“For your information, your pullout couch is incredibly uncomfortable. I was flopping around trying to find a comfortable spot all night,” John said. Grinning devilishly, he knew he shouldn’t, but he said it anyway. “I was about ready to sneak into your room and crawl into bed with you.”
“I appreciate that you didn’t,” Mr. Gesner said suddenly, appearing right behind Gretchen and making her jump.
“I…just…uh …” John’s brain and tongue were suddenly frozen in horrified embarrassment. Gretchen smirked at him and jabbed his shoulder.
“He’s just kidding. Daddy knows I’m not a little girl anymore,” Gretchen said, eyeing her dad pointedly. She led him to a chair at the table and sat down next to him.
Suddenly, John’s mind seemed to unfreeze and he desperately tried to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gesner. I was joking, and, uh…” His apology trailed off. He didn’t want to lie and say it would never happen. Never was a strong word. Actually, he was hoping someday his bedroom would go back to being a guest bedroom and he could move his stuff into Gretchen’s room. John didn’t know what else to say.
“Gretchen…” Mr. Gesner said, still eyeing John. “John seems like a nice young man, but you two haven’t known each other that long.”
Gretchen eyed him without backing down. “Come on. I would expect that kind of intrusive comment from Mom, not from you. I’m an adult, not a goofy teenager still living upstairs in my little girl bedroom.”
Now her dad looked embarrassed. “Well, I just…you’re still my little girl, Gigi, and I don’t want you getting hurt again like last time.”
“I know,” Gretchen said. John felt he was intruding on a very private father-daughter conversation. He tried to be as invisible as possible.
“John has his own room, Dad. We’re comfortable with that, for now. And you don’t have to worry about me getting hurt. I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine,” she said.
Silence fell over the room. Abandoning the finished salad, John went back to the frittata and took it out of the oven. He was dropping hot biscuits into a basket when Mrs. Gesner appeared around the corner, fully dressed and ready to go.
“What on earth are you making, John? It smells wonderful,” she said.
“Spinach and mushroom frittata, Mrs. Gesner, along with some biscuits and fruit salad. I hope you’re hungry.”
Taking the chair next to her husband, she said. “I think I ate too many of your delicious hors d’oeuvres last night to be too famished this morning, but you’re such a wonderful chef, I wouldn’t dream of missing an opportunity to eat one of your meals.”
John served breakfast a few minutes later, breaking up their conversation about the wedding Gretchen’s parents were on their way to attend. Mr. Gesner seemed to have forgotten John’s earlier blunder, or at least he was pretending he had for Gretchen’s sake. John sat down across from him and hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances of being welcomed into the family.
“So, John, now that you’re all healed up, what are you planning to do with yourself,” Mr. Gesner said. “I’m assuming intend to get a job. What do you think you’d like to do?”
“Dad,” Gretchen whined, “could you please not grill John about getting a job. He’s had a lot to deal with. He probably hasn’t even thought about it that much.”
“Actually, I think I may have gotten a job last night,” John said.
“What?” Gretchen asked, fork halted halfway to her mouth. “How did you get a job at the party last night?”
“Your friends, Melanie and Eric, the ones getting married in a couple weeks, offered me a job,” John said. The confusion on Gretchen’s face was laughable.
“They’re both teachers. How did they offer you a job?” Gretchen asked.
“Apparently, the caterer they hired for their wedding bailed on them yesterday. They liked the food so much last night, and they seemed to know I wasn't doing much else right now, so they asked me if I wanted to cater their wedding,” John said. “I love cooking, so why not get paid to do it?”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Gesner said. Even Gretchen’s dad was nodding.
Gretchen looked worried. “Are you sure, John? Catering a wedding is a lot of work.”
“I’ll be fine. They already have the menu planned out and the food ordered. All I have to do is show up and cook. They said they had already planned on having their nieces and nephews be the servers. Apparently they have a lot of nieces and nephews.” Gretchen started to look a little less concerned.
“Well,” she said, “if you’re sure. Just let me know what you need me do, I guess.”
“What you need Gretchen to do is stay out of the kitchen,” her mom muttered. Gretchen scowled, but her mother just said, “You never were much of a cook, dear.”
“It’s not that I wasn't good at cooking, I just didn’t like doing it,” Gretchen said. The pout on her face was adorable. That reminded John of something.
Leaning over to her, he whispered, “Did your dad call you Gigi?”
Gretchen’s face turned scarlet. She looked away and left John grinning. She was never going to live that down.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Last Time
As soon as her parents left the kitchen to get started on their packing, Gretchen spun around to face John. He stared at her expectantly, knowing what was coming. Smiling, he folded his arms across his chest and waited. His quiet teasing almost made Gretchen forget what she was going to say. Almost.
Jabbing her finger against his chest, she said, “If I ever hear the word Gigi come out of your mouth again, I’ll…I won’t let you in the kitchen for a week.”
John actually looked a little surprised at that. Gretchen had no real way of making good on her threat, but she thought he realized how serious she was. “Why didn’t you tell me your dad called you…that?”
“I hate the name Gigi even more than Gretch. My dad is the only person I have ever let call me that,” she said. “You have no idea how much the other kids tortured me and my sister because of our names. My sister was Moldy Mildred all through grade school until she turned into a ridiculously gorgeous teenager and told everyone her name was Millie. And I got called Gretch the Wretch until some of the boys figured out that if you changed a few letters in that they got something a whole lot meaner. Millie at least figured out a nickname for herself. I couldn’t even come up with that. Gigi is a million times worse than Gretch.”
“Gretchen, I don’t understand why you get so upset about your name,” John said. “I love the name Gretchen. It fits you so perfectly.”
Gretchen snorted and looked away.
“I’m serious,” he said. “It’s a little old fashioned and unusual, but that isn’t a bad thing. It’s also a memorable name, a name that’s strong and fun at the same time. It’s a little quirky, but so are you. How many other people would do what you’ve done for me? You are unique and beautiful and fun and serious, just like your name. And I think Gigi is adorable. I think of it every time you laugh at yourself or blush when you get embarrassed. Your name is only one of many things that makes you special. But if you really insist, I won’t call you Gigi. