by Hope Lyda
“What a bargain. But do you think she will do it? When she makes up her mind about something, she usually sticks to it.”
“I…I don’t know. I just assumed she would be thrilled. Oh, gosh. Do you really think she would decline the position?”
I have deflated Kayla with my downer mood. The woman might have been bizarre a few years ago, but she seems genuinely excited about my mother’s success. “She might go for it. After all, Dad seems to be kicking into high-gear recovery, and Mom has seemed sad when there is coverage of the campaign on the news.”
“That sounds more hopeful. Mari, do you think she should do this? Or would it create problems for the kids and your family?”
Wow. Kayla not only got my name right, but she has a heart. “I think the family and the kids are ready for this. I know Mom is, if she will just give herself permission to go for her dream.”
“When you tell her about the win, please encourage her. And tell her the people have spoken.”
“Look, she will be home any minute now. Why don’t you come on over? You should be the one who gets to tell her the good news. I’ll be here to remind her it is exactly what she wants and needs.”
“She is lucky to have you.”
“And you,” I say, amazing even myself.
Beau Who?
Streamers in autumn colors have been laced under and over the rafters of the main room by the time I have walked the kids home from school. Mom has been manic ever since she got the news of her win. She hesitated for a few minutes, but by the time Kayla, Dad, and I talked up all the good she could do in the position, she gladly accepted her new role.
But now, a week later, we cannot get the woman to slow down. She is making popcorn balls and talking on the speakerphone at the same time.
“Now, Rod, I told you that if I won I would increase the supply of fresh fruits and vegetables to your food bank. But I was just told by a contributing farmer that your guys turned his guys away at the loading door.”
“They had boxes and boxes of stuff. We just don’t have the refrigeration system for that kind of load. Believe me, we wanted the food.”
“Well then, I guess my next call has to be to Phillip Randal, the head of the Star Grocery chain. I’m almost sure he’d love to donate a few industrial refrigerators for a tax write-off.”
“He will by the time you get done with him. Thanks, Mrs. Hamilton. You’re already doing more than the last guy,” Rod yells, apparently aware that Mom is on a speakerphone.
“That is impressive,” I say after she hangs up. “I’ve always wanted to see a high-powered politician in action.”
“You are in the capital Mari.”
“Exactly. You are a rarity, and you are just getting started.”
“Cynic.”
“Optimist,” I fire back.
“That was a zinger,” Marcus says, walking in through the back door. “Mari’s ultimate insult is that someone is an optimist.”
“Now look who is cynical.”
“I am realistic, not morose or melancholic or morbid or moody or mean-spirited. There is a difference,” he offers, full of his wit and alliteration.
“Stop the flattery. You had me at morose.”
Mom laughs, and Marcus hands me a box of jugs filled with homemade apple cider. “Make yourself useful, at least.”
The front doorbell rings as I am midway through unloading the cider. “Josiah, can you get that?”
“Sure.” He waddles over to the door and hikes up his giant stuffed felt pumpkin outfit to use the stepladder. “Who is it? The harvest party doesn’t start for an hour.”
“Josiah! Be polite, please.” Mom ineffectively tries to snap her sticky fingers.
“Please identify yourself, and how can I be of assistance?” Josiah over-corrects.
“It’s Beau.”
“Beau who?”
There is a thunderous thud, and I look down to see if I dropped a jug of cider out of shock, but it was Marcus dropping a crate of apples.
Mom runs to the sink to rinse her hands. Her eyes are not as wide with surprise as Marcus’ and mine. “Let Beau in, Josiah,” she says excitedly.
Josiah is amused by the visitor’s name. “Knock, knock.”
A tired voice responds, “Who’s there?”
“Beau.”
“Uh, Beau who?”
“No need to cry, I will let you in,” he says, chuckling.
There is good-natured laughter on the other end of the intercom, and I find myself smiling broadly and checking my breath discreetly as Mom hurries out the door to meet Beau at the gate.
