by Dee Detarsio
Then there’s the frenetic buying. OK, I must admit, I had a couple of years when the kids were younger when I went the educational route. Bad idea. They’re so spoiled they pretty much have everything they want anyway so Christmas is usually a bust. Then, there’s the worry of who else to buy presents for and how much to spend. Skipping off to a tropical island allowed us to bag it all, we wouldn’t be there to exchange presents or receive presents from someone we didn’t remember to buy for. From teachers to the mailman to the garbage collector to the paper carrier, who kept dinging us by thoughtfully providing a card and envelope we merely needed to drop cash into. What about the hair stylists, the school counselors, and my favorite barista? Lugging out all the decorations, cluttering up the house, I just wasn’t up for it. I was like the chicken in the story about who will help me plant the wheat? Who will help me set up the tree? No one. But they all want to eat the goodies and get the goods.
I was ashamed of myself for how pretty I thought our tree was now, especially since Elgin did it all. I always wanted a symmetrically decorated, themed tree.
“Earth to Lisby,” Elgin was megaphoning me. “Get ready. This show is going to air after Christmas so while it is the season; we’re not talking about that. We already did the promos that will run during the holidays in a few days. But right now, I want you to tell me how much you’ve changed and how this show has saved your life.”
“I’ll give it a whirl,” I said. “The premise of The Kitchen Shrink is, ‘if your life’s a mess, your house probably is too.’ Face it, it’s probably true. My life was out of control, I guess. With my kids, there are so many other things going on, I didn’t think about staying on top of my house.
“I think it’s a little too simplistic to say that if your renovate your house your life will magically be improved.” Elgin was glaring at me but I raised my hand. “But, it does manage to put some things in perspective. Making anything better, cleaner, more organized, easier to be in or around, is a good thing. For me, carpentry and therapy did kind of go hand in hand. I liked focusing on a concrete project instead of worrying about my life, my kids, what am I going to do with my life, what kind of job will I get, and how sad I’ll be when my kids leave, and worrying about but what if they never leave? I am sometimes my own worst enemy and this project did help me redo my kitchen and redo my brain. I really think there is something to Feng Shui, and its important to have a good home you like to be in. Our home is our haven, and harmony and balance in your life is definitely something to strive for.
“At the end of the day, when all of our work is done, my kids’ homework is finished, we’re getting ready to settle in for the night, put our pajamas on, watch TV, whatever, we call it hunkering down I think it’s important to have a peaceful hunkering down place. Besides, there are so few things we can control in our life, making your life space a good reflection of you is one of them.”
“Not bad,” Elgin said.
Thanks, I thought. I had worked on that last part. “Wait.” I said. “One more thing. I’ve made a decision. I’m going to redo my downstairs bathroom next.” Someday. Maybe the viewers would see that I was going to continue my home and life improvement act.
“What color are you going to paint it?” Elgin asked.
“I’m thinking a really pretty rich coffee brown.”
Elgin made a raspberry noise, blowing on the palms of his hands. “You crap in there. Why do you want to paint the walls brown?”
“You are a class act, Elgin.”
Chapter 27
That Sam I Am
My kids got home a short time later and wanted to know how Elgin liked the kitchen.
“Guess,” I told them and they laughed. “Thanks so much for your help, guys. I think it’s gorgeous.”
“It’s a’ight,” Ryan said.
“I like it,” Nicole added.
They headed into the family room to go upstairs and saw the tree.
“Who’s tree?” Ryan asked, as Nicole poked at a red-sequined ornament.
“Ours. Elgin did it. We had to shoot promos for the show that are going to start running on Christmas. What do you think?”
“Where’s our tree going to go?” Nicole asked.
“It is our tree,” I told her. “Elgin just decorated it fancy, for TV.”
I saw Ryan glance at Nicole before he went upstairs.
“Do you like it?” I asked Nicole. “You always like buying new decorations with me. Isn’t it pretty?”
“Yeah,” she said. She went up to her room.
I knew this was coming. As much as I wanted to be convinced how pretty it was and how much like it looked like a model tree in some mansion, it wasn’t right. As happy as I was that the tree was up and decorated and most importantly done, checked off my to-do list, I felt like I robbed my kids of their familiar holiday. I felt tears prickly behind my eyes but instead of crying, I went into the kitchen and got a bowl of chips and broke into my secret stash of Junior Mints and went into Nicole’s room.
“Hey, honey. Look what I have.” I sat next to her on her bed and watched a rerun of Malcolm in the Middle with her. She ate the chips and reached her hand out for some Junior Mints.
As many times as I screw up, you think I’d learn. Well, I’ve learned how to make things right, I guess.
I thought I heard the crew leave and I went downstairs, carrying a box. Sam and Dustin were putting their gear away.
“Oh, hey guys. Are you out of here?”
“Yeah,” Dustin said. “Another good day, Lisby. The producers love it when you and Elgin fight.”
“What can I say?” I shrugged, setting the box down in front of the tree.
“What’s in the box?” Sam asked me.
I looked up at him. “I’m going to redecorate the tree. With my kids’ ornaments.”
“Do you want any help?” he asked.
