill," Delia flinched.
She busied herself laying out cheese puffs, now at triple speed. Behind her, Monica had finally cleared her tray and was dragging herself across the room, the tray bumping against her knee. "Yes," I said. "I was just asking Delia about how to make crab cakes."
"She needed have bothered, her mother already knew we were a mess," Delia waved her hand through the air dismissively.
As she came toward us, my mother was running a hand through her hair, which meant she was preparing herself for some sort of confrontation. Delia must have sensed this; too, as she picked up a dish towel, wiping her hands, and turned to face my mother, a calm expression on her face.
"Trust me I was anything but calm," Delia sighed.
"Did she curse you out," Kristy chuckled.
"No, she didn't curse, but if looks could kill," Delia shrugged.
"The food is getting rave reviews," my mother started began in a voice that made it clear that a but was to follow, "but-""Mrs. Queen." Delia took a deep breath, which she then let out, placing her hand on her chest. "Please. You don't have to say anything more." I opened up another tray of crab cakes, keeping my head down. "I am so deeply sorry for our disorganized beginning tonight," Delia continued. "I found out I was understaffed at the last minute, but that's no excuse. I'd like to forgo your remaining balance in the is hopes that consider us again for another one of your events."
"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Bert rolled his eyes.
"I had to say something," Delia defended.
The meaningful silence that followed this speak was held for a full five seconds, until it was broken by Bert bursting back through the door. "Need more biscuits!" he said. "They're going to like hotcakes!"
"Again, can none of you help me out here," Delia glared.
"Sorry," Bert groaned.
"Bert," Delia said forcing a smile for my mother's sake, "you don't have to bellow. We're right here." "Sorry," Bert said. "Here." I handed him the tray I'd just finished and took his empty one. "There should be crab cakes in the next few minutes, too." "Thanks," he said. Then he recognized me. "Hey," he said. "You work here now here now?"
"It would be lovely to have her." Delia smiled happily.
"She works at the library remember, for Jason," Kristy said his name like it was a dirty word.
Wes didn't understand why this whole Jason this was starting to really get on his nerves.
"Um, no." I put the empty tray down in front of me. "Not really." I glanced over at my mother. Between Delia's heartfelt "Sorry" and my exchange with Bert, I could see she was struggling to keep up. "Well," she said finally, turning her attention back to Delia, "I appreciate your apology, and that seems like a fair compensation. The food is wonderful." "Thank you so much," Delia said. "I really appreciate it." Just then there was a burst of laughter from the living room, happy party noise, and my mother glanced toward it, as if reassured. "Well," she said, "I suppose I should get back to my guest." She started out of the room, then paused by the fridge. "Macy?" she said. "Yes?" "When you're done here, I could us you. Okay?" "Sure," I said, grabbing a pot holder and heading over to the oven to check on the crab cakes. "I'll be there in a sec."
"I don't think that's really what her mom meant," Bert chuckled.
"What do you mean?" Kristy said.
"I mean, I think she wanted to leave with her then," Bert laughed.
"She's been wonderful, by the way," Delia told her. "I told her if she needs work, I'll hire her in a second." "That's so nice of you," my mother said. "Macy's actually working at the library this summer." "Wow," Delia said. "That's great."
"Ha, even you think it's boring," Bert snickered.
"I never said I didn't" Delia groaned.
"It's just the information desk," I told her, opening the oven door. "Answering questions and staff." "Ah," Delia said. "A girl with all the answers." "That's Macy." My mother smiled. "She's a very bright girl." I didn't know what to say to this-what could you say to this?-so I just reached in for the crab cakes, focusing on that when my mother left the kitchen, Delia came over, pot holder in hand, and took the tray as I slid it of the oven. "You've been a great help," she said,
"Sucking up to the daughter Delia," Bert snickered.
"No, I really meant it, unlike some people," Delia glared at him.
"Really. But you'd better go out there with your mom." "No, its fine," I said. "She won't even notice I'm not there." Delia smiled. "Maybe not. But you should go anyway." I stepped back, out of the way, as she carried the tray over to the island. In her car seat, Lucy shifted slightly, mumbling to herself, the fell quiet again. "So the library, huh?" she said, picking up her spatula. "That's cool."
"Now she'll know your lying," Bert laughed. Delia just shrugged, "Maybe."
"It's just for the summer," I told her. "I'm filling in for someone." She started lifting crab cakes off the cookie sheet, arranging them on the tray. "Well, if it doesn't work out, I'm in the book. I could always use someone who could take directions and walk in a straight line." As if to punctuate this, Monica slunk back in, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Catering is an insane job, though," Delia said.
"You can say that again," Delia leaned back into the couch.
"Well, then say it, it was you who said it in the first place," Bert snickered.
"Wes," Delia sighed warily at him.
"Don't look at me," Wes put his hands up in surrender, "I'm just related to him, and I had nothing to do with the end result."
