“I guess...” she said, trying to determine if the searing pain she felt was in her heart or in her gut. “Do you like her?”
“She’s OK. She’s nice. Usually.”
Lily wanted to know if they were going to the Ball as friends or as dates, but she didn’t know how to ask without sounding jealous, and James abhorred jealousy, saying it was the mark of insecurity. Anyway, Lily wasn’t sure she even wanted to know the answer. She pictured James and Paula going out to a fancy dinner before the dance, having their photo taken in their formal wear, parking behind the auto shop afterwards.
“After all,” said James, “You’ll have your Senior Ball next year, but this is it for her.”
Why is that my problem? Lily held back the words. She imagined slapping James, right there in the hallway in front of everyone, which is what she wanted to do, and which would have felt incredibly good. But she doubted she could ever haul off and hit another person, especially James. Anyway, if she got mad it would prove that she wasn’t independent or mature enough for him, after all - above all he wanted someone who wouldn’t tie him down; the worst thing to do now was to act petty and jealous. The only course of action was to play it cool, pretend like it was OK. Show him how advanced and sophisticated she was, how unconventional. Make him want her more by making him think she didn’t need him so much.
“Sure,” Lily choked on the words. “I understand.”
“You’re the best. Well, I gotta go - I’m late for calc class.”
Lily watched James’ head bob down the hallway, then she ducked into the girls room, and cried right through her Women in Contemporary Society class.
25. Iris
“Coffee,” the waitress said, in the voice devoid of inflection used by those who are forced to ask questions to which they already know the answers. Without waiting for a response, she banged two heavy ceramic mugs down on the table. Iris and Lily jumped in their seats.
“Yes, thanks,” Iris said, smiling. “We’ll order too, please. I’ll have the ninety-nine cent special.” The grumpier people were, the more prone Iris was to be cheerful; it was her natural way of protecting herself against contamination, and of trying to obliterate any negativity she encountered.
“Howduyawantureggs,” the waitress said, pouring out the coffee, then setting the pot on the table.
“Scrambled, please.” The waitress scribbled on her pad without looking up.
“Toast.”
“Whole wheat, please.”
“Bacon or sausage.”
“Bacon. Crispy, please.”
“Ditto for me, please,” Lily said. The crepe soles of the woman’s shoes squeaked as she turned and walked away.
Iris poured a splash of cream into her cup and took a sip of the steaming hot beverage before reaching into her purse. She extracted a stack of coupons bound together by a red rubber band and placed on them table.
“Whad’ya got for us today?” Lily asked, unfolding a piece of note paper and setting it on the table with a pen, before wrapping her hands around her own mug and lifting it to her lips.
“Let’s start with the standard stock items,” Iris said, picking up the stack of coupons she had clipped out of the newspaper during the course of the week. The bottom slip stuck to the table, and was ripped in half when Iris tugged at it. “Darn maple syrup!” she said, carefully peeling the stuck piece from the table. “That was a good one, too: fifteen cents off Dad’s evaporated milk. I hope they’ll take it anyway.” She shook her head with irritation, and began flipping through the remaining coupons. “Toilet paper, milk, orange juice, bread, butter, bologna, cereal …”
“What kind of cereal?” Lily asked, raising her eyes from the shopping list on which she was ticking off the items Iris mentioned.
“Puffed rice,” Iris said. “Or wheat. It’s valid for both.”
“Geez, Iris. The boys don’t want to eat that anymore, and we still have a huge bag in the cupboard.”
“Puffed rice isn’t that bad. It was good enough for us all these years. And it’s dirt cheap.”
“That’s because it’s all air. I get depressed just looking at the way it bobs around on top of the milk.”
“I can’t argue with you on that.” Iris drummed her fingers on the tabletop, then looked at Lily and sighed. Maybe you’re right, maybe it is time to break some of the old patterns and try something new. Any suggestions?”
“How about Wheaties, the ‘breakfast of champions’? It’s nutritious, and the boys are bound to find the pictures of athletes on that bright orange box more inspiring than those plastic feed bags.”
“We don’t have a coupon for it, but let’s leave our options open. Maybe we’ll get lucky and there will be a non-advertised special.”
Service at the diner might not always be friendly, but it was swift, and within minutes, the arrival of two piping hot plates, each bearing a steaming mound of scrambled eggs, two pieces of crisp bacon and two slices of buttery toast caused the girls to suspend their strategy session. Less than half an hour later, they had stoked up on enough caffeine and calories to face their Saturday morning task of grocery shopping at the same supermarket where their mother used to shop, located in the plaza across the from the diner. Everyone knew that a hungry shopper was not a thrifty shopper, and Iris had decided that the household budget, as well as she and Lily, would benefit from this little perk. For breakfast, they allowed themselves five of the fifty dollars of grocery money their father gave them, every cent of which was abundantly recouped through the money they saved with the coupons.
Whether it was the buzz they got from the free coffee refills, or their determination to tackle the chore with the same enthusiasm as if they were treating themselves to a Saturday morning at the hairdresser’s or shopping at a fancy department store, Iris and Lily always had a spring in their step when they burst through the automated doors of the supermarket. They discussed their purchase options animatedly as they cruised the aisles, casting looks of disdain at the expensive prepared foods they shunned in favor of more economical, basic products that would satisfy the needs of their family, though Iris often paused for a moment or two in front of the spices, wondering what recipes could possibly call for curry or cardamom, until Lily told her she was getting that faraway look in her eyes again, and that it was time to come back to earth.
“One ninety-nine,” Iris would say, or “seventy-five cents,” dropping into the cart a dented jumbo tin of peach halves on special, or a bunch of overripe bananas, which beckoned her to bake some banana bread. Iris scoured the shelves and made the selections, as Lily steered the shopping cart with her left hand, while in the palm of her right she held a small red plastic device, her index, middle and ring fingers poised on the three white keys that corresponded to dollars, dimes and cents. Each time Iris called out a price, Lily clicked in the amount by depressing the keys, as if she were playing a tune on a trumpet. Keeping a running total of the items in the cart spared the girls the mortification of not having enough money to pay the cashier, and also helped curtail costs considerably as they went along, to the point where they were often able to bring their father back change, sometimes as much as five, or even seven dollars.
“Hey, those cookies are marked down,” Iris said, pointing to a bin brimming with slightly crushed red and green boxes.
“But they’re Christmas cookies, Iris,” Lily said.
“I know, but now that Christmas is over, someone might finally be in the mood to eat them.” Iris had dutifully rolled, molded and frosted several batches of Capotosti favorites, in a campaign to convince her family that traditions should be maintained no matter how circumstances changed, but she had the impression people were shoving the cookies down their throats just to be rid of them and the thoughts of previous holidays with their mother, who was not allowed access to the house.
“Give it up, Iris. Everyone would rather eat your banana bread,” Lily said.
Iris knew Lily was right. No amount of baking could put happiness back i
nto the holidays, but thank God that horrible Christmas was over and done with, and this was a new year. Things could only get better from here on, especially since she had satisfied all the prerequisites for early graduation, and in another week, would be liberated from high school life for good. There were no courses so interesting, no friendships so binding, no prospects for romance so alluring, to outweigh the advantages of working full time to save for college. Springtime would mean senior portraits and senior balls, and other frivolous expenses she could do without.
“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Lily asked her sister as they struggled to push their laden grocery cart through the ice and slush of the parking lot, passing a tall, handsome youth who was rounding up abandoned carts and returning them to the store entrance.
“Peter Ponzio has been looking at me like that for the past two years,” Iris said, popping the trunk of a sporty red coupé. “Exactly the same amount of time I’ve been looking at him.”
“So why don’t you guys do something about it?” Lily said, placing a bag in the trunk.
“Bad timing. He started noticing me right after I started going out with Michael. Isn’t it weird the way when you have a boyfriend, all the other guys start buzzing around you, and when you don’t, they treat you like you have the plague? ”
“I guess that’s how they can tell,” Lily said.
“Tell what?”
“Whether you’re worth it. If you already have a boyfriend, you must have something going for you. Plus, seeing what kind of guy a girl goes out with, tips them off as to whether they stand a chance with her. Guys hate rejection.”
“Well, goodness gracious, don’t you know it all? Did Dolores teach you that, too?”
“We were talking about Peter Ponzio, Iris.”
“Well, if he likes me, he had all last semester to do something about it. He just kept looking and smiling, but never approached me, and now high school is virtually a thing of the past. ”
“Maybe he’ll ask you to the senior ball,” Lily said, shoving the last brown bag into the small trunk a bit too violently, and slamming the door shut. Iris hoped it wasn’t the bag with the eggs.
“Where would he approach me?” Iris asked. “In the frozen foods section?”
“You never know.”
Head down to the biting wind, Iris wheeled the empty shopping cart to the return area, knowing it would spare Peter a minute of work in the miserable cold, then slid into the passenger seat next to Lily.
“I feel weird driving this car,” Lily said, as she drove through the parking lot to the exit.
“I bet,” Iris said. “It is a pretty hot set of wheels. Leather interiors. Bucket seats. AM-FM Stereo. Tape deck. I wonder why Dolores doesn’t want to drive it. I mean, after all the pain that Dr. Bob put her through, she could at least enjoy the car he gave her. She should run it right into the ground.”
“It must make her sick just to look at it. When she dropped it off, she said Dad could keep it, as long as he let me drive it on Saturday mornings. To boost up our morale. That’s what she said, those exact words. She sounded just like Auntie Rosa.”
“I wonder how long she’ll stay at Auntie Rosa’s,” Iris said. “How long it will take her to get back on her feet.”
“I don’t know. I just wish she had a place of her own so we could talk and hang out there, with no one else around, you know? But I wonder if Auntie Rosa will ever let her go. It’s as if she wants to keep her for herself.”
“I don’t think that’s the way it is, Lily. They have always been so close. Dolores has always gone to Auntie Rosa for help rather than to her own mother or sister.”
“I just hope she forgets about men this time, and stays single. Single and independent,” Lily said. “Maybe she should talk to Mom or something. She knows lots of independent women. Maybe they can help her, like they helped Mom.”
“I somehow don’t think they would be her type. Anyway, I just don’t get this independence thing. On one hand, there’s Mom, who just gets up from the dinner table and walks out one day, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Sure, she got her independence, but that doesn’t really seem right if someone else, like us, has to pay the price. Then there’s Auntie Rosa, who is also independent. She’s always worked, never got married or had a family of her own. But she took care of Grandma and Grandpa all those years, and she still has Uncle Alfred to worry about, and now there’s Dolores, too. If that’s what you get for being independent, it’s kind of a rip-off.”
“Uncle Alfred works, though. He teaches guitar, and he still plays at The Luau,” Lily said.
“I know. He gets to do what he loves to do because Auntie Rosa is the main breadwinner. I used to see what he made and what he spent on guitars. I’m sure he didn’t have much left over to contribute toward the household expenses.”
“Well, I’m sure Dolores will get another teaching job as soon as she feels better. And her own place with good light, where she can paint. She can’t do that in Auntie Rosa’s basement. Maybe I could even stay over sometimes and practice my singing while she paints. She says hearing me sing inspires her.”
“It inspires me, too. You’re so good!”
“Thanks. I really want to put everything into my singing and acting. That’s the one thing I’m sure of. Of course, I won’t turn down fame and fortune, but that’s not what it’s about for me. Maybe I won’t make it, but at least I’ll be happy, doing something I love. All I need is Dolores to believe in me. And James to love me.” Lily said. She stopped at a red light and turned to face her sister. “Is that too much to ask?”
“That’s the other snag,” Iris said. “I’m not talking about James in particular, but if a man loves you, he should know and want what’s best for you, right? But knowing that and acting on it are two different things. Look at Dolores. She’s always been so full of love and joy and creativity, but the men she met up with sucked it all out of her like vampires. That’s not loving, that’s not even caring.”
“How about Mom?” Lily said. “She was so smart, she was out of college by nineteen, but as soon as she got married, we kids came along and took up all her time and energy. She depended on Dad to take care of her and us. If he really loved her, he should have loved her intelligence, too, and encouraged her when she wanted to go back to school for her master’s degree and get a job instead of complaining that she wasn’t taking care of him or us anymore.”
“Right. Somehow it gets turned around. Sometimes the independent one becomes dependent on the dependent person’s dependence. Does that make sense?”
“To tell the truth: not really. I just … oh wait, I love this song,” Lily said, turning up the volume and joining voices with Diana Ross as she sang “Mahogany.”
Iris looked out the window as she listened to the beautiful voices asking each other if they knew where they were going to. It had started snowing again, and Iris was glad she would be going nowhere that day except to the kitchen to bake banana bread.
26. Lily
“So, how are things going for you at school?” Lily’s mother gently swirled cream into her coffee, turning it from dark brown to caramel. She smiled, but the puffy circles under her eyes told a story of sleepless, tearful nights.
“OK,” said Lily. “I’m getting ready for my SATs. They’re coming up pretty soon.”
“Are you finding that you have enough time to study? I know you have an awful lot going on, between your drama club activities, and everything you’re doing for your father.”
“It’s fine,” said Lily. It felt strange to visit with her mother. Conversations between them had always occurred while they were doing the dishes in the evening, or while canning the cherries, or preparing Thanksgiving dinner. Talking was an ancillary, accidental part of daily life. They’d never actually sat down alone together with the sole purpose of having a chat. She wanted to tell her mother about what had happened with James, and how hurt she felt, but she sensed that her mother just had too many of her own s
orrows to deal with.
“Lily, I’m really sorry about all of this,” her mother dabbed at the end of her nose with her napkin. “I never meant to hurt you kids.”
“Mom, don’t worry about it, really,” said Lily, fighting to squelch the lump rising in her throat, a lump formed by all the uncried tears for herself and for her mother. But her mother didn’t need to see her falling apart right now. Lily had to be strong; crying would only make her mother feel guiltier than she already did. Lily reached across the table to take her mother’s hand.
“We’re fine, Mom. It’s not your fault. At least there’s no more fighting. That’s good, right?” Lily looked at her mother for some sign of agreement - a nod, a smile - but she seemed lost in her own pain. “I want you to be happy, Mom. Are you happy?”
Short bursts of sobs erupted from her mother as she held the napkin over her face, as though trying to keep her sorrow from spilling out onto the table, ruining their pie. “I’m afraid I won’t be happy for a very long time, Lily.”
Lily searched for a memory of a happy time, her sadness amplified by the truth that it took awhile to find one.
“Hey Mom - remember last year when you took us camping out at Darien Lake?”
“Oh, God,” her mother smiled. “What a disaster that was! It poured rain and that sorry old pop-up camper that we borrowed started leaking, and everyone got soaked while they were sleeping.”
“But we had that great little campsite and we roasted marshmallows every night, and I played the guitar and we sang songs. And Dad came up that one night and sat around the fire with us.”
“That was really the straw that broke the camel’s back,” Lily’s mother’s voice grew dark. “I went through hell and high water to arrange for that trip, and your father refused to come with us. I thought if we could just get away, spend some time as a family... ”
“But we got to go on vacation, and we spent an entire day on the rides and everything - remember how Ricci sunk those baskets at the arcade and won that big panda bear? And remember those people we met, who had us over to their campsite for a cook-out one night?”
The Complete Series Page 42
