Manicotti Kisses

by Sheila Holmes

  But, no. It just kept going and going… on and on. Then, I could feel it bubbling up inside me. My own “stew.” I was “stewing” over the cheated moments that I was sharing with his Trent-trouble. For cryin’ out loud! Couldn’t you have laid that to rest, if even just for the evening? I was being cheated out of my romantic “biggest change of your life” memory. Forget every offence Trent ever wagered against you! Please!!!

  I had taken a huge breath, ready to say “Stop already!” when the blow out just about “blew out” my ears. The sound scared me badly enough. But, it was nothing compared to the loss of control Jeremy experienced, causing him to swerve back and forth between the two lanes on the freeway. Multiple horns were assaulting my nerves, and the curdling milk from earlier in my stomach was starting to churn into butter. And, Jeremy couldn’t seem to get the car under control. Grampy, I don’t remember ever being so terrified in my whole life!

  So began both Jeremy’s and my screaming. His was deep and throaty and mine was high-pitched and the kind that pierced through to the bone. And all the while, we were swerving to and fro, like we were on some kind of county fair ride that we couldn’t stop, but had to wait on the operator to throw the switch to cut the power.

  What seemed like hours was, in reality, a minute maybe. By that time Jeremy had regained control and was pulling over onto the freeway shoulder. I think we both had been holding our breaths, not daring to even release and re-fill our lungs with oxygen.

  • • • •

  “David, Jeremy and I are stranded on I-40, between the Stratford exit and Millsburg bypass. Could you come get us? We don’t have anyone to help us. Mom and Dad are gone for the weekend. Jeremy already called his brother, although I don’t know why. Trent doesn’t have a car.”

  The conversation continued, although all Jeremy heard were the parts I spoke.

  “No, thankfully not an accident. Jeremy’s car had a blow out.”

  “Yeah, we’re fine. We were on our way to Manicotti Kisses.”

  I checked my watch, Grampy, and gave up all hope of eating my favorite food at yours and Grandma’s favorite restaurant that evening. How this would affect the whole “proposal evening” I had no idea.

  “I don’t know,” I responded to David’s query. “Either they’ll let us eat there, maybe at a different table, or we’ll have to find another restaurant. I just don’t know, David. I just know we need your help.”

  David asked for a little information, but since I knew nothing about Jeremy’s car, other than where to insert the key in the ignition, I handed my iPhone over to Jeremy, who apparently didn’t want to talk with David. I wasn’t sure why.

  The conversation was again one-sided, only this time I was the one hearing only what Jeremy said.

  “I don’t have a spare. Don’t you think I would have used it if I did?!”

  Wow! Was that snarky, or what?!

  I gave Jeremy a how-can-you-be-so-unkind-to-the-person-who’s-going-to-help-you-out-of-this-fix look. It apparently bypassed him altogether, because the next thing out of his mouth sounded even more hateful.

  “Well, if your so concerned about her and her safety, maybe you’d like to hurry up and get over here with a spare!”

  I was horrified.

  “Jeremy…” I said, grasping for a restraining hold on his arm. He jerked away.

  The last comment was from Jeremy.

  “Well then maybe you better get off the phone and start driving here!”

  After prematurely disconnecting the call, he threw my phone on the seat between us and crawled out of the driver’s seat, circling around to the safe side of the vehicle. Then began the pacing back and forth. When I opened my door to get out and try to soothe him, he shoved me back in, closed the door, and briskly said, “Stay inside. It’s safer.” I didn’t know whether I should be mad that he spoke to me so curtly, or appeased, knowing that he cared about my welfare. I sort of chose a position in between. I sat in the car, but pouted.

  • • • •

  Twenty-five minutes after the phone-toss in the car, David arrived. Unlike Jeremy, David was guilelessly smiling. No, Grampy, not a self-righteous thing. More of a I’m-so-glad-I-was-available-to-help-you thing.

  I thought we were going to have to wait until the tire was changed. But, David did a beautiful thing. He tossed Jeremy the keys to his new car, told him that he’d take care of changing the flat tire out with another tire. Where he got the replacement tire, I had no idea. Still don’t.

