Page 7 of Considering Us

The Rockwood maintenance staff hauled things up to the fourth floor with me, just as Andrea had promised. Still, the whole thing was overwhelming. I really had no idea how to start the job. Considering I had seen big stacks of cardboard meal boxes and takeout bags strewn outside the trash barrels when Ipulled up to campus, the sooner I got going with everything, the better.

“Yoo-hoo! You’re here! I’m so glad!” proclaimed Andrea in her brimming-with-positivity way. I wanted to bottle some of that and inject it into my veins. I wondered if she was on some sort of drug. It really was something.

“Hey there,” I said, slurping more of my tepid coffee. “Want a cookie?” I asked, pointing to the Rubbermaid bin on the counter.

“Absolutely!” She gobbled one down in about five seconds. Yes, some kind of mood-altering substance was possible. Andrea might have had the munchies. “Oh my! What are in these? They are amazing!”

“Semisweet chocolate chips, white chocolate chips, and dried cherries. I chill the dough before baking, too. And I use organic sugars, which seem to make a difference in the consistency. Glad you like them. They’ll be around a lot.”

“Well, I think you’ll win everyone over quickly with these. Yum,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

I finally poured the rest of the coffee down the sink. I couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s the coffee situation on campus?”

“Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you on our little tour. So unlike me! We have a student-run coffee shop next door in Hartley House. It’ll open tomorrow for the school year. Hours aren’t probably what you’re used to in the city, but it’s open before and after classes, plus after dinner during study hours for breaks and some special events. You’ll see me there a lot.”

“Big coffee drinker?” I asked.

“I average eight cups a day.” So, there it was—caffeine-fueled energy and optimism, with a penchant for gossip.

“Excellent. I usually only have one, but it’s a big one.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, but I do have a favor. I know I said I didn’t need you to start work until Monday, but we have an apple-picking event tomorrow afternoon. Many of the studentswill be with their parents here on campus, moving in, etc., but for the students who come early or are alone because they live far away, we like to offer an activity. I’m short on chaperones. One of the teachers I was counting on has food poisoning. She’s blaming it on the boxed lunches. I think it might be because she drank multiple margaritas at Las Noches in Portsmouth last night, but I don’t have any proof. I guess I need to take her word for it.”

“How do you know she was drinking margaritas?” I asked, opening my new oven to inspect it. It was at least one-and-a-half times bigger than my Beacon Hill one. I’d be able to get David’s food made so much quicker here.

“A bunch of us were out last night,” Andrea said, shaking her head. “I probably shouldn’t go to these gatherings anymore. It’s a tough transition from colleague to boss. I’m seeing things I shouldn’t be seeing. Two of the new teachers started making out at the table,” she declared with a mix of unease and fascination.

“Yikes. I bet that was awkward,” I replied, stashing my coffee mugs in the cabinet. “So, you’re asking me to chaperone, I take it. If the staff member who bailed is only hungover, won’t she be okay by tomorrow? I mean, just hypothesizing, given my vast experiences with hangovers. I did work in restaurants for many years. They are vicious but often short-lived.”

“I agree, but she’s sticking to this food poisoning story, so I’m a bit stuck. Yes, I really could use your help. How about it?”

Early New England apples were some of my favorites. The Jonamacs were great for snacks, and the Ginger Golds were surprisingly good for baking. It would also give me a chance to talk “food” with some students informally. But I had a nagging feeling deep in my gut.Would Kyle be there?

“Will there be a lot of, um, people there?”

“Not too many. I planned on two minibuses. Don’t worry; you don’t have to drive. I have that covered. It’ll be a greatopportunity for you to ease into the community. Also, I really need some help. Pretty please? I’ll buy you a doughnut!”

“Do they make apple cider doughnuts there?” I felt like she was breaking me down. It didn’t take much. I was a sucker for cider doughnuts.

“The best ones I’ve ever had. How about it?”

There was really no way I could decline on my almost first day on the job. “As long as we can bring back apples for the dining hall. I have a favorite apple crostata I’d love to make if that’s okay.”

Andrea clapped her hands together and beamed with anticipation. I was going apple picking.

5

I spent Saturday evening in a literal and figurative sweat after Andrea left. I needed to unpack, but I had no food in the apartment beyond the random condiments I had brought in a cooler from Beacon Hill. Instead of heading right to a grocery store as I should have, I drove my Jeep through the crowds of people in Portsmouth, held my breath, and drove over the big green Piscataqua River Bridge into Kittery, Maine. My home state always made my heart jump around in my chest, and I was not totally sure why. My upbringing was weird, and I didn’t have warm feelings of home, but my father was kind despite his weaknesses. My mother was confusing, and she did not understand me. And growing up without money in a place like Kennebunkport was hard. I left there to go to college on a ton of financial aid and never went back in any sort of permanent way.

I drove twenty-five miles up to the Kennebunkport exit and looped around the Maine Turnpike service plaza parking lot. After such a physically and emotionally depleting day, I was starving.Was I really going to eat here? At Burger King? Or should I drive five more minutes to my parents’ little house just outside of Dock Square?It had been months.

I snapped out of it and got back on the highway, heading south this time. I was overtired, overheated, and not in the mood for the judgment of my recent career moves or for the God-awful food that would likely be served. My mother’s idea of a Saturdaynight dinner was a tough broiled pork chop, and whatever canned vegetable was on sale at Hannaford that week. I hadn’t learned my cooking skills—or much else—from her.

I went back to Kittery and grabbed a little outdoor bistro table at When Pigs Fly, a place I knew because of the delicious bread they sold in Boston-area markets. With my most recent paycheck from David Anders’ mother, I treated myself to a feast, with bread and breakfast to bring home with me.

The campus was abuzz with activity when I pulled back in after dinner, with friends shrieking at seeing each other after summers away and parents dropping their kids off after meals and shopping in the surrounding towns.My new home.There was so much to get used to. I dragged my weary body up the four flights of stairs, hoping this was going to get easier with time. When I brought my baked goods into the kitchen, I saw a yellow piece of lined paper taped to the outside of the window atop the fire escape. As I walked closer, I saw that it read “Hi” and had an arrow pointing down. I opened the window and saw that sitting at the top of the fire escape, in a plastic sand pail filled with almost melted ice, were two Coors Lights.

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