"I don't know why you'd want to do it, when you have a peaceful, normal job. But if for some reason you're craving chaos, call me. Okay?" Bert came back in, breezing between us, his tray now empty. "Crab cakes!" He bellowed. "Keep 'em coming!" "Bert," Delia said wincing, "I'm right here." I walked back to the door, stepping aside as Monica ambled past me, yawning widely. Bert stood by impatiently, waiting for his tray, while Delia asked Monica to God, please, try and pick up a little, I'm begging you. They'd forgotten about me already, it seemed. But for some reason, I wanted to answer her anyway.
"Delia has that effect on people," Wes smiled at her. She just chuckled and told him to continue.
"Yeah," I said, out loud, hoping she could hear me. "Okay."
"I could hear her," Delia smiled softly.
The last person at the party, a slightly tipsy, very loud man in a golf sweater, left around nine-thirty. My mother locked the door behind him, took off her shoes, and , after kissing my forehead and thanking me, headed off to her office to assemble packets for people who had signed the YES! I WANT MORE INFO sheet she'd had on the front hall table.
"That poor woman needs to get some sleep, I know she was tired," Delia is a worrier, as per her usual she gave a worried look to the book. Wes just rolled his eyes.
Contacts were everything, I'd learned.
"That true," Delia, "It's the same for catering."
You had to get to people fast, or they'd slip away. Thinking this, I went up to my room and checked my email. Jason had written me, as promised, but it was mostly about things he wanted to remind me of concerning the info desk (make sure to keep track of all copier keys, they are very expensive to replace)
"Dump. Him. Please! I will pay you," Kristy cried.
"Let. It. Go. Please! I will pay you," Wes cried back at him, earning him a glare from Kristy.
Or other things I was handling for him while he was away (remember, on Saturday, to send the email to the Foreign Culture group about the featured speaker who is coming in to give that talk in August). At the very end, he said he was too tired to write more and that he'd be in touch in a couple days.
"Was he writing an employee or his girlfriend," Kristy frowned.
Then just his name, no "Love." Not that I'd been expecting it. Jason wasn't the type for displays of affection, either verbal or not. He was disgusted by couples that made out in the hallways between classes, and got annoyed at even the slightest sappy moments in movies.
"How old is he, a hundred," Kristy bellowed.
But I knew that he cared about me: he just conveyed it more subtly, as concise with expressing this emotion as he was with everything else. It was in the way he'd put his hand on the small of my back, for instance, or how he'd smile at me when I said something that surprised him. Once I might have wanted more, but I'd come around to his way of thinking in time we'd been together.
"I would have never treated her that way, that coldly," Wes muttered.
"Oh really, how would you have treated her," Kristy smirked. Wes ignored her, knowing she was just trying to bait him.
And we were together all the time. So he didn't have to do anything to prove how he felt about me. Like so much else, I just knew. But this was the first time we were going to be apart for more than a weekend since we'd gotten together, and I was beginning to realize that the small reassurances I got in person would not transfer over to email. But he loved me, and I knew that. I'd just have to remember it now. After I logged off, I opened my window and crawled out onto the roof,
"She really is just like you Kristy," Wes smirked.
"I don't sneak out, I promise." Kristy told Delia when she saw her shoot her a questioning look.
Sitting against one of the stutters with my knees pulled up to my chest. I'd been out there for a little while, looking at the stars, when I heard voices coming up from the driveway. A car door shut, then another. Peering over the edge, I saw a few people moving around the Wish Catering van as they packed up the last of their things. " . . .this other planet, that's moving at the same trajectory as Earth. It's only a matter of time before it hits us. I mean, they don't talk about this on the news. But that doesn't mean it's not happening."
"Oh great," Kristy rolled her eyes, "Now she won't come work with us because you're a freak."
"Hey, I am right you just don't-"
"Bert, we do not have time for that," Delia smiled politely, "I'm sorry sweetie."
"Fine." Bert huffed from his favorite loveseat.
It was Bert talking. I recognized his voice, a bit high pitched and anxious,
Wes started cracking up laughing, "That's exactly how your voice sounds.
"No it's not!" Bert bellowed back.
Before I made him out, standing by the back of the van. He was talking to someone who was sitting on the bumper smoking a cigarette, the tip of which was bright and red in the murky dark. "Ummmm-hmmmm," the person said slowly. Had to be Monica. "Really." "Bert give it a rest," another voice said, and Wes, the older guy, walked up, sliding something into the back of the van. I'd hardly seen him that night, as he'd worked the bar in the den. "I'm just trying to help her be informed!" Bert said indignantly.
"Who says we want to be informed," Kristy muttered.
"This is serious stuff, Wes. Just because you prefer to stay in the dark-" "Are we ready to go?" Delia came down the driveway, her voice uneven, Lucy on her hip. She had the car seat dangling from one hand, and Wes walked up and took it from her.
"Urg, you boys are so lazy, you would make the pregnant woman carry the baby and the car seat all the way down the driveway," Kristy glared at Bert and Wes.
"Sorry," they said to Delia.
"My boys, " she sighed rubbing her belly.
From where I was sitting, I could make out clearly the top of his head, the white of his shirt. Then, as if sensing this, he leaned his head back, glancing up.
"I did kinda feel like someone was watching me, but also I wanted to look at the stars," Wes shrugged, but even he knew it had more to do with her.
I slid back against the wall. "Did we get paid?" Bert asked. "Had to comp half," she said. "The price of chaos. Probably should bother me, but frankly, I'm too pregnant and exhausted to care. Who has the keys?" "I do," Bert said. "I'll drive." The silence that followed was long enough to make me want to peer over the edge of the roof again, but I stopped myself.
Everyone laughed at Bert was hunched against the couch muttering about how he got a permit so he obviously can drive.
"I don't think so," Delia said finally. "Don't even," Monica added. "What?" Bert said. "Come on! I've had a permit for a year! I'm taking the test in a week! And I have to have some more practice before I get the Bertmobile." "You have," Wes said, his voice low, "to stop calling it that."
"You really do, it's not cool, at all," Wes said smirking.
"Just wait," Bert shoot his finger at Wes, "soon, even you will be saying it."
"No, no I won't." Wes just looked at Bert.
"Bert," Delia said, signing , "Normally, I would love for you to drive. But it's been a long night and right now I just want to get home, okay? Next time, it's all you. But for now, just let your brother drive. Okay?" Another silence. Someone coughed. "Fine," Bert said. "Just fine." I heard a car door slam, then another. I leaned over to see Wes and Bert still standing at the back of the van. Bert was kicking the ground, clearly sulking, while Wes stood by passively.
"Hey, why can't you ever take my side?" Bert said accusingly.
"Because we were all tired, and now wasn't the time to end up in one big fight," Wes argued.
"Whatever," Bert crossed his eyes and sat sulking.
"It's not a big deal," He said to Bert after a minute, pulling a hand through his hair. Now I knew for sure that they were brothers. They looked even more alike to me, although the similarities-skin tone, dark hair, dark eyes- were distributed on starkly different builds. "I never get to drive," Bert told him. "Never. Even lazy Monotone got to last week, but never me. Never."
"Hey! She is not lazy!" Kristy shot Bert a glare.
"Seriously," he shot back, getting up and starting to cross the room before Wes put his hands on him and forced him to sit back down.
"Not right now," he glared at both of them.
"You will," Wes said. "Next week you'll have your own car, and you can drive whenever you want. But don't push this issue now, man. It's late." Bert stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Whatever," he said, and started around the van, shuffling his feet. Wes followed him, clapping a hand on his back. "You know that girl who was in the kitchen tonight, helping Delia?" Bert asked.
"Urg, I didn't know she was listening to us," Bert groaned into his hands.
Even Wes blushed a little, though he didn't know why. After all they hadn't said anything bad he though.
I froze. "Yeah," Wes answered. "The one you leaped out at?" "Anyway," Bert said loudly, "don't you know who she is?" "No" Bert pulled open the back door. "Yeah, you do. Her dad-" I waited. Knowing what was coming, but still, I had to hear the words that would follow. The ones that define me, set me apart. "-was the coach when we use to run in that kids' league, back in elementary school," Bert finished. "The Lakeview Zips. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah, I don't know why I couldn't remember you telling me that last night," Wes hit himself upside the head.
"I didn't remember it myself. Weird," Bert shrugged.
Wes opened the back door for Bert. "Oh yeah," he said. "Coach Joe, right?" Right, I thought, and felt a pang in my chest. "Coach Joe," Bert said repeated, as he shut his door. "He was a nice guy." I watched Wes walk to the driver's door and pull it open. He stood there for a second, taking a final look at the around, before climbing in and shutting the door behind him.
"What were you thinking about?" Kristy asked.
"Nothing just wondering if we had missed anything," Wes shrugged, but he knew what he had been thinking about, he had been wondering if he would ever see that girl again, just like he'd been thinking about her that morning.
I had to admit, I was surprised. I'd gotten so used to being known as the girl whose dad died, I sometimes forgot that I'd had a life before that. I moved back into the shadows by my window as the engine started up and the van bumped down the driveway, brake lights flashing as it turned out onto the street. There was a big wishbone painted on the sign, thick black paint strokes, and from a distance it looked like a Chinese character, striking even if you didn't know, really, what it meant.
"It sounds like she likes it Wes," Kristy smiled at him. Wes just looked at the book, secretly he was pleased.
I kept my eye on it, following it down through the neighborhood, over the hill, down to the stop sign, until it was gone.
"Wow she really knows the neighborhood," Bert smirked.
"Well, Duh," Kristy snickered, "Her parent built it."
"That's the end of the chapter." Wes said putting it down.
"I'm next, but can we start in the morning, I'm a little tired," Everyone nodded and agreed to meet at 11 tomorrow. Delia kissed the boys goodnight and went to bed. Wes, stayed up all night thinking about the girl, trying to figure out why he couldn't get her out of her head.