Chik~Lit for Foxy Hens

by Ervin, Sharon

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I guess it’s my fault he moved out, huh?” Zack stood six feet two in his bare feet, but standing there with his Jockey briefs peeking over his jeans; he looked about ten years old to me.

  “When a fifty-three-year-old man leaves his family, it’s his fault,” I said.

  Zack thought about this a minute.

  “Is the cleaning woman coming today?”

  “No, that was the first thing to go. I’ve already called her and canceled.”

  That was back in the days when I wore sun glasses winter and summer to hide reddened eyes, so I pulled them from my purse and put them on. Then I kissed my son good-bye as I left for work.

  “Good to have you back, Zack,” I said.

  “But I haven’t been anywhere.”

  If he only knew.

  That night when I came home the house and garage were clean and the lawn mowed. When I thanked Zack he shrugged.

  “No big deal,” he said, then paused a minute before picking up the remote control. “I can’t figure out what the deal is with Garry Ray. Why would anyone want to flush his life down the toilet?”

  These thoughts zipped with the speed of light through my brain and I couldn’t resist leaning over to hug Zack again. He hugged back and tears stung my eyes.

  “Grandma’s a pain in the butt sometimes,” he said. “But there’s no way I’m telling her she can’t come over. She wouldn’t speak to me for a month.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to tell her. I want you to sidetrack her.” I carefully avoided explaining why I didn’t want Mother around. But teenagers are like bloodhounds. Once they’re on the scent they can’t be distracted.

  “How come?” Zack looked down at me, and then a big grin spread across his face. “Does this have anything to do with that guy on the roof?”

  “Of course not.”

  Zack burst out laughing. As I said before, I’ve always been a rotten liar.

  “My Mom’s got the hots for the roofer.” He teased.

  “He’s not a roofer, he’s a structural engineer. He’s just fixing the roof to help me out.” Somehow my “mother-in-charge” tone of voice failed to impress my son because he kept snickering.

  “Well, whoever he is, he seems real interested in you, Mama.”

  An unexpected rush of joy swept through me and I couldn’t keep from grinning like my teenaged son.

  “I doubt that. Maybe he just feels sorry for me.” But a light-headed giddiness made me feel fifteen years younger. “The last thing I need around is your grandmother. She doesn’t even like your dad. Any eligible man within a mile of me and Grandma has a panic attack.”

  “You think she’ll embarrass you?” Zack said.

  “Well… Grandma likes drama. You know how she is.”

  “Yeah. I see your point, but how am I supposed to not bring her? She’s my grandma.” I followed Zack into his bedroom and watched him gather clean clothes to carry into the bathroom for his usual hour-long shower. It’s nice to have your kids clean, but why did it always take so many towels? Usually three. I never could understand why three. One, I supposed, was for drying the body, one for drying hair, but what was the third for?

  “Improvise.” I patted his shoulder and fled before he could argue. I figured any kid who smoked pot for three years while attending Union High School without getting caught had to be really resourceful.

  * * *

  I started a big pot of chili simmering, made a pitcher of iced tea, and then carried a frosty glass out to Luke. Climbing up the ladder was a bit tricky, but I didn’t spill any. At least not until I caught sight of Luke’s back. His shirt was wet with sweat and plastered to him, leaving no doubt of how well built the man was. I rested on the rungs of the ladder for a minute, enjoying the view. Then he heard me and turned around with a heart-stopping smile.

  “Hi. Want some tea?” I grinned like the idiot I was, then climbed onto the rough shingles and inched my way toward him. I’ve always hated heights.

  “That looks great.” He reached for the glass and drank. I watched the muscles of his neck flex, mesmerized by the simple sight of a man swallowing. I hadn’t paid any attention to that kind of detail since I’d been a teen. I began chattering to hide my nervousness.

  “Are you getting too hot up here? Maybe you’d like to come inside and cool off a minute.” The white hot sun dazzled my eyes, but the heat rising in my body wasn’t entirely due to Oklahoma weather.

  Luke wiped sweat from his forehead with the tail of his tee, treating me to a quick view of more skin. Then it was me swallowing. He grinned.

