by Dee Detarsio
“Fried eggs and noodles.” She sniffed appreciatively, noticing that I didn’t spare the salt and pepper. “Don’t forget the ketchup,” she said.
“Right here,” I set the pan down and then presented her with a brand new 44 ounce Heinz bottle like it was a very good year.
“Mm,” she said as she chewed. “Your mom really is a genius.” The fried eggs and noodles were another of my mom’s stretch-the-leftovers meals. Seriously, what does everyone do with their leftover spaghetti noodles? I know Martha Stewart would compost them or make Easter baskets with them. But, my mom would fry them up the next day then scramble in a few eggs, and voila; one of the worlds greatest comfort foods. Daria loved it and was threatening to put me on her Good Mood Food show with it. She had figured out that, for all its simplicity, it did contain enough protein to boost our endorphins or whatever. But then again, ketchup was her main source of lycopene, so I always took her statistics with a grain of salt.
I sat next to her and we ate our noodles, with ketchup, and continued our carb fest with Triscuit crackers and an aged English cheddar. Daria taught me to pair simple favorites with the unexpected, and we always tried to tempt each other with outlandish delicacies. Daria has always, and would always win, with her Chili Cheese Frito pie-something you could only eat maybe once a year.
Daria slurped up some fried spaghetti noodles and sighed. “I’m doing my show here in your new kitchen with this dish. You owe me,” said.
She was right and I knew I’d probably have to do it. Maybe I could get my mom in on it. She would love it and it would ease me out of that spotlight. I felt very virtuous, knowing I’d get daughter brownie points while saving my own skin.
“We’ll get back to the wine later,” I told her, as I went to the kitchen for our drinks. I came back with my last two surviving crystal goblets; the kids or Brett had managed to break the rest. I took the chipped one, and poured Daria a glassful of root beer.
She swirled her nectar of the gods, holding it up to the light and then sniffed. “Vanilla, with a hint of wintergreen.”
I raised my own glass of root beer to her.
“And, if I’m not mistaken, a soft note of cinnamon?” She arched her eyebrow.
“Only the best for you,” I said.
“You win,” she said taking a sip. “You’ve totally outdone yourself.”
“Thank you,” I acknowledged.
“I saw the dessert.”
“You were supposed to.” I may not be able to cook, but I did like to bake, especially cakes. We both looked over at my counter where I had a thick chocolate frosted layer cake sitting on a fancy cut glass platter, with the cracked side hidden toward the wall. It was a far cry from a perfectly rounded and leveled bakery cake, with it’s uneven sloping top layer tilting and screaming homemade, but it was Daria’s favorite.
I knew we wouldn’t get to the good stuff until dessert, and I was right. Daria concentrated on her noodles while I focused on not making huge gulping sounds that were all the more magnified without the white noise of conversation.
“So,” Daria began after she took a bite of her piece of cake.
“So,” I said. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was so good to see her and so good to be almost finished with the show. It was good to finally get my priorities straight.
“Lisby, I know you’ve guessed I’ve been dating.”
I nodded and smiled. “It’s me. I know you.”
“I’m a terrible friend when I date and I should know better. I put all my energies into the guy, I usually end up scaring him off and that’s probably why I find myself single. Most of the time.” Her eyes were shining.
“Well, tell me about. How’s it going?” I said.
“Lisby. I’m so happy. You can’t imagine. He’s not what I expected at first, but we get along so well.”
I listened, happy for my friend, trying to bury the pangs of my crush on Sam, and worse, knowing that Sam was a lousy cheater between two friends. Well, maybe it was all just a mistake. I would support Daria no matter what.
“I think you guys make a cute couple,” I told her, pouring her some wine.
“You do?” She tipped a splotch on the tablecloth. “Good tablecloth,” she said, patting the wet spot.
“Yes. I’m so happy for you Daria. He is really a great guy. Is it serious?”
“I think so. I’m just so relieved you’re OK with this. I thought you might give me grief.”