“You’d think she was the one engaged to him,” Marcus says calmly.
“No kidding,” I respond, laughing. “Hey, I’m not engaged to him either, by the way.”
“Well, like you told me over your Pop-Tart creation, he is a guy with a biological clock ticking away like a time bomb.”
“You embellish. Please be nice, Beau.”
“Beau who?”
“I meant Marcus. Okay, I’m a little flustered. This is a surprise.”
“Run to him, fair maiden.”
I toss a hand towel at him and nonchalantly bolt for the open doorway, through which Beau walks looking handsome, tired, and glad to see me.
He meets me the rest of the way and picks me up with a half spin. This is the guy, I want to yell. This is the one who morphed into the salesman of the year just a week ago. He’s come back to be mine.
“Just don’t kiss,” Josiah says with his hands on his pumpkin non-hips. “That would be gross.”
“That would be,” says Marcus with perfect comedic timing.
At least he didn’t say “It is.” That would have started off the night in a very bad direction. The teasing comment alone made Beau straighten up a bit. But then The Art of War for Dummies or whatever other management training book he recently read kicks in, and he smiles warmly and approaches Marcus with his hand and a desire for peace extended.
I’m a bit embarrassed at how showy this seems in this setting, but at least he was the bigger man than Marcus, who can only joke when he is nervous.
“Nice to meet you, Beau.” Marcus shakes the hand that stretches out from the sleeve of an expensive overcoat. I’m thinking Beau had some kind of makeover since we last saw each other. I won’t ask him until we are out of earshot of Funny Man.
Mom comes up alongside Beau, who stands a foot taller than her. She resembles an elf as she reaches for his elbow and guides him to the nearest table.
Beau looks around at the decorations. “I’m just in time for the party, eh?”
“Do you want something to drink? Some delicious cider maybe?” I ask sounding a lot like a restaurant hostess or flight attendant.
“Cider sounds most delightful. Thank you, Mari.”
Oh, my. Between the two of us, we might never have an authentic exchange.
I look over my shoulder and am comforted to see that Marcus missed the pleasantries. Mom would just view this as two polite people. Marcus would see through it to the awkwardness of the moment…of the relationship.
But Beau is here. That’s all that matters. He loves me and understands that our recent conversations have been bad. He gets that we need to talk from the heart. He figured out that a grand romantic gesture was in order. His commitment shines as…
Dang. I’m overselling again.
And overserving—as apple cider pours out onto the counter, I wake up from my thoughts. Dad enters from the back, no doubt alerted to Beau’s arrival by Marcus, who seems to have disappeared altogether.
“Beau! Hey, it is so good to meet the special Beau-friend who caught our girl’s attention.”
“Dad!” I say, embarrassed and very aware of my father’s corny nature.
Beau laughs politely and warmly. He could be a politician.
Dad moves easily across the hardwood floors without his cane in order to greet Beau with a firm handshake. I’ve almost lost sight of his progress lately.
/>
“Fabio has been teaching you well, Dad. You are walking like the old days.”
Dad looks at Beau and winks. “Don’t let her fool you. I’m walking like the young days. Better than new.” He does an exaggerated dance move with Mom as his special polka gal. He keeps dancing toward the door while he calls all the kids to help him and Mom deliver pumpkins to the neighbors. One by one little felt pumpkins and cornucopias and candy corns file by us. They are too excited to notice there is a visitor.
When they are out of sight, I lean over and kiss Beau firmly on the lips. He tastes like cinnamon gum.
“Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t Halloween tomorrow night?”
“Harvest night, as we call it around here, is tomorrow indeed. But we always join in a neighborhood-wide progressive party the night before. On Halloween we take our clan and quite a few of the neighbor kids to the zoo early for dinner, and then we stay for the big night.”
“The big night?”
“Boo at the Zoo. It’s huge around here and sells out in advance. Mom always secures a corporate donor a year ahead of time so we can take as many children as possible.”
“I knew I liked your mother,” he says, pulling me toward him for another kiss. I check the doorway to be sure it is clear and follow through. “It’s perfect, actually. Tonight I’ll get to know the clan and then tomorrow night, while the kids are at the zoo, you and I can go out for a nice romantic dinner.”
I stand up straight. “But that part of the weekend is a big deal, Beau. I must go to Boo at the Zoo.” That sounded so much bolder in my head.
“They don’t shut it down if you miss one, right? After all, you’ve been gone quite a few years now,” he says, utterly amused by his argument.
Now I am upset. “That is exactly why it is so important to me. I’ve been looking forward to this as much as they have. Besides, I leave soon for the wedding. I don’t want to waste this chance to be with the kids.”
Beau looks disappointed and sighs heavily. “I thought you’d be happier to see me. I mean, I cleared my schedule to make this a really special weekend.”
I can see he is sincere in his disappointment and part of me feels bad. But there is a voice inside that has been pushed down for a while. Maybe I’ve had too much time away to create pretend conversations in my head about this very subject. For whatever reason, I unleash on the poor guy.
“Look, mister. I have been back to Tucson several times for planned trips—planned in advance with a phone call announcing my arrival days ahead so that you could set aside some precious time for us to be together. And yet you were busy each and every time. Then you come here, out of the blue, without any warning, and you expect me to drop all my plans. Not even my plans, but the plans others are counting on as well. It’s not fair.” I catch my foot before it can stomp. I have officially reverted to my childhood behavior.
Beau looks down and then calmly says, “First, I didn’t realize you needed a warning before you saw me, and second, I am sorry.” He looks up at me. “I am sorry. Come here. I’ll just hope that we can steal away for a few minutes together. I have to leave the morning after next, so I got ahead of myself with plans. But those were my plans because I didn’t communicate with you. Somehow I equated surprise with romance. I’m learning through all this.”
The screen door slams as someone exits the back. I don’t even care that it was probably Marcus.
I had migrated several steps away during my rant. A bit sheepishly, I walk back over to him and sit down beside him. “I will make time. I’m sorry too. I don’t even know exactly where that came from.”
“The truth, it seems. I have been neglecting you, Mari. After our conference call last week, I felt like an idiot.”
He is saying all the right words.
“Well, and Lysa pointed out that I’m an idiot.”
“She did?”
“How bad am I that I didn’t even notice how much I was distancing you during all this project research?”
Bad. Very bad.
“None of it matters as much as our relationship, Mari. That’s why I’m here. We need to reconnect. I didn’t mean to impose or mess up your plans or control your weekend. I just want to be with you, even if it means sharing you with five kids and a zoo full of animals.”
Not so bad.
“Actually, it will be more like twenty kids. But I appreciate your sentiment, Beau.”
“I love you, Mari.”
Not bad at all.
Pass the Sugar
The scent of buttermilk pancakes, bacon omelets, and hash browns draws me out of my deep sleep. My Donald Duck alarm clock indicates that it is earlier than I like to be awake, let alone awake and stuffing my face. But if my scent detector is right, this is all too delicious to miss.
On my way down the hall, I pass Dad’s GameCube cave, which magically was converted into a guest room conveniently the day before Beau’s arrival. I don’t know whether to awaken my sleeping Beau. He was so tired last night—at the fourth house along our harvest party tour, I caught him sleeping against a papier-mâché haystack during Jon’s recitation of “The Raven.” That was the last house I recall seeing him at all. When I returned from the cycle of a dozen homes, there was a note on the kitchen counter for me that read “Decided to sleep so I can keep up with you and your friends tomorrow. I’ve missed you. Love, Beau.”
I had tucked the note in my jeans pocket. I liked it. Marcus, on the other hand, read it over my shoulder and started fake coughing.
“He has traveled all day. There is nothing wrong with him heading to bed a bit early.”
Marcus had shrugged, checked his watch, and said, “A bit early? It would be six o’clock his Tucson time. Or excuse me, your Tucson time.”
Why do I allow him to humiliate me and Beau? Today, I will be stronger for us. Marcus can just wallow in his aloneness as we revel in our coupleness. I tap on Beau’s door and get no response. I peek my head in the room and there is a perfectly made hide-a-bed trimmed with piles of folded clothes—including perfectly folded socks, which I could never be awake enough to comprehend.
And this neat freak loves me? I dare to look down at my ragged sweat bottoms and T-shirt that reads “Win One for the Gipper.” I am tempted to retrieve my jeans and a maroon sweater when Beau calls me from downstairs.
“Hey, sleepyhead. Someone would think you were on Tucson time.”
Laughter follows.
Did he hear Marcus’ snub last night about his early bedtime? My feet tread lightly on the stairs so I can take a look at the scene below before becoming a part of it. Through wooden slats I see Mom flipping pancakes, Marcus pouring juice, and Beau sprinkling grated cheddar cheese on a pan full of hash browns. One big happy family.
I hate entrances like this—everyone has their place and I am on the outside. For years I got up thirty minutes before the first alarm sounded in the youth rooms so I could be downstairs eating breakfast, reading a book, and glancing casually at the rest of the kids as they staggered to the kitchen with heavy eyes.
Great. A neat freak loves a control freak. Can there be a future for us?
“Honey, we got up to make a special breakfast for Beau, and he was already down here working on his laptop. You have an industrious fellow here.”
“Why aren’t you still sleeping?” I ask Mr. Industry. He and Marcus both have on the frilly aprons. As glad as I am to see them amicably whipping up breakfast, I cannot quite understand what happened between bedtime and morning.
“I crashed last night.”
“By the haystack?”
“Just for a few minutes. Then when I woke up, I came back here, worked for a few hours, and then crashed.”
“You didn’t finish the tour of houses?” Dad asks.
“I thought the party would be at one location, so I could visit for a while and then return to some of the project research.” He catches his reference to the project during our weekend together and quickly stirs his potatoes.
&
nbsp; “What exactly did you think progressive meant?” I inquire.
He shrugs and stirs. “I dunno. I guess I figured it was some Washington, DC, terminology. You know, politically progressive.”
“It’s too early for this. Please tell me the coffee is ready.”
“Coffee is served.” Marcus pours from a freshly brewed pot of Sumatra blend.
We all sit down to enjoy a quiet meal. I wouldn’t say this morning feels normal with Marcus, my parents, and my boyfriend all together at one table, but it is comfortable.
“Before the kids storm the kitchen, how about we go for a walk?” I say to Beau.
“Ah, good idea. I ate too much candy last night,” Dad says jokingly. “Oh, I’m sorry. You meant Beau. Of course, dear. Go right ahead. Marcus has cleanup duty anyway. And your mother and I have some fun boxes to deliver across town.”
“Do you have any area deliveries still? Beau and I could plan out our walk accordingly.”
“Splendid,” says Dad as he walks over to the clipboard hanging by a nail near the front door. “Thought you would never ask. Here are the last seven deliveries in this neighborhood. They are a bit spread apart, but it’s a nice morning. Do you want the Radio Flyer?”
“Yes, please.”
Together, Beau and I load the red wagon with decorated grocery sacks containing candy, fruit, grocery certificates, and mittens and scarves for families who are having a rough season.
“These are a fantastic idea,” Beau says, beaming.
“Mari thought of this years ago. She is the best surprise gift giver you will ever meet. Every holiday she invented something just wonderful for the neighbors or the other kids.”
“Okay, Mom.” I give her a mittened thumbs-up.
“Be sure to have him back for lunch.”
“Him? You mean me. Remember me, your daughter? I’m the one who is in charge of lunch today.”
“I do remember you and that you are the one in charge of the kids’ lunch. That is why your father and I are taking Beau out.”
“Fine, I’ll have him back by one,” I grunt and then push on Beau to get to the door faster. “We must leave now before the morning gets any weirder.”