  “When I get the tires switched out, I’ll drive to Manicotti Kisses. Just leave the key to my car hidden under the driver’s fender, on top of the tire. I’ll do the same with your car.”

  He was going to let Jeremy drive me to the restaurant in his brand new car, while he stayed behind and changed the blown out tire. Then, drive to the restaurant, exchange cars, and allow us to enjoy the rest of the evening unhampered. Grampy, don’t even ask. You already know I don’t know cars. Ok, here’s my answer. Blue. A beautiful shiny blue.

  David held his arm toward Jeremy for him to toss the keys. Which Jeremy did. But, in truth, it was more of a “threw at David” situation.

  As we drove off, leaving David behind to take care of the undesirable details, I looked back through the rear window to see David already removing the lug nuts from the blown out tire.

  “He’s such a good friend,” I whispered.

  “Yeah. He’s a real prince.” I didn’t need to look at Jeremy to see what he meant. I could hear clearly the sarcasm in his negative voice inflection and see considerably less than a thankful look on his face.

  The drive for the remaining seven miles to Manicotti Kisses, we rode in silence. I was distressed, to say the least.

  By then, I almost gave up any hope of being able to regain the romantic anticipation I had for the evening. And, again I wondered why Mom and Dad went away for the weekend. It just didn’t seem right. Mom and I had talked so much about me getting engaged and how Jeremy would go about asking for my hand. She had told me that she could hardly wait to see what kind of an engagement ring he’d select. She knew we hadn’t gone looking at rings together. So, whatever it was going to be, I promised that the moment I got home, I’d show it to her, even if it meant waking her in the middle of the night.

  I hoped the ring Jeremy selected was pretty. Of course, I hoped it would be pretty. Does anyone want an ugly engagement ring?!

  By the time we pulled into the restaurant parking lot, the proposal may still be forthcoming, but almost all of the anticipation of it was gone.

  Chapter 6

  So, did it get better once you got to the restaurant, you ask, Grampy? Why no. No, it did not. In fact, things got exponentially worse.

  I held onto a little hope that the evening, and our time in the restaurant, would still be memorable. And… it was. Boy! Was. It. Ever!

  Jeremy walked to the receptionist’s stand. He began talking with the receptionist, not bothering to look back to see if I’d followed him there. No, I hadn’t followed. I was still standing in the foyer with a set of double doors between us. Now true… I could have opened the doors for myself once he’d already gone through them, but I was feeling rebellious at that moment. I mean, come on! What happened to “opening the door for the lady” and allowing her to go first? That whole concept got tossed, because Jeremy was still in such a snit about the whole blow-out, and then David coming to our rescue. So, once having passed through the doors himself, he just let go of his hold on them and trudged on in by himself. Funny thing is, I don’t think he did it on purpose. I think that he was in such bad humor by that time that he totally forgot all about me.

  Ok, Grampy… Grampy… I know what you’d say about that. You’d say that a gentleman never, ever forgets that his primary concern is the “lady” he’s accompanying. (See, I paid attention to you with all your turn-of-the-century niceties.) And, to be perfectly honest, at least at that moment, I would have loved it if I had been his primary concern. But, since I wasn�
��t, I wasn’t going to make it any easier on him.

  I stood motionless right there at the doors. And, even when customers came in behind me, I shifted slightly to the side, allowing them to go in, and I remained right where I was. It had by that point become a “contest to the death.” I think I would have stood there all evening, if Jeremy hadn’t returned to “grant me passage.”

  Weird how the mind works though. As soon as Jeremy had passed through the doors, and they swung closed, I began counting in my head how long it would take for him to notice I wasn’t with him. Take a guess how many seconds, Grampy. No really… go ahead and take a guess. *Drum roll* Seventy-four seconds. Yep, seventy-four. Did I really count them out. Yes, I did.

  Now, Grampy, I realize that seventy-four seconds isn’t a huge amount of time. It’s only… uh… one minute and… fourteen seconds. So that’s not even two minutes. But, try counting that out when you’re standing right smack dab in the middle of a doorway access point, and people are having to walk around you. And, always with a disapproving look toward you, as though you’ve almost ruined their night. Not fun!

