by Abby Bardi
“Thanks so much for including me,” Julia said. “Can I help with anything?” I had the feeling she might want me to give her a job so she wouldn’t have to do too much talking, so I led her into the kitchen and handed her a carving knife, parking her in a corner next to the ham. Then I rushed to the stove to rescue my gorgonzola sauce, but Milo had done an outstanding job of keeping it from breaking.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” I said.
“I can’t,” he said. “Not like you.” He handed me the whisk.
I made a disgusted sound and stirred.
When I went back to check on Julia, I found the plate I had given her covered with perfect paper-thin slices of ham. “Nice work.”
“It’s wonderful to be here, Julie. It means a lot.”
“I can imagine,” I said, though I couldn’t.
“I feel her here. Her spirit.”
“Ah.” Now this, I understood. I had lived in this house with Donny’s ghost for so many years, and then later, Frank’s ghost had joined him, and the two of them were probably joking around together somewhere just out of sight, playing pranks on angels. Now my mother’s spirit was everywhere, floating in the air we breathed. The house even still smelled of her sometimes—a weird smell, to be honest, of musk and cologne and sweat, but whenever I picked it up in the hallway, or in her bedroom (now Pam’s room), it made me happy. I still missed her, but in moments like that, it felt like she wasn’t even really gone. “It’s great having you here,” I said to Julia, and as I said it, I knew it was true. After months of imagining J. Fallingwater somewhere out there, sharing his Native American wisdom with me, being the father that my own father, that rat-bastard Bill Barlow, never was, it was actually weirdly comforting to see her.
I tried to explain this to Pam when I ran into her on the back porch where we were storing drinks that wouldn’t fit in the fridge.
“You mean like if the man you imagined was your father was heroin, Julia is methadone?”
“Not funny.”
I must have sounded hurt, because she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Sorry, I mean, I get it. She’s nothing like Mom, but she feels familiar. I wonder if we ever met her.”
“She said they never saw each other again after they broke up. But yeah. She’s familiar. Like a relative.”
“Just don’t let Tim figure it out,” Pam said. “Or Norma.”
“Hell no,” I said.
XXIV
The holiday china was piled high with ham and turkey, green beans, roasted potatoes, vegan meat with carrots and pearl onions. It was like a painting of something I had seen somewhere but couldn’t place, and I was about to try to find my new phone and take a picture, but everyone started passing the plates around and the picture dissolved. We all started to dig in.
“Isn’t anyone going to say grace?” Norma snapped.
“You go ahead,” I said.
She said some kind of prayer, and then she got Bobby to say one, and then Billy just had to say one, too, and meanwhile, the food was getting cold. The food was my prayer, I thought, and putting it on the table was my grace, but I didn’t think Norma was going to buy that. I sat fidgeting until all the damn praying was done.
I was just lifting my fork again when Julia said, “Thank you for inviting me into your home. It means a lot to me.”
I could see Tim stare at her like he was wondering who the hell she was and how she had horned in on a family gathering, but he kept his mouth shut for once. From opposite ends of the table, Pam and I exchanged looks.
“We’re glad to have you here,” I said.
“We’re glad to have everyone here,” Pam said. “Even Tim.” She smiled a bratty smile at him.
He shot her a poisonous look, but only said, “Pass the ham.”
“Look at this.” Julia Fallingwater pointed to her plate. “It’s a work of art.”
“Everything looks amazing,” Alex said, heaping green beans onto his plate.
“Let’s drink to Julie.” Pam held up her glass of the fancy French wine Milo had brought.
They all raised their glasses, even Ricky, but I said, “No, no, I didn’t do it. It was Pam and Milo.” My voice sounded whiny, like I was defending myself from an accusation.
“Come on, you did most of it,” Pam said. “You deserve the credit.”
“Dude, it rocks,” Ricky said with his mouth full.
I had to admit, the touch of basil in the cranberry sauce was mysteriously delicious, and the gorgonzola-mushroom cream sauce kicked the ass of Campbell’s soup. Ricky and Star were over the moon about their Tofurkey, though I was sure it tasted like wood.
Julia Fallingwater said, “You know, Julie, people are put here on the Earth for a reason, and it’s obvious you were put here to cook.”
“Thanks.” I found myself wishing she could have eaten at my restaurant. She hadn’t asked me why it was called Falling Water, and I was never going to volunteer the information, though she had probably figured it out somehow. I looked around and saw everyone eating, and for the first time in a long time, I thought about how amazing it had felt to cook for people and make their lives better, if only for a little while.
***
“This is such a nice room,” Alex said, looking around. He was just making polite conversation though. It was an ugly little room off the kitchen, with a table that was too long, a fake-antique china cabinet, and embarrassing family photo collages on the walls. “It has a nice feel. Did you always eat in here, growing up?”
“Only on holidays,” Pam said. “We normally ate in the kitchen.”
“We should have dinner in here more often,” Star said. “It’s really nice.”
Tim gave her a weird look. I started getting a bad feeling in my stomach.
“We could have a formal dinner every weekend,” Pam said, not paying enough attention to Tim. “With wine, and candles. Jools, you could cook something great every Saturday night.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“I’ll cook on Fridays, you cook on Saturdays,” Pam went on as if I hadn’t just refused. “And on Sundays, we’ll order pizza.”
“Sounds like you figure you’ll be here for a while,” Tim said. “I know the market tanked, but the house has to sell at some point.”
Pam looked at Tim, and I saw her get it. “True,” she said.
Then Norma had to open her big yap. “We’re not putting the house back on the market.”
“What was that?” Tim turned to her. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“We are not putting the house back on the market,” she repeated more slowly, in case he hadn’t heard. I thought maybe she would say it again in another language in case he didn’t speak English.
“You think you can just decide this?”
“Majority rules. Ricky and Star and the baby need somewhere to live. And Julie.”
“You can’t be serious.” Tim was starting to get the same pink spots in his cheeks Pam got when she was mad. “Julie can’t go rent an apartment?”
“She’s suffering from depression. She can’t work.”
No one had ever said this to my face, and I wasn’t sure I appreciated it.
Pam jumped in. “Anyway, this is our home.”
“It’s not my home,” Tim said.
“Yes, it is,” Pam said.
“I hate this place. It’s a shit-hole.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think. The point is, we’re not selling it.” Norma made the family hand-washing gesture to show she was done with the subject.
“This is delicious ham.” Julia Fallingwater picked up a platter and passed it. “Would you like some more, Pam?”
“No thanks.” Pam’s eyes were fixed on Tim like a dog’s on a squirrel.
“I’m part owner of this house, and I want it sold.”
“You don’t get to decide,” Pam said.
“I get to decide what you do with my part of the house. And you’re selling it.”
“Language,” Norma said, pointing to Bobby and Billy.
“No, fuck you,” Tim said to Pam.
“Language.”
“And fuck you,” Tim said to Norma.
“This is our mother’s house. She loved it,” Pam said.
“You think that fact should mean something to me?” His tone was low and deadly.
“What are you talking about?” Norma’s voice was starting to rise into the range only dogs could hear.
“Maybe some people had some issues with her.”
“With Mom?” Norma apparently couldn’t imagine this. “Like what?”
“Maybe some people thought she was a big, fat, narrow-minded, first-class hillbilly bitch.”
“Now hold on just a minute.” Julia Fallingwater put down her fork.
“Excuse me?” Tim turned to Julia with a truly scary look on his face. I felt my chest tighten like a fist. “And who the fuck are you, exactly?”
“I can’t sit here and listen to you talk that way about your dear mother.”
“I would advise you to stay out of this,” Tim said. I didn’t think he would punch a woman, but you wouldn’t want to test him.
“I can’t let you insult her memory.”
“And how is this any of your business?”
“She was a beautiful person, and I loved her.” Julia was getting a pretty dangerous look on her face, too.
“You obviously didn’t know her well.”
“I knew her very well.” There was something in her tone that told the whole story, and I sure hoped Tim hadn’t heard it.
“Come again?”
Oh, here we go, I thought.
“I. Loved. Her.” Julia’s eyes were narrowed.
“Julie, what is she saying?” Tim demanded. I didn’t answer. “Is this some kind of lesbo thing?”
“Timmy!” Norma shrieked. “You shut your mouth!”
“Mommy, what’s a lesbo?” Bobby asked.
I kind of hoped Julia would say something to defuse the situation, but she just sat there. Then I hoped I would defuse it myself, but I didn’t. Julia and I just stared at Tim like silent twins.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Tim said. “Did you know about this?”
Pam nodded.
“This is nuts. I’m in Bizarro World. You’re all crazy. You’re all totally insane.”
“Yeah, we’re insane,” Pam said. “Everyone but you.”
“After what she put me through—all the shit she said to me. And you’re telling me she was—no way. No fucking way.”
Pam nodded. I was about to say something sarcastic when I noticed Tim had tears in his eyes. I shut my mouth.
Tim stood up. “Let’s go,” he said to Alex.
Alex just sat there. I hadn’t noticed until now that he seemed to be trying to hide a smile. “You go ahead,” he said. “I haven’t finished my dinner.”
Tim turned and glared at him.
Alex covered his mouth with his hand like he was trying to keep something from escaping, then burst out laughing.
“It is pretty fucking funny,” Pam said.
“I don’t get it.” Norma was scowling like she was planning to wash our mouths out with soap when she got a chance.
Alex pulled himself together, then burst out with another laugh. He turned to Tim and said, “I’m sorry,” He pulled himself together, then laughed some more. Tim was still standing there like he was about to bolt, a serial-killer look on his face.
“Sit down, Timmy,” Pam said.
Tim turned and looked at me.
“Yep,” I said.
“Will someone please explain what is going on here?” Norma demanded.
No one answered her.
“Time for blueberry pie,” I said, jumping to my feet.
Alex put his hand on Tim’s arm. “For God’s sake,” he said. “I want dessert.” Now that I finally understood what their deal was, I realized I had known all along. It made sense now, how angry Tim always was, how much he hated our mother, how he had left home and moved as far away as he could get. I could see now how much Alex loved him, though I couldn’t understand why. I ducked into the kitchen and stood next to the stove, letting the familiar heat from the oven warm me, and when I came back into the dining room with a pie in each hand, Tim was sitting next to Alex, waiting for dessert, like nothing had happened.
We all dug into our pie.
XXV
“Star loved that fake turkey stuff,” Pam said. “Did you see how much she ate?”
“That baby’s going to be 500 pounds of pure vegan,” I said. I was cleaning my new copper pot with lemon juice and salt the way its directions said to do before using it, making sure not to scratch it.
“The real turkey was spectacular,” Milo said. He was washing the dishes and Pam was drying them. The dishwasher had finally conked out and we hadn’t bought a new one yet.
“Yeah, it turned out pretty good,” I admitted.
“It was incredible,” Pam said.
“Yeah?”
“Even Tim liked it.” Milo handed Pam a plate.
“He’s such an asshole. Thank God you’re buying him out,” Pam said to Milo.
I set my pot carefully on the Formica counter and stared at her. “He’s what?”
She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh shit. We were going to tell you. We were just waiting for the right time.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. Done deal. Tim said yes.”
“Wow.” I tried to wrap my mind around this information. “But Milo, why would you do that? This house is worthless.”
“I think it will be a good investment.” He smiled a twinkly smile.
“I get it,” I said. I did get it. And I was okay with it.
Maybe he would have elaborated, but Julia Fallingwater came in carrying a platter flecked with the last pink dregs of ham. She hadn’t said much since the brouhaha at the dinner table. She handed me the platter and said, “Julie, I need to get going. Thanks so much for everything. It meant a lot to me. I loved being around your family.”
“Ha. That makes one of us.”
“I know, hon. Families are like that. But for me it was really special, being around the people she loved, who loved her.” In a breezier tone, she said, “Well, I better hit the road.”
As I walked her to the front door, I said, “I’m so sorry about all the drama.”
“I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just couldn’t stand to hear anyone talk like that about her. ”
“I understand.” I didn’t, really.
She gave me a hug, and we promised to keep in touch, but I had a feeling we wouldn’t. As I stared at the empty space where her car had been, I wondered what my mother would think if she could see her old lover driving away from our house. Would she be glad we had finally met? Mom had lived and died without ever telling anyone about Julia, but she had named me after her. She had kept her letters like she just couldn’t let go of her. That sure looked like real love to me. But then again, what did I know about love? Nothing.
When I got back to the kitchen, Pam was wiping down the stove while Milo swept the floor. I picked up a dishrag and cleaned things that were already clean. Then we sat at the kitchen table drinking some of Star’s raspberry leaf pregnancy tea.
Milo and Pam raised their cups. “To Julie.”
“Stop it,” I said.
“Seriously, Jools, dinner was wonderful. You are wonderful,” Pam said.
“Am not. Shut up.”
“You know, back in high school, no one would have predicted you’d be a chef,” she pressed on as if I hadn’t spoken.
I pictured myself in high school, sitting around on my fat ass watching reruns of The Brady Bunch. “Yeah, it didn’t say that in the yearbook.”
She drained her tea, then poured some red wine into her and Milo’s cups. “How did you learn to cook like that?” she continued.
“I don’t know. From Mom, I guess?”
“Mom was a great cook, but you’re in a whole different league.”
“Julie, seriously, don’t you think you should consider opening another restaurant?” Milo asked. His voice was gentle, like he was trying not to scare away a baby bird. “You have the insurance money, and you own the property. You could build another building.”
I opened my mouth to say no fucking way, I could never put myself through that again, no matter how much he and Pam hounded me, but found myself saying, “You never know.” It might not have been the answer they wanted, but it was the best I could do for now.
After everyone had gone to bed, I went to my room. I set my new pot back on the dresser, lay back on the bed, and stared at it. It was large and round and beautiful like a big copper UFO. “Beam me up,” I said to the pot. I stared at it until I started getting sleepy, and maybe I fell asleep then, I don’t know, but suddenly the pot seemed to change, and shadowy figures started moving around on the side. I sat up in bed so I could see better. It was golden and filmy, like a cloudy crystal ball, but I could make out some of the shapes. It was all of us together somewhere, but I couldn’t tell where: Pam and Milo with their arms around each other, Ricky and Star and their cute baby, Norma and her kids, maybe even Tim and Alex, and we were smiling and clinking our glasses, and on the table in front of us were plates and plates full of beautiful food, like a banquet in a dream world. Everyone was laughing, everyone seemed happy, and suddenly I was filled with happiness, too, and Ricky was walking and his face had healed, and the baby really did have dreadlocks. It was so real I could have reached out my hand and grabbed a colorful plate with sauces swirled in patterns, and edible flowers, and everything cooked to perfection with all the flavors I had loved in my restaurant, of Asia and the southwest, the taste of that one moment when the food comes up perfect on the plate, like a painting.
Then the vision dissolved. In real life, I didn’t know what would happen next, but instead of scaring me, it felt good not to know. Maybe Norma would change her mind and insist on putting our house back on the market. Maybe Pam and Milo would get married in Las Vegas by an Elvis impersonator. Maybe Ricky really would get better, and he and Star would buy a van and drive to California, or Bermuda, the way they had always talked about. Maybe I would open another restaurant in town, or on the moon. All I knew was that somehow, I didn’t know where or when, I would cook again because that was what I loved, and for now, we were in our house, sharing it happily with our ghosts, and the creek ran under us on its way to the Chesapeake Bay.
