Queen of the Cookbooks

by Ashton Lee

  Life was very good, indeed.

  14

  Buns in the Oven

  “I could live out here on this deck all the time,” Elise was saying to the two couples on either side of her.

  Her Aunt Connie and Uncle Doug were sitting to her right sipping clear, potent cocktails, while Maura Beth and Jeremy sat at her left with their Virgin and Bloody Marys, respectively. Elise, meanwhile, had also taken a vow of sobriety because of her condition and was reluctantly nursing bottled water with a slice of lemon. The five of them were enjoying the view of the lake from the McShays’ fishing lodge, watching the mercurochrome sun ringing down the curtain on another sizzling midsummer day in Cherico.

  “You do live here all the time, Leesie,” Jeremy said, giving his sister a playful nudge. “Thanks to Aunt Connie and Uncle Doug.”

  “Lake Cherico has to be the best-kept secret on the planet,” Elise answered, soaking up as much of the sunset as she could before it paled and diffused, bleeding out onto the surface of the water. “But I’d say the town of Cherico needs to guard against overdevelopment so the cat doesn’t get let out of the bag. I hate to see pretty trees toppled and bulldozers grading the land down to dirt. Why not work around the trees? It takes decades for the saplings they plant after that to make a difference. In fact, it takes a lifetime.”

  “Don’t say things like that in front of Justin Brachle,” Douglas added. “Everything out here bears his distinctive subdivided imprint. Except the library, of course. That we owe to our esteemed librarian.”

  “And the two of you donating the land next door, don’t forget,” Maura Beth reminded them. “You saved us a great deal of time and money by stepping up to the plate the way you did.”

  Two weeks earlier, it had all worked out perfectly, even though Elise had had her doubts, and she’d been more than a little uptight when she had approached the Cherico McShays about the way she had become pregnant and then chosen to exit Evansville for a while. Would it be too Bohemian for them? Would they tell her to take her unconventional choices elsewhere? For morale purposes, she had asked both Maura Beth and Jeremy to be there with her around the dinner table that watershed evening when she broached the subject.

  “Well, of course, when I worked at the hospital all those years, I was aware of a few single mothers who had taken that route,” Connie had said over her grilled catfish and hush puppies following the initial revelation. “It’s not particularly helpful to judge patients when you’re in the nursing profession. I was always shocked when one of my cohorts, Vivian Rutledge—and I was never very close to her—did just that now and then in the staff lounge. ‘How could any woman think of doing something like that?’ I remember her saying to me once. To which I responded quite calmly, ‘It’s not our place to speculate about such things. That’s not what any of our patients are looking for from us.’ ”

  Elise had pressed on valiantly. “I appreciate all that, but what do you think about my staying here with you, Aunt Connie? Would it be too much to ask? Please be honest with me. If you think it’s a terrible imposition, just say so. I’m in uncharted territory here.”

  “We certainly have the room,” Douglas had said, smiling at his niece. “What do you think, Connie?”

  She put down her fork, pursed her lips for one brief moment, and then exhaled. “This is what I think, Elise. You shouldn’t keep this from your parents until the last minute the way you say you’re going to do. You can’t just show up around Christmastime and pull that kind of surprise on them. Paul and Susan have the right to know and have some time to prepare for this. It’s not business as usual.”

  Elise was all frowns and downcast eyes. “But I know I just couldn’t go up to Brentwood and stay with them under any circumstances. I’ve said too many things in anger over the years that I . . . well, that I regret. Yes, I’ll admit it. Maybe I’m mellowing just a tad bit.”

  “We all do, sweetie. Life kind of forces your hand, and you realize you don’t know it all. But I think you may have misunderstood me,” Connie told her. “I didn’t mean to suggest you should go up there and live with them. As Douglas said, we have the room, and we’d be delighted to be a part of this adventure of yours while you’re on sabbatical. If this is what you want, then we’ll support you. That’s what close families do for each other. Just tell your parents about it. You need to give them the opportunity to be a part of this, too. Even if you don’t know who the father is, we all know who the mother is. That’s what we all need to focus on from here on out. Your welfare and the baby’s welfare.”