“Daria. I’m offended. Why would I not be happy for you? You deserve this.”
“He’s just so different than I thought,” Daria said, acting more like a teenager than Nicole. “I mean I never would have given him a second look, but when we met over here we just started talking and things took off. I feel like I can tell him anything and he looks at me like you said you always wanted a guy to look at you, like he was the luckiest guy in the world.”
“Are you swooning?” I asked her, taking a big swig of wine. Come on. Daria never got like this. I could just see Sam, staring at her, just like he had looked at me. What a cad. He better not break her heart.
“We’re going away for the weekend,” she continued her gush fest. “I already met his kids. They’re great.”
Oh brother. This is serious. Daria hated kids. Wow. “So, is he a good kisser?” I asked, knowing the answer. Sam had lips to die for and that certain glint in his eye that showed he knew how to use them.
“Well, he’s not normally my type, but Lisby, he is amazing.” Her eyes were glazed over as she nodded out the syllables to a-maz-ing. Damn, I knew it.
“Wow. Good for you.”
“Gosh. I can’t believe that’s all you have to say.”
“Daria. Honest. I’m thrilled for you.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“This is too good for you not to rub my nose in it.”
“What do you mean? You have a great guy, who sounds perfect for you. He’s gorgeous, talented and I think he’ll make you happy.”
“Lisby. Do you know who I’m dating?”
“Of course. Sam.”
Daria put her hand over her mouth. “I really thought you knew.”
“I do,” I said, not quite getting something.
“I’m not going out with Sam. I guess I may have led you to believe I was, just because I didn’t want to hear you talk me out of it. It was just easier for the time being. But, no, I am not dating Sam,” she said as she laughed and shook her head. “Sam?”
She’s not dating Sam? Sam’s not dating Daria? Sam tried to kiss me! I was so bubbling up with emotion I could feel the tips of my ears burning. I could hardly listen to Daria as she babbled on about some guy. Wait a minute.
“Who are you dating?” I asked.
She nodded. “Lisby, he is so sweet.”
“Say it.”
She pressed her lips together which did nothing to stop her smile. “The Martinator.”
“The Martinator?” I said. I couldn’t believe it.
“I even call him that sometimes,” she giggled.
“You’re in love with the Martinator?”
“He really is a great guy, Lisby. You just never game him a chance. And I’m so glad for that.”
“What? How?” Oof, I thought.
“When he came over to see your kitchen, remember? I walked him out and we just started talking. He was so nice, we met for drinks. Then dinner. Then,” she tossed her hair back, “one thing led to another.”
I swallowed. Holy Cow. If this were a cartoon, my eyeballs would be spinning. I cleared my throat. “Am I going to have to call you Mrs. Martinator?”
“We’re not there yet,” she said. “But I really, really like him.”
“Um. It won’t be uncomfortable for him, because, you know, he and I…” Oh brother, I thought I had filed that under never to be looked at or thought of again unless I was in a situation where I needed to think of something tragic in order to stop laughing at an inappropria
te time.
“You know, Lisby, I’m not going to hold it against you. After all, we met through you. ”
“Gee, thanks.”
“He was vulnerable before and he knew what you were going through and he just reached out to try to give you comfort.”
“Yes, he did. Give, give, give,” I said.
Daria stared at me.
I had gone too far. “I mean that in a good way.” I said.
She burst out in her loud laughter that invited me to join in. I had no choice. Thank goodness. I also had no choice about what I was going to do next.
Chapter 29
That’s a Wrap
I couldn’t wait to jump out of bed the next morning; and for once, it wasn’t due to the promise of a cinnamon Pop-tart. First things first, I had to be professional.
I had wanted a hard wood floor in my kitchen but I let Elgin win that one. He said it wouldn’t fit the style and pointed to his teal cabinets, “contemporary cool”, then he pointed to the floor, his finger wagging accusingly, “is not going to meet the Beverly Hillbillies.” He put in a neutral looking travertine tile which looked very pretty but I felt would be hard on my feet and legs when I was standing there cooking.
