by Kym Brunner
Busia’s voice is soft but strong. “You are wrong, Irena. You not see what is right in front of your face. When I make that deal with Dola, I ask her that you have love in your life forever. Don’t you see you got that? Dola gave you Sophie as your gift, not Richard.”
That’s all I can take. My eyes fill with tears, and my chest constricts with emotion as my mom gasps, coming to the realization that Busia was right all along.
“O moj Boze! I never saw it like that before. I’m so sorry, Matka! Sophie is the best gift I ever got. Dzienkuje. Thank you so much.” Mom gets off the couch, tears streaming down her face. She kneels down at Busia’s feet, kisses her wrinkly cheek several times, and then pulls her into a fierce hug, like she’s never letting go. Busia pats Mom’s back, murmuring Polish words.
I’m still bawling from this grand enlightenment. I can’t stand being a bystander anymore, so I hug them both. We stay like that for a full minute, all three of us rocking and crying, until Busia finally says, “I know the perfect ritual to do—if you let me, Irena.”
Mom wipes her eyes and smiles weakly. “Okay, Ma. I won’t call it hoo-ha anymore.”
“Then let me up. That enough hugging.” Busia waves her hands so that we move away, making me smile at her distaste for physical affection. “Okay, I got work to do. Give me fifteen minoot, and we go have talk with Vila and Vodianoi.”
Perfect. Just enough time to make a few calls to see what’s up with my own three loves of my life—Nick, Giovanni, and Teegan. There’s no doubt who I’m calling first.
I nervously dial Gio-yummi and wait for him to answer. Part of me wants to hang up because apologizing to someone is hard, as evidenced by the big Mom-Busia reconciliation. I can only hope my conversation goes as well.
When I hear his sultry voice, my heart accelerates to full speed, as if a starter gun went off. I’m so happy that he answered the phone that I almost forget to speak. “Hi, Giovanni, it’s me, Sophie! My mom told me you stopped by today.”
“Sophie!” he says cheerfully. Long pause. It’s as if he’s remembering that he’s supposed to mad at me. “I got your text the other day, but I decided I wanted to hear what you had to say in person.”
“Yeah, that probably wasn’t the best way to explain.” I wince, realizing this puts a wrench into my “apologize profusely over email and hope he accepts it” plan, so I’m not as prepared as I should be. “Even though we’re not face-to-face right now, I can tell you that I’m really sorry about you seeing me with that other guy. I know it makes me seem sketchy, but the only reason I was with him is because I met him the same day as you. I wasn’t trying to deceive you—it’s just that it was too soon for us to talk about being exclusive, you know?” I stop my babbling-brook mouth from saying anything more.
He sighs. “I thought about that afterward. As much as it killed me seeing you kiss that guy, I knew we didn’t have any arrangement. Which is why I’m hoping maybe…I don’t know. Want to try again?”
I nearly swallow my tongue trying to get the words out. “Yes! That’d be great.”
“Cool. So, you want to maybe hang out on Friday night?”
“This Friday?” I ask stupidly. No, he means the third Friday in December. Duh. But what was so special about this Friday that every person I know wanted to spend it with me? Options race through my brain…take the V out of Lake Geneva or put the G in Great Date with Giovanni? I fling Teegan’s plan to go to Arcade World out my second story bedroom window and hear it crash and burn below.
I guess it takes me too long to answer because Giovanni says, “Let me guess. You’ve already got plans with the other guy.”
I know that I should say, “No, I’m going to temple with my imaginary Jewish friend,” or “I promised to take my Busia shopping for new sumo-wrestler panties,” but I since I suck at lying, I say, “Sorta-kinda.”
“That sucks.” He clears his throat. “I’m not sure what to say. Ever since that night, you’re all I think about. You’re funny, pretty, and so easy to talk to. You’re not like any other girl I ever went out with—almost like you had a spell on me.”
A tingly sensation races up my arms, as if a spirit tickled me. “That’s the sweetest thing a guy ever said to me.”
“Sweet enough to make you dump the other guy?” he asks teasingly.
“Just about,” I concede. But the selfish part of me doesn’t want to let go of Nick until I see if Giovanni is the right guy for me.