  “Maybe later.” He pointed toward a large area on the roof where he’d pulled off old shingles and black tarpaper. The wood underneath was rotted. The damage no doubt had been caused by the neglected leak.

  “Oh, no!” My voice came out all squeaky and I winced. “It’s rotten. What will I do? Is my house ruined?”

  “Naw, it’ll be okay. I’ll have to replace some of the wood, the tarpaper, and put on new shingles. Then it’ll be good as new. The stuff I’ll need to buy shouldn’t cost you all that much.” The sun found golden glints in his brown eyes. And he was so nice, a shiver ran down my spine, even in the awful heat.

  “Thank God,” I said. “I thought I’d have to burn the place down and move my family under the bridge.” This popped out before my internal sensor could replace the words with something halfway sensible. But Luke laughed.

  “Do you always go straight to the worst possible scenario?”

  “Always. I’m not sure if it’s a genetic or an environmental flaw. In my head my kids never have colds, they have prospective pneumonia.”

  I was not making clever conversation and this worried me. The memory of dumb-sounding talk always comes back to torment me after parties or other social functions. (And for me, a hot-looking guy on my roof was a big-time social function.) Later I would replay my own words in my head, cringe at how stupid they sounded, then think of a really clever, witty, or intelligent remark I could/should have made. But that particular self-torture would come later. Right now I was just having a good time, grinning at a good looking guy and being myself.

  “My mother’s the same way,” Luke said and I gave myself a mental swift kick. The last thing I wanted was for Luke to think of me as being in the same league as his mother. Time to change the subject.

  “I know it seems awful in this heat, but I’ve just started a huge pot of chili. On Saturdays I always fix something so people can eat when they get hungry.” This, of course, was true, but not the reason I was trying to entice him inside. “When you get the urge for something hot and tangy, I’ll be waiting inside.”

  Luke raised an eyebrow then laughed, as if wondering if the double-entendre had been intended, which of course it hadn’t. I blushed and desperately wished that I was more like Pamela who would have meant to say those exact same words and been totally comfortable in doing so. To cover my confusion I blundered onward.

  “You know what they say, nothing like a good bowl of hot soup to cool you off?” I could have bitten my tongue off. Another matriarchal saying. This guy was going to think of me as a Mother Earth, not a Ms. Sex Pot. But he was grinning like he didn’t care. Or maybe he was just hungry.

  “Sounds great. Chili’s one of my favorite things. Tell you what. Let me run down to Home Depot and pick up the things I need, then I’ll come back and have a bowl.”

  “Perfect. Can I sign a check to pay for the supplies?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll settle up when I’m done.” He drained the glass of tea then handed it back to me. “Thanks. You make great tea.”

  “My coffee’s even better,” I promised, then worried that my words sounded like bragging. What was wrong with me? I was second-guessing everything that came out of my mouth. I hadn’t gone through this kind of internal inquisition since I’d been thirteen. But Luke had already turned back to finish ripping the last few shingles from the ruined patch
of roof.

  While Luke shopped I tidied a quick path through my house, and then locked my seventeen-year-old yellow tabby, Purrl, in my bedroom with her litter box. Purrl grumbled a few minutes, then settled herself on the pillows of my bed and nodded off to sleep. With a little luck, she’d stay quiet until Luke was back on the roof. Then I set the table with cheery yellow placemats and my grandmother’s classic FiestaWare dishes. I added a bowl of grated cheese, one of chopped onions, Fritos and two kinds of crackers. A bag of salad dumped into a wooden bowl along with some chopped vine ripened tomatoes finished the menu. I stood for a minute admiring my work and wondering if candles would be pushing things. Probably. I loved candles, but would leave them for another time. The table looked perfect. If only the kids didn’t show up and make some kind of remark about the fancy placemats. Just then the doorbell rang.

  I can’t remember when I had had a better time. While Luke washed up, I ladled chili and poured tea. He sat down at the table looking happy. Just his expression caused my self-confidence to flourish.

  “This looks great,” Luke said. “It’s nice to have something home cooked.”