“No, that’s OK,” I told him. “You can keep me company if you feel like it. It won’t take me long. My kids don’t want to help. I think they’re punishing me for not putting their stuff up in the first place.”
“This tree is OK, but you have to admit, it doesn’t have much personality,” Sam said.
“This tree is like this show,” I said. “Fake.”
Sam laughed and handed me a box. “Here, you can put Elgin’s ornaments in here.”
I looked at Sam and thought for the millionth time how lucky Daria was. Damn.
I put on some holiday music to try to get in the mood and to entice my kids. I took off all of Elgin’s decorations but left the lights. I started hanging my own old familiar ones and found a plastic ice skater ornament. “Look at this,” I showed Sam, pulling on one of her legs. “Nicole and her friends went through an ice skating phase a few years ago. This always reminds me of yoga instructors. They’re so bendy. I would love to be a yoga instructor.”
“What’s stopping you?” he asked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Only about twenty pounds, twenty years, and twenty uptight rigid personality traits that prevent me from embracing my inner goddess.”
Sam laughed.
“What about you?” I asked. “What would you be doing if you weren’t a cameraman?”
“Me? I always wanted to be an astronaut.”
“You’re kidding. Like go up into outer space type of astronaut?”
“No, like a pocket-protecting, wingtip shoe wearing astronaut, who remains solidly on ground estimating the minutes of oxygen left in an orbiting space craft. Of course I want to go into space.”
“Are you kidding me? If they had tourist trips to space would you go?”
“Absolutely. You wouldn’t?”
“No. And I’ve made my kids swear they wouldn’t go either.”
“Why?”
“You still have somewhat of a chance to survive an airplane crash, it’s been known to happen. But in space? There’s no air. No place to crash. No search party to come to your rescue. Freaks me out.”
He w
as so easy to talk to and so good to look at, which also freaked me out.
“It would be such an adventure. I love to travel, and that would pretty much be the ultimate trip.”
“Well, somebody needs to keep the home fires burning,” I said.
“And that would be you?”
I bowed. “At your service.” He looked at me like the idea of me waiting at home for him was filled with its own exciting possibilities. Or maybe that was my wishful thinking. “Seriously,” I said. “Not everyone can be footloose and fancy free gallivanters.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” he replied. Again with a look that I wondered if I was misinterpreting. Let’s face it. If I was bad at flirting, and heaven knows I am in the running for that grand prize, I was an even worse flirtee. Sam folded the box closed, overlapping the edges, one underneath the next, yet another skill I’m totally dyslexic at. “Actually,” he said, “Since the astronaut thing isn’t panning out, I’m working on documentaries.”
“Really? What kind?”
“I just finished my first one on robots. A company here in San Diego is doing some amazing sci-fi stuff. It’s going to air on PBS next month.”
“Congratulations. That’s impressive. You’ll have to tell me when it airs. So, have you always been interested in photography?”
“Don’t get me started,” he said with a laugh. “I started scrapbooking my pictures when I was about eight years old. And I must warn you, I still have my photo albums that I force my friends to look at.”
Aw. He was so damn cute. I mean, “That’s great that you always had that passion.”
“I love the way pictures tell stories,” he said.
And I love the way his eyes sparkle and his t-shirt stretches over his chest and his well-cut dark brown hair with just a hint of grey that instead of making him seem world-weary, like mine does, oozes confidence. Oh, snap out of it, I warned myself. I poked my finger with the silvery edge of an ornament hook.
“I can’t believe we only have a couple of days left of shooting,” I said, hanging up Ryan’s Baby’s First Christmas ornament. “Do you think I have a chance?”
“A chance of what?” Sam asked.
“I know about the prize. $50,000.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. Daria,” he smiled.
Oh, and there she was. Back in front of me reminding me to stop flirting with her boyfriend. I didn’t answer him.
“I had a great time getting to know you,” he continued, “and I think we shot a lot of good stuff. The producers are masters at putting together compelling stories and I think you have a good shot at it. It may not be the story you are expecting, but I think it will be a lot of fun to watch. The producers want viewers to identify with you and I think people are going to love you.”
“I did a lot of stupid things. Many of them, on camera.”
“That’s part of the charm.”
“Wait. You’re supposed to say, you didn’t do any stupid things.”
“Oh. Sorry. Lisby, paragon of grace, goodness, and always putting your best foot forward, every word that spilled from your mouth was pearl of wisdom. You will be a superstar.”
“No, I don’t want to be a superstar. I would never, ever do this again. I just want the money. It would really help.”
“Well, don’t kid yourself. You may not like everything you see. I haven’t seen any of the edited stuff, but just remember, the producers and editors are just focused on creating their own reality with a story arc.”
“I think I have a story arc. I think I’ve changed. I’m mean I’m still your basic boring single mom…”
“I know my cue,” Sam interrupted. “You are anything but basic and have never been boring.”
“From your mouth to Elgin’s ear,” I said. I felt my cheeks flush. “There.” I put up the last ornament, front and center, one of the kids’ Beanie Babies that Nicole had saved and put a mini Santa hat on.
“Now that’s a tree,” Sam said. “Well loved, loved well.”
