Page 86 of Pucked Up Plans
“The recipe’s up here, child.” She taps her head. “I only brought this out so you could see for yourself what we needed and verify I wasn’t making any of the ingredients up.”
She’s referring to the cinnamon, the secret ingredient you’d never know was part of the recipe. I doubted it at first, but quickly dismissed it. Dad makes the pie every year on Thanksgiving, and not once have I ever tasted the cinnamon. But other than this one pie, Dad’s a terrible cook. There’s no way he would have doctored the recipe, especially adding an ingredient the recipe doesn’t call for.
“Thank you for this, Aunt Marsha. And I don’t just mean the recipe, although I can’t wait to gloat to Dad tomorrow.”
“I’m thrilled you agreed to my crazy invite. Making you come here a day early, prepping and cooking your own Thanksgiving meal, coaxing you into sleeping over so I’m not alone on Thanksgiving morning. It wasn’t all for selfless reasons.”
“I don’t care about the reasons. I’m happy to be a part of all of it.” And as I say the words, they are, without a doubt, completely true.
“So, you ready to tell me about the boy yet?”
My jaw falls to the floor with her insinuation. “Wh-what?” I stammer, heat filling my cheeks.
“Tate, you’re a beautiful young woman. I’d be amazed if you didn’t have a boy chasing after you.”
“He’s hardly chasing after me.” I roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of it. Except with more thought, it’s true. Walsh is “chasing” me. And pretty soon, I’m going to let him catch me.
Aubrey’s already in bed, sans any cats, nor any way for them to get into the room where she’s sleeping. She requested books with Aunt Marsha, further lessening my guilt for Friday. It’s hard not to love Aunt Marsha, and I’m so glad for this experience of getting to know her as well as we are.
“His name’s Walsh.”
She stops with a hand in the air. “Wait. As in Walsh, Lennon’s father?”
“Um, yeah. One and the same. But how do you know?”
“Aubrey sings his praises. How he buys her things, goes to the park, comes over, and brings dinner. I didn’t realize he had an ulterior motive. I figured he was some nice dad.”
“He’s that too. And Aubrey’s mesmerized by him, one of the main reasons I’m terrified of pursuing a relationship. It’s already way more than casual between us, and I don’t want to screw it up. If something happened between us, I’d still have to deal with him. As enchanted as Aubrey is with him, Lennon’s a great friend to her. I can’t let her lose that.”
My throat catches as I speak so openly to Aunt Marsha, who listens attentively. I’ve never been one to communicate my secrets with my mother. At least regarding boys. But there’s a certain freedom in sharing these details with Aunt Marsha.Maybe because she’s not my mom. Or maybe because she’s so different from my mom, so much more accepting to talk about these things.
“So don’t screw it up.”
I laugh out loud at her advice. As if it’s that simple.
“It’s like I’m looking for ways to sabotage it.”
“I believe that to be true for you.”
“But things happen. You trust people, and they let you down. They let your kid down. The one other person in the world who’s supposed to love her unconditionally, who couldn’t be bothered to meet her.”
A tear hits the table, the small dot soon joined by two others.
“Oh, sweetie. Don’t cry over that bastard. He doesn’t deserve your tears.” Aunt Marsha wraps me up in her embrace, and the weight of the world releases from my shoulders.
Only one time before have I ever shed tears over Damon—the day he told me any kid would be better off without him in his/her life. I didn’t see it right away, but he did Aubrey a solid by not sticking around. Before he died, I saw news of him stealing cars and being arrested for soliciting a prostitute, all to support his drug habit. Ironic. His parents had money to burn. And though we’re both better off without him—and his parents—it doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad she’s growing up without a father. Nor should I jump into bed with the first guy who’s made me feel like agirlsince Damon.
A part of me believes Damon loved me the only way he could, meaning the words he said when he whispered “I love you” in my ear. But there’s also a lot of truth in the fact he wasn’t capable of loving anyone, including himself.
It’s unfair to compare Walsh to Damon. They aren’t in the same league. But seeing as he’s my only experience regarding sex and relationships, how can I not?
I allow myself to empty my well of tears for Damon one last time. In Aunt Marsha’s arms, I cry for myself at sixteen, whose choices led her to become pregnant. And I cry for Aubrey, who through no fault of her own, got the shit end of the stick in the daddy department.
Last, I cry as a final mourning of his death. He chose a life of destruction, but deep down, I held onto a glimmer of hope he’d turn it around. If not for himself, for Aubrey. Wishful thinking on my part for my beautiful daughter.
When the tears have dried, Aunt Marsha cups my face. “He’s not Damon. It’s okay to be scared. I’d be more concerned if you had no qualms about this. I’m not telling you to let your guard down too far, but on Friday night, enjoy yourself. Enjoy that man who makes you smile. Even if he’s not the one, you’ll figure out a way to make it work for Aubrey’s sake. She’s your sun, you’re her moon.”
When I ask her to clarify her statement, all she says is, “One day you’ll understand it better than I can explain it now.” She hugs me again with her declaration of love.
