Page 88 of Kiss My Glass
The parking lot is gravel and I’m left literally in the dust. I am this close to heading back into the craft beer place and drinking myself under a hand-adzed wooden table. But then I’d have to leave my car here yet again, and it’s already outstayed its welcome. I have no choice but to head back to my tiny, empty house, and be by my sad lonesome self for the rest of this shitty old day.
ChapterForty-Nine
FRANKIE
Now, I know exactly what people mean by the phrase “floating on air”. I feel light as a balloon, bobbing high above the trees. I’m usually such a practical grounded person that I’ve no idea how I’m supposed to react. So I don’t. I let the feeling wash through me and go with its flow.
I thought I’d be more resistant to Mom’s appeal for forgiveness. I thought it would take me ages to trust her. But as soon as she apologized, the pain in my heart and all my doubts vanished like they’d never existed. Weird, but I’ll take it.
I drove Danny to his car in a kind of happy daze, and though I could see he was disappointed that I chose not to go to his place, he’ll forgive me. It’s only one afternoon. Tomorrow, the working week starts again and he and I will have to push on with organizing the crush. And Mom will want to spend her time helping Nate prepare for the new baby. Mom’s an artist, and there’s nothing she’ll love more than to decorate the baby’s room. I foresee a lot of dolphin murals and crystals in that child’s future.
Back home, I hold the takeout box well out in front of me and turn my head away as I dump Iris’s pie in the pig pen. I do not want to see how gross it is. Ham and Luke squeal with delight and I leave them to it. Shove the gross box in the trash – ugh – and decide I need a shower.
After a thorough scrub-down, I put on my prettiest vintage sundress, candy pink with big white polka dots. It has a stiff skirt over a bunch of cotton petticoats so it’s not super practical for everyday wear, but too bad. I’m feeling happy and it’s a happy dress. I bounce downstairs to wait for Mom and Nate.
Don’t have to wait long. Mom is surprised to see me, but happy, too.
“What a gorgeous dress, Frankie,” she says, giving me a kiss. “I still have no idea where you got your fashion sense from. There’s certainly none in the rest of our family.”
It’s true. Mom always looks great but that’s because she’s a beautiful, slender redhead. Her choice of clothing is much like Shelby’s – jeans, old shirts, even older cowboy boots. If Mom could live in her artist’s overalls, she probably would. My brothers also favor practicality over style, though Tyler will occasionally go crazy with a pair of bright-colored Adidas Gazelles and contrasting socks. I’m the only one of us who was ever interested in dressing up. Freud probably had something to say about that, but I do not care to hear it.
“Anyone for a beer or a glass of wine?” says Nate. “Sun’s not quite over the yardarm, but what the hell.”
“Sure!” I say. “Beer for me.”
“Danny not around?” Nate asks, and I have a small pang of guilt.
“Um, no,” I reply. “I’ll text him to come over, shall I?”
I fire off a quick text, and look up to find Mom staring at me, mildly quizzical. The guilt pang returns, and I feel a need to explain myself.
“I wanted to hang out with you this afternoon,” I tell Mom. “Figured we’d both be super busy next week.”
“That’s lovely of you,” she says. “I appreciate it.”
I sense a dreaded “but” hanging in the air. Seems it’s only in my imagination, though, as Mom doesn’t say another word. Nate hands her a glass of red wine, and me a beer. He’s also poured himself a generous glass of red, which he raises up in a toast.
“Here’s to all of us,” he says. “May we keep a hold on our sanity, and … nope, that’s it.”
“To our sanity!” Mom and I chorus and laugh.
I check my phone, but Danny hasn’t responded. I suppose he didn’t need to; he’s probably on his way. I set my phone aside, and drink and chat with Nate and Mom, until Mom says, “I should get started with making dinner.”
Well-brought-up Nate says, “How can I help?” But Mom shakes her head. “You sit there,” she says. “I’m only cooking for four, not a ravening horde.”
“Mom used to cater for the harvest and crush all by herself,” I tell Nate. “Us kids were in charge of table setting and doing the dishes afterwards. You can imagine how smoothly that went. No arguments at all.”
Nate grins. “We had a dishwasher but Mom always insisted we hand wash her cast iron pots, and her good china, and the silverware. If Ava was on drying duty, she’d minutely inspect every item and drop it back in the sink if there was even a speck of food on it. Danny camethisclose to stabbing her with a fish knife once. I had to wrestle it off him.”
Another pang. This time an anxious one. WhereisDanny? He should be here by now.
At that exact moment, Nate’s phone buzzes with a text. He reads it, sends a quick text back.
“Only three of us for dinner, Lee,” he tells Mom. “Danny’s got some business deal going down.”
“On a Sunday evening?” I say, more harshly than I intended.
Nate shrugs. “The world of car traders is foreign to me. No idea what hours they keep.”