“Oh, I get it.” He pauses, clears his throat. “Sorry, Sophie, but as much as I like you, I can’t do the whole ‘multiple guy’ dating thing. Doesn’t work for me. So, I guess I’m saying that if you plan to date us both, I’m opting out, but thanks anyway.”
My heart sinks. “No, wait! Hang on a second. I really like you a lot too, Giovanni. Our date at the beach was so absolutely perfect, and I can’t stop thinking about you, either. And I agree with you about only dating one person at a time—that’s what I want too. Two guys asking me out at the same time has never happened before, I swear! So, how about this: Can we go out on Saturday night, and then we’ll have a better idea if we want to be exclusive?” I swallow hard, wondering if my offer will fly. By then, I’ll know whether going to Lake Geneva was the right choice. That’s when it hits me. I can’t stay overnight at Lake Geneva. Not only am I not ready to have sex with Nick, but I also have to help the bakery survive by being there all day Saturday.
He groans. “You’re killing me here, Sophie. I don’t want to be in some sort of dating competition—who kisses better, who comes up with a better date. Not for me.”
“Me either, but it won’t be like that, I swear. I only want to judge on how I feel when I’m with you. And trust me, your kisses were killer.” I decide to take a stab at flirting. “Exactly how many girls have you killed with your kissing, by the way?”
He chuckles. “Just a few. The lucky ones.”
“Hey, if our Grand Re-Opening tanks on Saturday, I might like to experience death by kissing. It’d be way better than bankruptcy.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to reel them back in.
“What? Are you serious? You guys might go bankrupt?”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Apparently you’re not the only one who can administer the kiss of death. International Gourmet’s doing a nice number on the bakery, too.”
“I noticed there weren’t any customers when I was there today. I hoped it was just a slow time.” He sounds so genuinely concerned that I want to squeeze myself through the phone and reassure him. Maybe kiss him several times to lift his spirits.
“Long story short, we’re attempting a last-ditch effort on Saturday from seven until three. It’ll take a while to clean up and stuff, but we can go out afterward. You still game?”
He takes a deep breath. “Let me get this straight. You’ll go out with Idiot Boy on Friday, and then me on Saturday, and if you enjoy my company more, you’ll dump his sorry ass on Sunday?”
I can tell by his voice that he’s upset about this, but not so much that he won’t agree. “Yep, that’s the plan.”
“I hate it, but as long as you promise not to fall in love on Friday night, I’ll go for it. Just this once, though. But you’ve got to be honest with me from now on, okay?”
“Yes, for sure! That’s all I want too!” My heart sings for joy as we settle on six o’clock for Saturday night and hang up.
I’ve barely gotten my body and mind to come back to Earth when Busia pops her head into my room. “Matka and I ready.”
“Sure. One sec.” I need to send Nick a quick text before I forget:
Hey Nick—So sorry
but something important came up
and I can only go on Friday
if I don’t sleep over.
Will that work,
or do you want to do something else,
just the two of us?
I know I’m throwing away a great opportunity to ditch my V card, but this Friday is not the right time. And more importantly, I’m no
t sure it’s even the right guy. I’ve waited for this for so long, what’s a few more months or years? My family comes first.
But if I die a virgin, it’s all Dola’s fault.
Chapter 20
MOM, BUSIA, AND I STAND STARING at the drainage ditch in our yard. It’s a narrow, weedy path where the rainwater leaves our gutter and makes its way to the sewer out in the alley. Due to the lack of rain lately, the only water to speak of is the mucky patch of goo nearest to our back gate. It’s where the path ends and flows into the underground sewage system, providing fresh drinking water for all our Chi-town alley critters.
“So, this is where all the action happens, huh?” I grimace and breathe through my mouth so I don’t have to endure the musty, skunky stink.
“Tak. Vila and Vodianoi both live in water.” She hobbles closer to the manhole cover and points to the little hole. “Down there.”
“Then they are shitty little buggars,” Mom says, elbowing me. I chuckle, a little giddy and weirded out that I’m about to make a deal with some sewer rats.
“No laughing,” Busia says sternly. “They are evil fairies. Very bad. We must give them what they want, or they continue doing bad things to our family.” Busia pulls out a candle and a match and hands them to me. “Light that.”