  “I enjoyed doing it,” I said then realized it was the truth. “I don’t want to be a slave to the kitchen my whole weekend, so the one-pot thing works really well. I don’t have to feel guilty about not cooking for my family.” I grinned at Luke, finding the courage to look into his eyes, now a rich brown with golden highlights. A delicious shiver ran down my spine. Here you are, Katy, I congratulated myself, with an eligible man sitting across from you, leisurely eating the food you cooked. One who’s not acting as if he wanted to finish as quickly as possible then escape.

  “That’s nice,” Luke said. “Worrying if your kids have good things to eat. I like that.”

  The happy feeling of doing something right and having a man approve swept through me. It had been a long time since I’d felt such a pleasurable emotion.

  “You have kids?” I asked then watched a cloud settle over his face.

  “No, no kids.” He refilled his bowl from the tureen on the table then sprinkled cheese and onions over the top. “My wife…my ex-wife never wanted any.”

  “I can understand that,” I said with total honesty. “Once upon a time I actually thought I didn’t want kids either. I’d had some horrendous experiences babysitting when I was a teenager, and that can make a person a little reluctant.”

  “Did your husband persuade you otherwise?”

  “Nope. It was because I kept forgetting to take my birth control pills on a regular basis.” I laughed, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. “I know that seems awful, and Garry Ray was furious, each time. He accused me of deliberately forgetting. But that wasn’t true. I guess I’m just naturally absent minded.” I bit my lip. This wasn’t the kind of conversation that won a man’s heart. What was I thinking of? But Luke continued to delight me by his reaction.

  “The man must be insane. I always thought it’d be wonderful to have a houseful of kids. I’ve always loved playing with my nieces and nephews.”

  I wanted to say, ‘not insane, just overwhelmingly selfish.’ But for once I held my tongue. No use in pushing my luck. Things were going well and I was only mildly nervous. The Round Table was right. There wasn’t anything wrong with me except my lack of self-confidence. You’re getting this thing down, girl. I flattered myself gleefully. Things are looking up in your life. It doesn’t get any better than this.

  Suddenly the sound of loud scratching and a tormented meow erupted from the back of the house. I rolled my eyes.

  “My cat,” I said by way of explanation to Luke’s shocked expression. He sort of blinked, looking a little dazed.

  “I locked her in my bedroom because her table manners are atrocious.”

  “I’ve always been more of a dog person myself,” Luke said.

  “We’ve got one of those, too. Right now he’s at the vet’s for observation. His kidneys have been flaring up. He’ll come home tonight.”

  “This house sounds like a good place to be a pet,” Luke said with obvious approval.

  “I love anything with a leg on each corner.” My quip earned me a lopsided grin and my heart gave an extra little beat.

  Then a key turned in the front lock, followed by footsteps and a voice that I know only too well. Zack had brought Grandma home.

  “Katy-Baby?” My mother’s stage-trained voice resonated through the house. “Is that chili I smell? Why are you cooking chili? You know that spicy foods always give you gas.”

  Chapter 8

  At what age can your mother no longer make you blush? Whatever that age was, it was worth growing old for. I pasted a smile on my lips and decided that since I couldn’t yell at my Mother, I’d put my wrath on hold and save it for my son, now towering behind his grandma and looking sheepish.

  “Hi Mother,” I said, shooting Zack a frosty smile and watching him shrug. He clutched a small grocery sack and I shuddered to think what might be inside.

  Mother gave birth to me when she was forty. I was the third child, but my brother and sister, cowards that they are, hide out in faraway states. Since I was the baby, and in spite of temperamental differences, Mother and I have always been close. My father was almost ten years younger and handsome beyond all belief. Mother, a native Okie, had been doing summer stock in upstate New York when they met. Their romance was said to have been a whirlwind of passion and the marriage stormy. Dad took off when I was about three and we never saw him again. We learned about ten years ago that he had died in California. But Mother, still dynamic at ninety, controlled me as if I were a puppet with strings attached.

  I love my mother and admire her strengths, but there are times when I totally understand my father’s leaving. Now was one of them.