  “I think you might be surprised by their reaction,” Douglas added. “Trust me, your father’s no slouch when it comes to understanding the unconventional. Paul didn’t teach psychology at Vanderbilt all those years for nothing. I’d be shocked if my brother couldn’t handle this.”

  Elise was pushing food around her plate with a look of resignation. “What about Mom?”

  “Susan will come around,” Connie said. “Your mother is sophisticated. Just give her a chance. She’ll get used to the idea. What’s done is done.”

  “Both of you make it sound so easy. Like all I have to do is walk through the door and snap my fingers and they’ll understand.”

  Connie gave her a skeptical glance and minced no words. “Sweetie, what you’ve chosen to do won’t be easy at all. Bringing up a child is anything but. Your uncle and I just kind of winged it when your cousin Lindy came along, and you’ll have to bear down and do the same thing. Minus a husband at this point. But you should have your family around to help out now and then. And that includes your parents. Take my advice—don’t shut them out.”

  Thus, and with the understanding that Elise would definitely tell her parents all about her pregnancy, Connie and Douglas had agreed to let their niece use one of the upstairs guest rooms as her base of operations over the next eight months. She could come and go as she pleased and was always welcome to break bread with them, but Elise had insisted on paying them for her room and board.

  The deck at sunset had therefore become a favorite spot for the five of them since Elise had moved down from Evansville. Maura Beth and Jeremy would walk over after the library closed down, and the McShays would have a few canapés and drinks ready; then they would chat, share with one another how the day had gone, and eat a leisurely meal together. Sometimes, Connie would fix dinner; other times they would go into town to The Twinkle to enjoy one of Periwinkle’s specials and Mr. Place’s ooey gooey desserts, taking turns picking up the tab.

  “Years from now,” Elise said, returning to her lemon water and the flotilla of activity out on the lake, “I think I’ll remember this delightful routine of ours the most. I’ll be able to tell my son or daughter how the sun seemed to set just for the five of us, almost like a long-running Broadway play nobody else could ever get tickets to.”

  “Wow, Leesie,” Jeremy said, “I wish I could come up with prose like that for the novel I’m always trying to write. Later on, I’ll remind you to say that to me again so I can take notes.”

  “If I can remember. But, yeah, how’s your writing coming along? You told me you started on something during your honeymoon in Key West.”

  “He did start it. I can vouch for that,” Maura Beth added, raising an eyebrow. “But then our honeymoon sorta got in the way. Actually, it’s still going on. The honeymoon, I mean. The novel—not so much.”

  Jeremy blew his wife a kiss and took a sip of his Bloody Mary. “My beautiful, redheaded bride speaks the truth because right now, I’ve got the Berlin Wall of writer’s blocks.”

  Elise thought for a moment. “What are you trying to write about? I mean, what’s the plot? Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “I guess you could say I’m trying to write the classic Southern novel. It’s set in Mississippi right after the Civil War. The family I’ve created is struggling to make a living now that their plantation has gone up in flames. The creature comforts they once enjoyed have vanished, and it changes the equation
for them. They no longer rule the roost, and it’s a huge reality check for them.”

  Elise fished the lemon out of her glass and started sucking on it, causing her to make a sour face.

  “Hey, no fair. You haven’t even read a word of it yet, Leesie. Your mugging is uncalled for.”

  “Very funny, Jer. I was just giving the baby a little vitamin C. Your plot sounds fine as far as it goes, but maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Don’t you think the aftermath of the Civil War has been done to death and then some? Do you really think anyone will ever top what Margaret Mitchell wrote? I’ll bet you anything there are hundreds of thousands of unpublished manuscripts floating around out there on the same subject. Maybe you should be just a little more forward-thinking and try your hand at something more contemporary. After all, we are living in the millennium now.”