I do as I’m told, while Busia hands a can of sardines and two rocks to Mom. “Open the fish, and then we start.”
Mom glances at me, and I shrug, not daring to laugh, because if anyone can contact a couple of Slavic evil fairies to engage in a battle of wills, it’s Busia. Mom uses the little metal key and rolls the lid of the sardine can backward into place. “All set. What’s next?”
“You two hold hands and face each other. Keep water in between.” Busia takes the candle from me, and the can of sardines from Mom. We link hands and stand like we’re the London Bridge spanning over the Thames. Busia chants some Polish words as she walks around us in a circle three times hitting the two rocks together. Mom squeezes my hand, and I squeeze hers back. When Busia gets back to where she started, she says, “Now each of you take a fish and throw it in hole. Say loud, ‘Vila! Vodianoi! Eat and be happy. Let bakery breathe.’”
Mom and I grimace as we stick our fingers in the oily sludge, a quiet sloop! echoing across the yard as we each extract a slimy sardine. We stuff the sardines down into the opening, yell out the command to our equally slimy evil fairies, and then hold our fingers away from our bodies. “Now what?”
“Now jump back and forth three times, both of you. Make sure you not land on metal lid. This is how you chase the devil—make him drown down there.”
Mom and I play follow-the-leader, leaping over the manhole cover three times as directed, making sure not to let our heels touch the metal rim. I suck in a giggle as Mom leaps surprisingly sprightly over the sewer cover, her chest bouncing like two cabbage heads.
Busia smiles. “Okay! That’s it! Let go wash hands and eat.”
Mom and I wipe our fingers on the grass the best we can. As we’re walking toward the house, I announce, “We’re going to Super Dawg, ladies. My treat.” I carefully pluck an envelope from my back pocket and wave it in front of me. “I got my one and only paycheck from Pet World in the mail today. All we need to do is stop at the bank and cash it. A whopping fifty-six dollars.” I feel triumphant for all of ten seconds—until I see Mom’s face tighten at the mention of money. I continue, “Or we could eat leftovers and use this money to buy balloons for Saturday?”
Mom smiles and pats my back. “Thank you, Sophie. That is nice. When we eat, we should talk more about your plan. I decided to close the bakery for the next three days so we’re not running around like chickens without necks. Then it really will be a grand re-opening.”
“Chickens without heads,” I correct automatically, “but, yes, that’s a good idea, Mom!” My cell phone buzzes in my pocket. I read Nick’s text:
Looks like we’re on
for Friday night after all!
Bring your pink bikini—
the one with the tassels
that I like so much.
Can’t wait to see
your smoking hot body.
I stare at my phone. What pink bikini? I don’t, nor will I ever, wear anything with tassels on it except for a graduation cap. My mouth must have been hanging open because drool slips down my chin. It finally dawns on me that Nick meant this text for some other chick. My heart pounds, and my face burns hot with embarrassment and anger. I had thought the prior three guys I’d dated were shitty, but Nick is the king of crap. He’s a moron, a liar, and a perv! I write back:
Wow, Nick.
Guess this means we’re off for Friday.
Have fun with Tassel Tramp.
FYI: I’m changing Snickers’ name
to BIG ASSHOLE
in remembrance of you.
After I get over the shock of being so easily replaced in Nick’s harem, I know it’s for the best. I want a boyfriend, not syphilis. Thanks, Dola. I asked for a huge sign, and she gave me one, all right. Now’s it time to concentrate on getting our new business off the ground. I need to think about pies, not guys. Profit, not parties. I take a deep breath. And, yes, I’m happy to report, victory, not V cards.
The next three days are killers, all of us working together from six a.m. until midnight. But the craziest thing is, I don’t mind. Mom lets me blast my music while we put a new coat of paint on the walls, and Busia stitches new aprons and curtains until her fingers practically fall off. We laugh and talk a lot, argue only a little, but by Friday night, our new place looks totally sweet, ready for our Grand Re-Opening tomorrow morning.
We stand outside on the sidewalk and stare up at our new sign. Ba-Ba-BOOSH! is spelled out in bright red embroidery-style letters on a white background with a cross-stitch border. A cartoon version of Busia serving a platter of pierogis serves as our company mascot directly underneath our spiffy new name.
“We all tried our best, and it shows.” Mom puts one arm around me, and the other around Busia. “If this doesn’t work, I give up.”
“If this doesn’t work, I’m throwing up,” I add.
Busia clucks her tongue. “I no like ’em picture of me. I look stara i gruba.” She puffs out her cheeks. “Old and fat.”
Mom and I exchange glances, smiling. I hug Busia. “No you don’t, Boosh. You look adorable, both on the sign and in real life. Polish grandmas who cook as well as you do should be a little on the plump side anyway. It’s good for business.”
“Never trust a skinny cook,” Mom says. “Didn’t you ever hear that, Ma?”
Busia nods. “Okay, okay. Maybe I little bit round.” She pats her tummy, smiling. “Let’s go make sure everything is ready.”
We walk into a cheerful setting of crisp white walls with bright red tablecloths. The words Ba-Ba-BOOSH! are painted in vibrant colors around the perimeter, near the ceiling. One live daisy in a freshly scrubbed vase sits on each table. All of Eliza’s little metal signs have been repainted to match our current menu, which now consists of all of our best-selling pastries and two hot meals for breakfast—Highlander Hash and Eggs Benediction—along with five traditional Polish lunches—Pound O’ Pierogies, Not a Spring Chicken w/Dumplings, Grandma’s Golumpki, Holy Ham Hocks, and Killer Kielbasa with Kraut. We might add more if things go well, but Busia and Mom felt they could make big batches of these dishes without too much trouble. A few of the bakery items had to be sacrificed, so we’re serving a slice of Polish rye with each meal instead of selling it by the loaf.
“I can’t believe how awesome everything looks.” I twirl around, excited by what I see. “We’ve got our ‘Old Faithful’ pope clock back, and we have new tablecloths, new curtains, and four fabulous new pictures!” I point to the four silkscreen prints of the Busia mascot in different hues—red, blue, yellow, and green. “Adorable!”
“Eliza was smart and worked hard, but not as smart or as hard as you, Sophie,” Mom admits, grinning broadly. “Why did I never know
this about you before?”
I shrug, smiling. “I guess I never had to worry about being homeless before.”
The pastry display has a sign dangling overhead that reads “Naughty or Nice?” We’re serving Busia’s “naughty” desserts alongside low-fat “nice” versions. We even kept Eliza’s Lemon-Rhubarb Agave Tart after Busia convinced me to taste it. Yummy and organic? Hard to believe, but it’s true.
We turn out the lights and trudge up the stairs to our apartment. Mom yawns. “My goodness. Even though it’s still early, I’m going right to sleep. I’m as tired as a dead horse who had gotten beaten.”
I don’t bother correcting her. Her messed up clichés are a heck of a lot funnier. “Good night, Mom. Sweet dreams. Hopefully Vila and Vodianoi choked on their sardines.”
Busia pats her chest in the space where her breasts would be if they weren’t sagging to her waist. “I know they are gone. I can feel it.”
“Great news! Well, good night, everyone. I’m hitting the sack soon too.” After brushing my teeth, I head to my room, exhausted but hopeful that things will work out. I glance at the clock. Nine twenty-three p.m. I imagine what I’d be doing right now had I gone to Lake Geneva, and I breathe a sigh of relief. What bothers me most is that I ignored my instincts about Nick. I knew he wasn’t the guy for me—from his partying, to his ditching me, to his super slick moves—but I was so flattered to think I landed two guys that I ignored all the warning bells. Never again. From now on, if something seems fishy about a guy, I’m throwing him down the sewer like a dead sardine.
There’s one more call I need to make. As soon as Teegan answers, I apologize for not going with her to Arcade World and then try to catch her up on all the recent changes around here, including Nick’s infamous faux pas.
She huffs loudly. “What a complete jerk! You made the right move, Sophie, even though I wish you would have told me that you had decided to go with him. From now on, let’s stick with friendship first, guys second, okay?”
“Besties before testes,” I tell her with a laugh, repeating a line I’d read online somewhere. Before we hang up, we agree to get together in a few days, when things will be a little more settled as to how Ba-Ba-Boosh! is going.
