Page 43 of Steadfast
His response came in a voice so low that I almost couldn’t hear him. “That’s not what you said the other night, baby.”
I grabbed the whisk from the drawer as his words sank in. But when my feeble brain took in the ridiculous joke he’d made, I positivelyeruptedwith laughter. First, a gasp. Then a choked-out snort.
Then? Unrestrained giggling.
Jude kept on mincing garlic, but I saw the sides of his mouth twitch.
The problem was that I couldn’t stop. All the stress I’d held in these past couple of weeks came pouring out. Howling now, my stomach contracted against my will, and I had to put a hand on the counter to steady myself. Trust Jude to make that joke in achurch.
For a minute there, I couldn’t even breathe. Trying to calm down, I watched Jude scrape the garlic into a ramekin. “You gonna be okay?” he muttered.
Was I? It was probably too soon to tell. I flicked tears off my face and forced myself to quiet down. But even as I took a deep breath, shudders of follow-up hysteria threatened. Clutching the whisk, I pushed off the counter. In a tiny show of solidarity, I touched his arm on my way past him.
I felt a tingle of warmth in my body from even that ridiculously brief contact. God, I was such a wreck.
Back at my own workstation, I whisked the eggs and tried to breathe slowly. But I still felt the twitch of raucous laughter threatening me. And when I turned around, I caught Jude watching me, his eyes twinkling. And a new burble of laughter escaped from my belly.
“What on earth is so funny?” Denny asked, the ruffled apron askew on his waist. That too made me want to laugh.
“Nothing,” I gasped. “Just… let’s not forget to make one of these pans vegetarian. I think there’s some zucchini.”
That only made me wonder what rude joke Jude might make about zucchini. I held in another bout of laughter while Denny stirred ricotta cheese into beaten eggs. I felt lightheaded from all the laughter and more than a little crazy. But alive. That was the effect Jude had always had on me. He made the world a weirder, rowdier, more unpredictable place.
“Let’s cheese up these babies,” Denny said, holding a spatula like a sword, pointing it into the lasagna pan.
“Lead on.”
* * *
If you’d askedme five years ago where I’d spend my twenty-third birthday, I would have guessed I’d be out clubbing in the Big Apple or performing on Broadway. That’s where I’d always thought my life would go. There were a whole lot of complicated reasons why it hadn’t.
Instead, I served at least two hundred rectangles of lasagna. As it happens, handing a plate of hot food to someone who needs one is really a lot of fun. Maybe working at a Community Dinner isn’t very glam, but I’d recommend it as a birthday activity to anyone who’s borderline depressed. There were two hundred happy people at my birthday party, even if none of them knew we were celebrating.
By the time Mrs. Walters and I were nearly through scrubbing baked-on cheese from the lasagna pans, I was tired but not unhappy.
“Don’t anyone leave just yet,” Father Peters said as he passed by. “There’s something I need to show all of you. Give me five minutes.”
I was just wiping down the serving station’s glass sneeze guard when I smelled a whiff of something like matches or fire. Given last week’s disaster, that had me turning around in a hurry. But the only thing on fire was a candle. And it was sitting on top of a gorgeous chocolate cake decorated with cherries.
In a big baritone, Father Peters began to sing. “Happy birthday to you!”
Well, crap. My eyes started watering immediately. Denny’s face broke open in surprise, and then, singing along, he darted over to the sink to get me a tissue.
There were quite a few voices singing now and, goddamn it, a tear rolled down my cheek. “Happy birthday to you!”
Father Peters slid the cake onto the countertop. “Make a wish, my dear.”
A wish? What a fraught concept. If you strung together all the things I’d ever wished for over a birthday cake, it would be a pretty funny list. Toys. A Pony. (Didn’t happen.) The starring role in the high school musical. (That one came true.) AndJude. (Also a win. And then a loss.)
The old birthday wish was a tricky proposition. I closed my eyes and wished my twenty-fourth year would bejusta little less complicated than the few that came just before it.
But really, what were the odds?
I blew out the candle, and my handful of well-wishers cheered. “This is beautiful,” I said, truthfully. “Let’s eat it.”
Denny got out some plates, and old Mrs. Walters muttered something about the extra dishes. So I served her a fat slice, which she ate. I cut slices for everyone except Jude, who had disappeared just after I blew out my candle.
I was stuffed by the time we got around to hand washing the plates and forks, but a quarter of the cake still remained. “I’ll grab the box from my office,” Father Peters said. “You have to take that home.”