  “I thought Zack was taking you shopping, Mother.” I said.

  “What on earth made you think such a thing?” Mother asked, her dark eyes flashing with annoyance. “I hate shopping. Zack took me to the grocery store. That was all I could bear. I’ve brought a nice package of liver to broil for your supper.”

  Mother, perfectly groomed in a designer pantsuit, stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted Luke. Then she turned back to give Zack a hard look. Frail and wrinkled and tiny, she wasn’t intimidated by anything. Certainly not by her grinning six-foot-two grandson. “So this is why you offered to take me to a movie?” she said in an accusatory tone of voice, running fingers through her short hennaed hair.

  “I really thought you might like to see the latest Jim Carey movie,” Zack said with a sheepish grin. “Since you’re an actress and all.”

  Mother wasn’t buying Zack’s lie. Her eyes narrowed then focused on the hapless Luke. The poor guy smiled and then stood, ignorant of the danger. I knew from past experience that Mother was trying to decide whether to charm Luke or decimate him. Either way the poor man was in serious trouble.

  “I’d like you to meet Luke Wallace, Mother,” I said. “Luke’s repairing the roof for me today. We’re just having some chili. Can I get you a bowl?”

  “Of course. There’s nothing wrong with my digestion.” Mother continued tottering toward the table on three-inch spike heels. When she was about eye level to Luke’s belt buckle she stopped, looked upward and gave him a dazzling smile. Too bad her teeth were smeared with Mary Kay’s Passionate Pink lipstick. It sort of ruined the effect.

  “Della Murphy,” she said in her deep, rich, theatrical voice, still untouched by the ravages of time. Mother may neglect her skin, but that voice is exercised religiously, morning and night, much to the grief of her neighbors. “A delight to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wallace.”

  Even mother wasn’t old enough to speak as if she belonged to the Regency period in England. This just happened to be her mood for the day. Or maybe she’d just finished re-watching Sense and Sensibility. Anyway, it seemed better than the hip-hop talk she’d been spouting the day before.

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” Luke said with just the hint of a bo
w. He stepped around the table to pull a chair out for Mother, a big grin on his face.

  “Man, this looks good,” Zack strode to the table and grabbed a bowl to fill. Luke pushed in Mother’s chair and Zack grinned at him behind his grandma’s back.

  I relaxed a bit. Mother wore a smile, albeit a somewhat strained smile, and Luke seemed amused. Best of all, no blood was flowing onto the dining room carpet. That was definitely a good sign. Zack heaped cheese, onions, and Fritos on top of his chili, sat down and began munching. I served Mother, sprinkling on a bit of cheese and passing her the crackers. Then I ducked into the kitchen to fill glasses with ice. I heard the inquisition start.

  “So, Mr. Wallace, you’re a roofer?” Mother’s voice sounded warm and kind. I began to worry.

  “Only on weekends, the rest of the time I’m a structural engineer,” Luke said. The poor man had no idea he had said anything wrong.

  I scurried back into the dining room and plopped frosty glasses on the table.

  “Isn’t it wonderful of Luke to help me out by fixing the roof?” I asked in desperation. Even Mother understood my current financial dilemma. Surely she’d shut up now.

  “Oh, an engineer,” Mother said in much the same tone she would have used if Luke had admitted to foreclosing on mortgages. Respectable doesn’t count for much with my mother. She much prefers sailors and roofers and bartenders to engineers or accountants. Excitement is everything with Mother. That’s why she so despised Garry Ray. Mr. Respectable. You can’t trust a man who doesn’t drink, gamble nor smoke, Mother often said. And after Garry Ray dumped me, I wondered if she had a point.

  But the fact was I wanted a respectable sort of man to date. Luke looked good to me, but Mother suddenly seemed determined to drive the guy away. He surprised me by laughing.

  “You sound like my mom. She says she’s afraid to ask me the time of day for fear I’ll explain how to build a clock. Boring with a capital ‘B’ she says.” Luke popped a Frito into his mouth and chewed.

  His answer was perfect. My mother always disagrees with whatever my friends say. Like a flash of lightening she zinged to Luke’s defense.