“Thank you,” I bowed and acknowledged his compliment. I couldn’t wait to show the kids, but I was really enjoying hanging out with Sam.
“I’m going to get going,” Sam said. He stood up and had something in his hand. He took a step toward me and raised his hand over his head. Mistletoe. It must have fallen out from one of the bags of decorations. Sam had a bashful grin on his face.
How my heart surged. How my brain flicked its judgmental fingers on my romantic soul. Remember Daria. I looked up at him, wishing with all my might that things were different. He leaned toward me but before he could kiss me, I stepped back and slapped Sam in the face. What a two-timing bastard.
I ran upstairs. Mad at him and mad at myself for being so tempted.
This thing with Daria had gone on long enough. I missed my friend and I needed a big dose of Daria. I wouldn’t tell her about Sam. I heard the door close as Sam left.
Chapter 28
Tablecloth of Contents
I was so excited Daria was coming over I got out my good tablecloth and by good, I mean good time. Once upon a time it had been a white Irish linen tablecloth Brett had brought me from Ireland. I loved it. But, since I had to iron it every time I wanted to use it, for the longest time I tended not to use it. When I did talk myself into pulling it out I would hold my breath and and stare at everyone’s sips of red wine, my kids’ juice boxes; I even refused to light the candles. But one night, Brett, who had been drinking, big surprise, lit the candles and deliberately spilled a glass of wine.
I was furious with him.
“Look, Lisby,” he told me. “Now it’s ruined. Are you happy? You can stop treating it with kids gloves and freaking out about it. Oh, don’t spill on it, oh, don’t drip wax on it. He pointed to the ugly purple blotch in front of his plate. You’ll look at that and always think of me. He grabbed Ryan’s juice box and squired. There, there’s Ryan. He took an apple green candle in front of Nicole’s place and tipped a stream of hot wax in front of her plate. “And that’s for my girl, Nicole.” The kids were young enough to be entertained but too young to sense my fury.
“I can’t believe you,” I said, near tears. “I love this tablecloth.”
“I’m glad. Now you can use it,” he told me. “Use it, abuse it, and just enjoy it, Lisby. Now you don’t have to worry about getting every stain out, because you can’t. You don’t have to worry about ironing it and protecting it, because it’s stained. So now, maybe you’ll throw it on the table on a random Tuesday, just because you feel like it.” He had started eating and then waved his hand down the table. “Every stain, every blotch, every hole should be a memory of good times at this table. The most beautiful tablecloth is the one with the most spills, because that’s the one that saw a lot of action.”
He was right. I pulled out my yellowed, thin, mended, wrinkly, stained tablecloth to get ready for Daria’s dinner. I missed her so much. I had called her again and apologized one more time, and invited her over and said we had to talk.
She sounded more like her old self. “Lisby, I’ve missed you so much and I have so much to tell you.”
We overpowered each other with the force of our hugs once she arrived.
“Damn,” she said. “Your show producers would have loved to have gotten a hold of that.” She stepped back and fanned herself. “Is it just me, or do you wanna do it?”
I laughed. “Daria, I’ve missed you. I’m sorry we ever fought.”
“Me too and me too,” she agreed.
“You know I never meant to slap you...”
“I deserved it,” she said.
“But I didn’t slap you.”
“I know, honey. My face just threw itself at your open palm.”
I could feel my own face flush. “Daria!”
“Relax. I’m kidding. We were stoned, we were stupid, we were steamed...I’m out of esses...” She caught my eye. “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.”
“Well ha
ve you shown up at the right place.”
“What’s for dinner?” She followed me into my kitchen and stopped. “Oh. My. Gosh.” Her eyes zoomed everywhere. I forgot she hadn’t seen it since I repainted it. Her retinas were still probably trying to recover from the red walls.
“It’s so beautiful. I had no idea.”
I went and stood next to her, looking at my kitchen from her view. The teal cabinets, neatly organized, hovered above the sea glass tiles, which floated above the slick granite countertops. The rounded edges of my island beckoned visitors to come and gather, and sit a spell in comfy, tufted velvet aubergine bar stools.
“Purple?” Daria asked, running her hand across the soft nap.
I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Aubergine, silly.”
“Oh, in that case. Love it.” Daria sat down. “Now you really have to learn to cook, you know.”
“I know. Isn’t it great? I love it.”
She looked over into the corner at the breakfast nook and saw the table set, with my tablecloth. “Oh, what’s the special occasion?”
“You are.”
She accepted my glass of wine as I made a quick stir in the frying pan on my new stainless steel countertop stove. “Check this out,” I told her, gliding open a drawer right underneath the burners that contained my pots and pans. I opened and closed it several times until she made me stop.
“Now you really need new pots and pans,” she toasted me.
“Please don’t buy me any for Christmas.”
“Deal.”
“Now,” I jerked my head toward the table, “go sit down and I’ll bring you dinner.”
We always took turns treating each other to salads; salads always taste better when someone else makes them. Daria’s crunching, like she was eating cartoon carrots, let me know she agreed.
I brought the frying pan over to the table and she looked up at me, putting her hand on my arm. “You do love me.”
I nodded and served her up.