  Jeremy finished off the olive floating in his Bloody Mary and gave his sister an expectant stare. “Well? Any suggestions?”

  Her eyes moved to Maura Beth and then she gave a little gasp. “It just came to me—wait for it . . . wait for it . . . here it is . . . my contribution to your literary career—buns in the oven.”

  Jeremy frowned. “What?”

  “Don’t you see, Jer? It would be perfect. Both your wife and sister have buns in the oven at the same time. You’d have to fictionalize us, of course, but you wouldn’t have to do much research. You could just check in with us as we trudge through the trimesters with our ever-expanding waistlines. I mean, you obviously can’t live the reality of being pregnant, but we’d be the next best thing.”

  Connie spoke up. “I know I’d read it with a great deal of interest. What about you, Douggie?”

  “If my nephew wrote it, I’d read it.” He shrugged. “Whether the subject is the Civil War or birthin’ babies—either way, I’m on board.”

  Everyone laughed, but Jeremy looked particularly intrigued. “That’s not a half-bad idea. I could create two female characters who were related and going through pregnancy together.”

  “Something on the order of Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” Maura Beth said, obviously pleased with herself.

  “It’s not like I’ve done a whole lot with Forlorn Legacy. That’s my working title. I know, I need to come up with something a little less trite. It almost sounds like one of those romance novels with the shirtless man holding the busty lady in his arms. But I’ve only managed to write thirty-five pages in a little over six months,” Jeremy added. “Good thing I have a paying job as a teacher, right? I was excited about it when I started writing it in Key West, but as I said, I’m just totally blocked. So why not Buns in the Oven?”

  “Then I guess that’s settled,” Elise said. “Maura Beth and I will expect to appear on the acknowledgments page, of course.”

  “It’s a done deal, Leesie. Or maybe I’ll just decide to dedicate the novel to both of you. To the women in my life. Or something like that. That is, if it ever gets published. They say it takes even longer to get a book out than a baby.”

  * * *

  It was two evenings later that Maura Beth and Elise found some time to discuss their pregnancies without the distraction of an audience. They were both leaning against the deck railing of the McShay fishing lodge while the men and Connie had gone into town to pick up some tomato aspics and desserts for the weekend from The Twinkle.

  “Have you thought about names yet?” Maura Beth asked, wondering how such a delightful breeze could be coming in off the lake in this oppressive heat. There weren’t many to point to in late July and early August, but this one seemed intent on keeping the two pregnant women just a little cooler as it rearranged their hair ever so slightly.

  “No, I haven’t,” Elise said. “I’ll eventually get around to it, though.”

  “Well, I have. If it’s a boy, I’d like to include both Jeremy and my father in the name. Either Jeremy William McShay or William Jeremy McShay. That is, if Jeremy will go along with it. I’m very much opposed to juniors, though. Or thirds or fourths. It’s just too pompous. Everyone should have the right to their own name. Jeremy and I haven’t even discussed it yet, though, so I don’t know how he feels about it. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “And if it’s a girl?”

  “I thought I’d play it safe again. Maybe Cara for my mother and Susan for yours. Cara Susan or Susan Cara.”

  “Well, aren’t you the little politician?”

  The swirling wind once again caused a few strands of Maura Beth’s hair to tickle her forehead, and she sighed softly as she swept them back with the palm of her hand. “What can I say? I like your mother—have from the first time Jeremy introduced us. And there was also a time not too long ago that I liked her more than I liked my own mother.”

  Then Maura Beth finally addressed the elephant in the room. “You won’t have any in-laws, of course. Does that bother you?”

  “No, it’s a relief, actually. I’d probably just alienate them with my strong opinions, too.”

  “I think everyone has to deal with in-laws in their own good time. Have you told your parents about being pregnant yet?”

  Elise managed a sheepish grin as she looked away. “No, I still haven’t gotten that far. I keep putting it off, and I know I promised Aunt Connie and Uncle Doug that I’d take care of it. As confident as I am about this when I’m by myself, I can’t help imagining their secret disdain for what I’ve done. The last time I got into a huge argument with them about politics, I told them they lived in the nineteenth century. There’s a part of me that wonders if I’ve already burned my bridges with them. Things were still a bit strained at your wedding last year.”

  “Well, there’s only one way to find out. But if they’re like most parents—and I think they are—they’ll still want the best for you as their only daughter. No matter what, the child will carry some of their genes.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. For all my bluster and posturing, I guess I really need them to approve of my decision. I want my child to have grandparents, as conventional as that sounds.” Elise hesitated. “Do you think that makes me a fraud? I wonder if my students would think so. By the time I see them again, I’ll have a child to take care of. I can picture some of my militants—and I’ve brought it out in many of them—wanting me to bring the baby to class as a show-and-tell, expecting me to be completely objective about it all without a hint of emotion. That’s how I’ve presented myself to all of them in the past.”

  The image sparked Maura Beth’s imagination, and she could suddenly see herself sitting in a desk on the front row of one of Elise’s classes, peering into a baby carriage and taking detailed notes in case there was a pop quiz. “That’s an amusing little concept, but it wouldn’t make you a fraud. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your child to be loved. We all need as much of that as we can get. Just remember—our children will be first cousins and have all the fun that comes with it. Better than those sibling rivalries, I hear. I can hardly wait for that to happen.”

  “Eight more months to go,” Elise said, sighing. “Do you think we’ll turn into awful monsters as our hormones rage? I keep reading these articles about women who practically chased their husbands out of the house at times with a broom. Maybe we’ll become the worst ever.”

  They both laughed, and the slight tension the conversation had generated melted away. “I hope not,” Maura Beth said. “Jeremy’s been such a prince on a white horse so far. He was so thrilled when I told him the news, even though we had both thought we wanted to wait a little longer to get pregnant. At any rate, I really don’t want to test his limits.”

  “Jer has them, I can assure you. He’s told me where to go more times than I can count during our arguments over everything under the sun. Politics, religion, what women are supposed to be, what men are supposed to be—you name it. Sometimes it felt like we were members of a debate club instead of brother and sister. But let me emphasize this again. Being in love with you has changed him
for the better. I recognized it the first time I saw him around you. You’ve brought out the sweetness in him, and the opinionated lover of literature who thinks technology is changing the world for the worse has taken a backseat a little. That’s something you can definitely be proud of, believe me.”

  Maura Beth impulsively embraced her sister-in-law, feeling no resistance to such closeness. “What a nice thing to say to me.” Then she pulled back, smiling. “I think we better get in our hugs while we can. A few more months and we’ll be way too big to do this.”

  The two women laughed and then went silent for a while, continuing to enjoy that rare summer breeze that was making their conversation on the deck more than tolerable in all the humidity.

  “Are you scared?” Maura Beth asked finally, having gathered up her courage with a woman she still barely knew but definitely wanted to get to know better. It was “all in the family” now.

  “Don’t let my militant behavior fool you. I still have my core beliefs, but I’m terrified at what I might be getting myself into. But there’s some part of me deep down that keeps urging me on.”

  “Your biological clock?”

  Elise eyed her intently, and for a moment there, it was difficult to tell if the remark had been viewed as offensive or merely straightforward observation. “There was a time I would have denied such a thing existed. Hell, I practically made an assignment of it for my students, footnotes and all. Refute the biological clock, I told them. Do it with a vengeance, I said. No, I wasn’t foaming at the mouth or anything close to that, but I’ll readily admit I had tunnel vision.”

  “And now?”

  “Now . . . I don’t see things in terms of black or white so much. It seems to have come upon me rather suddenly—like one of those violent summer storms you have down here. Go figure. Does that make sense?”