“Thanks, you two,” Tamara said. “I’ll keep you posted.”
And, so, with a sense of unity they hadn’t fully felt in a while, the trio went their separate ways for a few weeks—to pick up the threads of their individual tales:
To strengthen them.
To unravel them.
Or, to weave them into new stories fit for telling….
22
“Bridget & the Magic Spatula”
Thanksgiving through early December
Once upon a time, a dental office receptionist named Bridget found herself growing weary of the lack of creativity in her life, the seeming inability of her husband and children to understand the depth of her passion for cooking and her own disenchantment with her aging, premenopausal body. She could feel the passage of years in every one of her fat cells, even when she tried to block it out.
She desperately did not want to become one of those unfulfilled suburban housewives who woke up one winter’s morning only to find herself retired, without hobbies and certain the best part of the day was over once Wheel of Fortune ended after dinner.
No. If she was going to be a frumpy forty-something no matter what she did, something else was gonna have to change. Big time.
As she flipped the omelet in her favorite copper skillet on the Saturday morning after Thanksgiving, and admired the speckled starburst of red and green bell peppers she had carefully chopped and dropped into the egg mixture, she felt a bit of residual magic flowing through her fingertips. She had loved preparing the big turkey feast for her immediate and extended family members a couple of days before, but she couldn’t save up her joy to share just on holidays. Daily life had to have more to offer than this…this waiting…this holding her breath…this reining in of her desires. Didn’t it?
“Breakfast, everyone,” she called. She slid the finished omelet onto a platter—half would be for her younger son Evan, who had “a dietary restriction,” the other half for whoever else wanted a taste—and she placed it on the table in between the stack of freshly made cinnamon-nut pancakes and the big bowl of fruit salad.
Four pairs of feet raced toward the table.
“Smells great, Mom,” her daughter Cassandra said, helping herself to a couple of pancakes and a spoonful of fruit.
Her sons, Keaton and Evan, scooted into their chairs and simply began eating, while her husband, Graham, came into the kitchen and put his arms around her. Lightly kissed her cheek. And then her lips. “Hi, hon. You doing okay?” he asked.
She started to nod (last night, she and her husband locked their bedroom door after the kids had gone to bed, and they entertained themselves with Bridget’s favorite adult board game: Strip Chocolate). She blushed, remembering, and glanced away momentarily. But, in that instant, her eyes caught sight of the spatula she’d been using, resting in the sink now, immersed in the soapy skillet. The fingers on her right hand began to tingle.
So, instead, she shook her head. “Graham, there’s something I’ve been wanting to—to talk about with you. Do you have a few minutes?”
His eyes widened in surprise, a hint of worry racing across his irises but, nonetheless, he whispered, “Sure.”
So, immediately after breakfast, the children having squirreled themselves away in the living room watching cartoons on Nickelodeon, Bridget and Graham stole a half hour alone to talk, side by side on their staircase.
He opened his palm for her, and she placed her hand on top of his. He wrapped his warm, strong fingers around hers, and asked, “What’s going on?”
She squeezed his fingers. “It’s been a tough fall, and we had a lot of little challenges to get through. I think, in the end, we handled them okay.” She looked at Graham for confirmation and waited, hoping for a nod.
“Yeah. Me, too,” he agreed.
“I’m working at the office now and really enjoying it, and I’m so glad you’ve come in a few times to…to meet the staff and see what’s going on there.”
Her husband’s eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. “They’re all pretty nice. Mostly.”
She smiled, knowing he was thinking of Dr. Nina. “Exactly. But, the thing is, as much as I like being there, and as much as they want me to add even more hours, there’s something else I’ve been dreaming of doing for a long, long time.” And she told him about the cooking school programs she’d been researching. How one of them wasn’t too far away—just a thirty-minute drive—but that the intro class met twice per week, at night. “I know tuition is expensive,” she said, “but if I picked up one more shift at work, that would offset the cost a little. And I know it would be kinda busy, but—”
“Of course,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to talk me into this, honey. If it’s something you really want to do, we’ll figure out a way to manage it. I want you to follow your dreams. And—” He paused, the emotion and, possibly, the relief that this was all there was to the problem, seemed to require him to take a few additional breaths before continuing. “I know I don’t always tell you how much you mean to me, but you’re the center of our world, Bridget. We all revolve around you. And we’re in this marriage and this family together. You’ve supported me. You’ve supported all of us. We’re here to support you back.”
She hugged him. This was quite a speech for her silent, straightforward man. He wasn’t just showing his affection to get her attention away from another guy. He was showing it because he knew she needed to see his heart. And he had a big, wonderful one, full of love for her.
Graham said, “I’d planned to take you to one of those fancy-schmancy French restaurants you’d always wanted to try for our anniversary in a few weeks. But maybe you’d rather get something else with the money. Books for this first class? Some new cooking gadget? Just tell me what you need, okay?”
And this, Bridget realized, was precisely what she had been failing to do. She had poured out her excitement to a person besides her husband to the point of being, if not physically unfaithful, then emotionally so. And that had been wrong. That was where she had crossed the line.
The love and gratitude she felt for Graham at that moment couldn’t be measured. And, as they talked about a few long-range plans, Bridget felt a surge of compassion for both Tamara and Jennifer, especially the former, for all they were going through in their own marriages. In Tamara’s case, she couldn’t begin to imagine how difficult it must’ve been to conceal so much hurt and dissatisfaction. No wonder her friend had been so critical. So edgy.
But, as much sympathy as she felt for her friends and their challenges, she refused to feel guilty for once about her own contentment. Even though she had merely been frustrated with her family life, not wretched, it still had not been an easy road for her and Graham. But they had both stuck with it. They had both worked at it. And maybe that was just good luck or divine intervention—she didn’t know. But she felt as though a prayer had been answered.
She beamed a smile at her husband. “I’m so happy!”
He pulled her close to him. “If you are, then I am, too.”
At Smiley Dental the following Tuesday, Bridget shared the good news with three of her coworkers.
“You’re starting culinary school in January?” Candy said. “That’s awesome!”
Pamela agreed and added, “Hey, we’ll be happy to taste-test your homework assignments. Will the final exams be something like a Hell’s Kitchen finale?
They all laughed.
“I have no idea,” Bridget admitted. “But you guys will be the first to know.”
Dr. Luke glanced between them all, a pensive look on his face. “I’m happy for you, Bridget. You’re gonna be top of your class.” His words were sincere, utterly warm, just as always. And she realized how grateful she was to him, too, for being there for her. For being a good friend when she had needed one. For helping her to ferret out her deepest, truest dream. And, in part, for giving her the courage to fight for it.
“Thank you,” she said to all of them, but especially to Dr. Luke.<
br />
A moment later, when Dr. Nina strode by, shooting glares at all four of them, Dr. Luke winked at her and said in a loud voice, “I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll need to cut your hours here just because you’re gonna be a famous chef soon. Remember us poor dentists, hygienists and receptionists. Protect us from our malnutrition.”
Candy and Pamela giggled at this and Bridget, who knew Pamela’s pregnancy was public knowledge now, said, “Well, actually, if the offer’s still open, I can add one extra shift when Pamela reduces hers.”
Cheers went up all around. Dr. Jim peeked around the corner and clapped. A couple of patients in the waiting area (who had, at one time, sampled Bridget’s Sugar-Free Mango-Orange Finger Cookies) whistled. And all the others said some variation of “Yay!” Except for Dr. Nina, who stood by the filing cabinets, reactionless.
“This calls for a celebration,” Dr. Luke declared. “How about we order a pizza or something?”
Bridget grinned at him. “Sounds great, but save a little room for dessert. I made you all something special.”
“Oooh, let’s have that first,” Dr. Luke suggested, and the others agreed.
So, Bridget unveiled her latest creation: Dark Chocolate and Raspberry Lava Cake. “This, I’m afraid, is not sugar free.”
“Who cares?” Candy said, already reaching for the knife to start slicing pieces.
Dr. Luke’s eyes actually watered after he took the first bite. “This is heavenly. You’ve outdone yourself again, Bridget.” Then, in a lower voice, he murmured, “You bring such good things to our lives. We’re so glad to have you here.”
She recognized the genuineness of his words and, again, realized how grateful she was to him, too. Without his kindness and attentiveness as a stimulus, she might not have gotten back on track with Graham. Silently but fervently, she thanked God for her friend Luke. He’d helped her regain her passion for life. And passion could change a woman. Make the mundane a delight. She was proof of that.
Dr. Luke turned his gaze away from Bridget and toward Dr. Nina. She was filing paperwork and had refused Candy’s offer of a slice of cake. After a few further minutes of office revelry, he picked up the untouched piece and strode over to the female dentist.
“Try it, Nina,” he told her. “Just one bite, okay?”
Dr. Nina pursed her lips, sighed but, nevertheless, speared a forkful of gooey cake. “If it means that much to you,” she mumbled to Dr. Luke, cautiously putting the fork in her mouth.
As Bridget watched from a distance, she could see Dr. Luke had been trying to be a friend to Dr. Nina, too. He was good at that. As for Dr. Nina, well…she had a ways to go before her passions would make her overflowing with happiness, but Bridget wished her well.
Dr. Nina’s reaction to the cake wasn’t rapturous, but the woman didn’t spit it out either. She shrugged, put the fork down and announced, “It’s actually not bad.”
Dr. Luke laughed and went to talk to Dr. Jim about something before both of them left the room to check on patients. Bridget glanced one last time at Dr. Nina, only to see her eyeing the cake curiously and, then, reaching out to nab one more bite before leaving the room herself. Bridget considered this a moment of culinary triumph.
With her heart filled with joy, she laughed with colleagues and patients alike, saving up bits of conversation to share with Graham and the kids later, over dinner. Knowing she had their affection waiting for her at home.
Sometimes love could be as simple as just that. A twist of the wrist. A flip of the spatula. A chance to start over and do it better the next time around—as long as both parties were ever-vigilant.
Unfortunately, sometimes it was not nearly that simple….
23
“Jennifer & the Infinite Journey”
Thanksgiving through mid-December
Once upon a time, in a land of conflicting mental constructs, there lived a woman named Jennifer, who’d experienced a recent incident of marital disruption, thanks to a conniving ex-lover. She and her husband, Michael, had been in a holding pattern of doubt and distrust for over a month, although, in truth, Jennifer’s skepticism and matrimonial misgivings had been witnessed by the acutest of observers many years before…and ever since.
These gentle observers were their daughters, Veronica and Shelby.
And so it came to pass, one brisk late-November day, Jennifer’s daughters returned home from school: One in a foul mood. The other in a fouler one.
Shelby, the younger of the two, tossed her backpack on the floor, slammed her bedroom door shut and lost herself in the fantasy world of online video-gaming. Her mother, understanding the desire for the strategic numbing of brain cells, nevertheless knew this behavior could not last indefinitely. Someday soon, she and Shelby would have to have a chat about the discord in their family and how it led to the pursuit of mindlessness as an escape mechanism.
However, given that Veronica came home crying, the you-needto-do-something-with-your-time-besides-playing-World-of-Warcraft talk would have to wait.
“Veronica, what’s wrong?” Jennifer asked her eldest.
“I am so sick of school. That’s all,” Veronica hissed, swiping angrily at the tears streaming down her smooth skin. “I just need a break from it.”
Jennifer mentioned that she, in fact, had just had four days off because of the Thanksgiving holiday.
“Well, that wasn’t long enough.”
“Clearly.” Jennifer took a step toward her daughter. “What happened, sweetheart?” she whispered.
Maybe it was because her child recognized the empathy her mother felt for her, or maybe it was because she just really needed to confide in someone, but Veronica fell into Jennifer’s arms and sobbed out a story. From what Jennifer could understand, it seemed that Tim was pissed off about Veronica’s flirting with Erick and had proceeded to spread a series of rumors about her at school, including, but not limited to, the assertion that Veronica “went down on Erick at the dance,” but she really didn’t. And, being that Tim was Mr. Popularity and Student Council Guy, people believed him. While Erick, who was seen as this dangerous bad-boy type just because he was older and already had his driver’s license and a couple of tattoos (“Just small ones, Mom!”) wasn’t believed at all.
“Okay, Veronica. Okay,” Jennifer said, trying to soothe her. “What really happened at the dance? Why don’t we start there.”
Her daughter sniffled. “Almost nothing. Really. Erick met me there. We danced a few times, but the music was lame. And because Tim and his friends were staring at us, we went outside for a walk. Just for, like, fifteen minutes or something. He told me about having to take this history class as a make-up thing because his old high school didn’t do U.S. history freshmen year. That it was odd to be the oldest one in the class, but he usually was a loner anyway, so he was kinda used to it. And he asked me what I thought about being in high school and if it was hard.” She shrugged. “Nothing weird at all. And then he kissed me once. It was really quick because some other people came outside, too, so we went back into the gym and danced to another couple of songs before the whole thing ended.”
“That was it?”
“Yeah. But the next week at school, the rumors started. Tim said I’d changed and that I was a slut.” She bit her lip and the tears started leaking out again. “Everyone was whispering about me. Even my friends. And Erick was totally avoiding me. When I asked him about it, he said it was because he didn’t want people talking about me even more. He said he could see how upset I was and he didn’t know what I wanted him to do. That maybe he should back off. So I said, ‘Yeah, okay.’ But it didn’t make it all stop. I mean, the rumors about Erick stopped, but people liking me and trusting me like they used to—that was gone. Even with the teachers. It was like they believed whatever the other kids believed. That if an ‘upstanding class leader’ like Tim thought I was bad, then they didn’t question it. And I’m in a different building now, so none of my old teachers could defend me. See what I mean?”
Jennifer saw. “So, have any of the teachers accused you of anything? Lying, cheating, stealing…anything like that?”
Veronica shook her head. “Not yet. But I can tell they look at me differently than they do the kids in Tim’s clique, or even most of my friends. And the expression someone like Mr. Ryerson gets on his face when he looks at Erick—Mom, it’s mean. Erick isn’t perfect or anything but, deep down, he’s a lot nicer of a guy than Tim, who just pretends to be nice.”
Jennifer sighed. “Guys like Tim will do stuff like that. They’ll be sneaky, and they’ll lash out in whatever way they can when they’re hurt. In some ways, you played into this by flirting with both of those guys in class. You see that, right?”
Her daughter pulled a tissue out of her jeans’ pocket, blew her nose and nodded.
“And, if I’m understanding correctly, you really did like them both. These two guys were like two different sides of you. Who you were and, maybe, a little bit of who you wanted to be. Yes?”
“Yes,” Veronica said.
“And I’ll bet at first there was a really exciting sense of power that came with flirting with them. That you could get both of these very different boys, who were each cool in their own way, to be attracted to you. To want to ask you out. Am I close?”
Veronica squinted at her. “So, this happened to you, too?”
Jennifer nodded and projected all the love in her heart at her daughter. “Unfortunately, yes. But here’s something I had to learn and I wish someone would’ve told me this years and years ago. Those opposing sides of yourself? They’re strong and crazy powerful, and they don’t ever go away. You’ll get rewarded by one group of people for displaying one side, and you’ll be despised by another for doing the same thing. Teachers will trust you if you act ‘good,’ whether or not you really are good. Outcasts will respect you if they think you’re bucking authority, even if your deepest values keep you from being as rebellious as you appear. Either way, you’ll be judged, which isn’t fair, but it’s how the world works. I just think the most interesting people are multifaceted, and that their personalities can’t be confined to any one category. So, from my point of view, it’s important to try out different sides of yourself. Just recognize that consequences always come with that kind of experimentation.” She let out a long, long breath. “Actually, consequences come no matter what you do, which is something I’m still learning myself.”
Friday Mornings at Nine Page 34