  Yet, there I stood, and would remain until Jeremy came to claim me.

  After the minutes I counted, he looked back at me. I think he was telling the receptionist that he and I had a reservation for earlier, but missed it due to the blow-out ordeal. When he did, he motioned for me to come join him, almost like he couldn’t understand what in the world I was doing out in the foyer while he was trying so hard to remedy our situation with the restaurant, and needed me as proof that there were two of us suffering through the situation.

  But, me, Grampy… I never moved. I didn’t shake my head “no” to him, but neither did I move. I stood ramrod straight, right there in the foyer, and our eyes locked. I think he expected me to acquiesce, but I just remained motionless, staring into his eyes.

  As we stood staring at each other, I watched his face morph into something I didn’t remember ever seeing before. Like it went through stages. First, he looked shocked that I wasn’t with him in the first place, then frustrated that I didn’t engage at the motion of his waving me to come in, and finally to an all-out glare, and frankly, I’m not sure what all was included in that look. When he realized I wasn’t moving, he excused himself from the discussion with the receptionist and tromped back to me. He grabbed the foyer door and briskly swung it open, reaching through it to grab my arm and pull me through.

  Yes, Grampy, I said “pull me through.” It didn’t hurt or anything, but it was definitely a “pull.” I removed my arm from his grasp, but did follow him back inside to the receptionist’s stand, then had to wait for her to finish talking with the couple that had usurped our place in line. I use the word “usurped,” because that is how Jeremy reacted to them. Like they’d offended and abused him. He sniffed at them, as though it was their fault that we’d lost our place as first in line.

  • • • •

  Had to take a break, Grampy. Jeremy just texted me. He said, R we going 2 tlk? To be perfectly honest, I don’t think he’d be happy with what I might have to say to him right now. I’ll get back to him later, maybe tomorrow… or never? I just can’t do it right now.

  Right on the heels of his message, I got a second text, from Mom. She said she and Daddy had a wonderful time, but were on route, coming home. I just texted back that I needed to talk to her. She responded with, Problem? I replied, No, just need my mom and u wont believe my weekend. Apparently, she thought whatever I wanted to talk about was going to be something good, so her last message was, O boy can hardly wait.

  • • • •

  … Oh, yeah. *sigh* *second sigh* *shaking head*

  After no less than twenty agonizing minutes later, Jeremy and I were still sitting back out in the foyer. Not. Talking. We still hadn’t been ushered to a dining room, but the receptionist, after talking on the phone to someone (boss, manager… Santa Claus?), informed us that they were sympathetic to our “plight” and would “allow” us to have one of the choicer dining suites… yes, she called them “suites,” as soon as the present customers had completed their dining, and left. Which told us absolutely nothing. I mean, I remember thinking they might be there another ten minutes, or another hour, not including the time it would take for the bus boys to clear the meal accoutrements, and scour down the table.

  Maybe this is a good time to tell you, Grampy, that by now my molar was throbbing so intensely that I was starting to become nauseated. At one point, I was feeling sooo bad that I laid my head over on Jeremy’s shoulder. Know what he did? *Drum roll* He shrugged me off his shoulder, and said in a brusque manor, “Sit up. If they look over here, we don’t want them to think we’re in any way comfortable or content with our present situation.” I was so mad at him, and wondered if David had even brought the car yet to the restaurant, If I had thought Jeremy’s car was parked outside the restaurant in the parking lot, I would have told him that I was so over the night, that I’d appreciate it if he just drove me home.

  But, I didn’t know what stage of David’s help he was in. It would have been kind of anti-climactic if I’d said that, stormed out of the restaurant, only to find that David had not yet arrived and switched out our cars.

  Bottom line, Grampy, I just sat there next to Jeremy, wishing someone would just shoot me and put me out of my misery. Just sayin’.