“Which is exactly how many minutes a day?” Elgin asked me.
Good point. I would not be missing Elgin.
So, the flooring was in, finally. It was pretty. Everything came together and worked. The payoff was huge and though I only played a small part in actually being a valued member of the construction crew, I still felt proud and though he would never admit it to his dying day, Elgin had to know losing the red paint was key to this.
“This looks like a professional did this,” I said, somehow managing to back into the tray of dirty gray water that I was using to sop my sponge in as I helped mop up the floor.
“Professional what?” Elgin laughed. “Don’t worry about your pants, you don’t need to change. They aren’t that wet. You look fine. It will dry. Here,” he said, “I need you to wipe off the cabinets now.” He handed me some paper towels, Windex, and a Dr. Pepper.
Today was just a touch up, goof off kind of day. Which was good. I couldn’t wait to talk to Sam. My cheeks had been blushing all morning. I needed to talk to him and set things straight, but he was super busy, hiding behind his camera and not letting me get close to him. That Sam I Am. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to apologize to him. Would he like me here or there? I couldn’t wait to talk to him and tell him how sorry I was for smacking him. Maybe he would try to kiss me again. It was a good thing I didn’t have his phone number or I would have called him last night. I hoped it would give him time to cool off, anyway. Crap. I really didn’t want to do this on camera. Or did I?
Every time I walked by Sam, and I did that a lot, he was filming, Dustin by his side. “What?” I finally snapped. “The show’s that desperate for footage they need me walking back and forth? Am I supposed to pace? Do you want me to look worried?” I tried to frown. “Hah. I can’t. My Botox is the best.”
Elgin interrupted. “OK. I think we got enough, guys.”
That was suspiciously surprising.
“I won,” he added walking over to me and spinning me around. “Pay up,” he announced to the crew. “She went two hours.”
“What are you talking about?” I looked over my shoulder at the sign stuck on my back. It was a ‘wet paint’ sign that someone had taped to my back along with taping over the final ‘t’ in paint. Leaving me to walk around for a couple of hours with wet pants below a sign that said ‘wet pain’. Nice.
“I feel your pain, honey,” Elgin said.
The crew laughed as I looked over at Sam. He wouldn’t even look at me without the protection of his camera. He moved back into the kitchen to get some finishing shots. What was he thinking? I’m sure he was thinking I was a pain. I had to explain.
I crumpled the sign and shoved it into Elgin’s hands. “Hey, Sam. Wait up.” I know. I could do this in code. I would have to be very careful. And smart. Two things that didn’t necessarily add up for me, given that I’d walked around as the butt of a joke all morning.
“Sam. You know how things aren’t always what they seem?” Oh boy. Where was I going with this? He kept rolling.
“For instance, my kitchen. It looked like a dark, dingy unappetizing leftover,” I looked at the shiny new brightness, “and now, it’s changed into an amazing space.” I saw Elgin creep up, his beady eyes working overtime. “Who knew my kitchen had this potential? I think it should be a lesson for everyone,” I nodded my head as if I were delivering yet another mom lecture, “that rooms, like people, can change. They may have been all wrong before,” nod, nod, nod, while trying to lift my paralyzed eyebrows, “but they can see the light. They can see that some TLC, new cabinets, new paint, new information, if you will, can make all the difference in the world.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” Elgin didn’t whisper to Sam.
I tried again. “It’s like this. The kitchen used to think that it should have ivory cabinets, and at one point, red walls. But now, the kitchen is happy it has teal cabinets and iridescent pearl walls. The kitchen was wrong and is very sorry, but now it’s happy to learn that maybe those red walls belong to someone else’s kitchen so it can now cook dinner for new friends.”
“Good God,” Elgin said. “Are you trying to ask Sam out on a date?”
I ran out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs. “And you want to cook for the man?” Elgin yelled after me.
Upstairs in my bathroom, I splashed water on my face and then changed into a clean pair of pants. For the first time, in a long time, I had a romantic crush on a good guy. As unsettling as it was, it was exciting. So different from how Brett and I ended up, which was the exact opposite of romance. I remember one time, years ago, when Brett had come home from work and offered to clean up the cat puke in exchange for a quickie. “Sold,” I had shouted, thrilled with the idea of not having to be intimate with the insides of our ailing cat’s intestines. But for Sam, I put on lipstick and dabs of perfume, and this time, I was the one who wanted to throw up.
I was sitting on my bed, wondering what to do next when I heard a knock on my door. It was Dustin, Sam’s sound man.
“Hey, Lisby. Got a second? I need to change the battery in your mic pack.”
“Come on in, Dustin,” I said opening my door and turning around to give him access to my mic pack which was hooked on the back of my pants. As he fiddled with it, I sighed. “Why am I always doing stupid things and why is Elgin so mean to me?”
“The crew all thought you had a crush on Sam, too. But, Elgin won that pool, also.”
“Why didn’t I know about any of these pools?”
“They were mostly about you,” Dustin said.
“Did Sam know about that one?”
Dustin smiled. “Yeah.”
I buried my head in my hands. “Great.”
“It’s OK. He didn’t bet any money. I think he likes you, too.”
“Yeah. Maybe before I smacked him across the face last night.”
“I’ve worked with Sam for years. He’s a good guy. Just go talk to him.”
“I can’t, he won’t let me.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“I’m getting a bum rap, here, Dustin. I like Sam so much,” more than anyone in a long time. It sounds so high school, but I even caught myself doodling Sam and Lisby, Lisby and Sam, the other day on my grocery list. I threw up my hands. “I would be the luckiest woman in the world if we could have had a chance to really get to know each other. But I made sure I blew that because I made an honest mistake. I swear, my life is a country music song.”
“Go sing it to Sam,” Dustin told me. “You’re all set,” he said, tugging my shirt in place over my mic pack. When you’re ready, they need you back downstairs.” He squeezed my shoulder and left, gently closing my bedroom door.
I went into my bathroom and powdered my nose and swiped off
fleeing mascara and started humming an odd twanging tune thinking about what I was going to say to Sam. My life was a country song. Ying-yang-ying plucked the violin on the stage between my ears. I could all but hear Carrie Underwood’s true heartfelt vocals. Although, even inside my own head, I sang off-key. So with a lighter heart, I belted it out aloud.
“My kids smoke dope, my ex is one, I said nope, when I wanted to run…into your arms…and feel your lucky charms.”
I smoothed on my new lip plumping gloss, smacked a kiss to the mirror and skipped downstairs. There he was.
“Sam. Please, can I talk to you?”
“I’m busy, Lisby.”
“It will only take a moment. I owe you the biggest apology.”
He set his camera down to listen. That stupid song was still going around and around in my head. I tried to shake it away and continue. “I am so sorry, Sam. See, Daria and I made up, we were in this fight.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, about that. She made me think that you and she were dating. So, when you held up that mistletoe I thought you were, you know.”
“No,” he said, not smiling and crinkling his eyes like he used to do when we spoke before. “You thought I was dating your friend and hitting on you? Nice guy. Did you ever stop to think you could have asked me?”
“I tried. You would never talk about Daria.”
“That’s because I don’t really know her that well, and I certainly didn’t think that you thought I was dating her.”
“It sounds complicated when you say it like that, but…”
“But, you’re not blameless here, either,” he continued. “I don’t think it was my imagination that you were flirting with me when you thought I was dating your friend.”
“Well. That’s not exactly right. I...” He was right. I was gross. “I just wanted to say I was sorry for slapping you.” I turned and walked away. He didn’t follow me.
Elgin called us all in the kitchen for the final, finished reveal. I could have cried but only because I felt so bad about Sam, and for sabotaging myself, once again. The kitchen was great, don’t get me wrong. I loved it, I was thrilled with it. I guess it was all just sort of anticlimactic.