  Chapter 7

  So…we were just sitting in the foyer, taking in the culinary smells that wafted each time the foyer doors opened. And, each time they “wafted” I would side glance at Jeremy, to find his jaw flexing. I knew that face. It meant he was ticked. No doubt he was thinking, as was I, that this date was turning out to be something so unbelievably bad that it could easily be included in a Ripley’s-Believe-It-or-Not story.

  My tooth was still throbbing something awful. (Why is it we always grab for any place on our body that hurts, like somehow that’s going to take care of it?) So, there I was, sitting there next to Jeremy, one hand clenching my jaw and the other hand in my lap, balled up into a tense fist. No, Jeremy didn’t even notice, so don’t ask, Grampy!

  Anyway… no, wait a minute… didn’t you always say, Anywho? Or was it Grandma that said that? Well, I want to cover my bases, so just in case it was you who used to say that, I’ll use it here.

  Anywho…

  In those moments that the pain would recede some, I began my first visual perusing of the interior of this establishment. I remembered that you had tried to describe the interior to me, but my poor brain couldn’t compute what a place with that description would look like.

  Grampy, I don’t remember you saying that the wall that separated the foyer from the dining room was made entirely of glass, floor to ceiling. And, two stories high, fifteen or twenty feet from side to side. I could almost see the whole restaurant interior.

  Now granted, I knew that much of it was expected decorating. I mean, it is an Italian restaurant, after all. There were artificial grape vines laced through tall walls made of… what’s it called? *Scratching head* That wood stuff that has criss-crosses through it? Huh! I can’t remember what it’s called, but anyway… I mean anywho… the grape vines were all laced through them and they stood at random locations throughout the restaurant. Expected. Then, of course, there were a gazillion wine bottles (filled with wine, I suspect) in those wall wine hangers. Beautiful, and again… expected.

  But, Grampy, you didn’t do justice to your description of the layout of the restaurant.

  I’d never seen anything like this in my whole life. And, when I first realized what I was seeing, I actually gasped. It was open-mouthed, and the rush of air sent the most excruciating jolt of pain to my poor molar.

  Now, here’s the kicker, Grampy.

  When I gasped, apparently some of the other customers waiting to be seated immediately looked my way. And yet again, Jeremy came through with flying colors. Instead of, oh I don’t know… asking me if I was ok… he bumped my shoulder with his, and said in a rough whisper
, (are you ready?), “Sh. People are staring at us!” It’s a good thing I’d had those two years of glaring at David after he’d been so mean… you remember, the chocolate chip cookie incident. I had perfected the squinty-eye thing, and aimed one directly at Jeremy. Unfortunately, rather than wincing or something, he gave me one of those what’s-wrong-with-you looks. I had to look away. I wanted to punch him, but the dictates of appropriate societal behavior prevented me. He had no idea the deep purple bruise his upper arm had escaped!

  • • • •

  *Huge sigh* Grampy… I feel so awful today. I’m so emotionally wrung-out. But, before Mom and Daddy left for their weekend away, I promised Mom I would come here this afternoon and work on boxing up-, labeling-, and generally cleaning out things in the attic. But, if you were here, you’d see that I haven’t done one thing, other than sit at this clickety-clackety old typewriter and “spill my guts” to you.

  What I’d really like to do is just continue writing and forget the “cleaning out” thing, but the more I write about last night, the more I cry. The more I cry, the more listless I become, the more listless I become, the weaker I get. The weaker I get, the more I feel like just giving up for today and going home. The more I feel like giving up for today and going, the guilty feelings engulf me. I told Mom to go and have a wonderful time, and that I’d do her proud by getting lots and lots done.

  So, I’m going to stop writing for today, and try to use the remainder of my time here today to get some of this “yuck” cleared out. I have a big un-opened box of black garbage bags, and I need to fill some of them up, crate them out to the curb, so that poor Mom won’t get discouraged when she gets back, thinking I accomplished nothing. I really do want to help her. (Did I ever tell you that you did a good job raising her? She’s a super mom, and best friend I’ve ever had. I wanna be just like her when I “grow up.” <— “And, when is that going to happen?” I can hear you asking me this. It sounds like you, doesn’t it? )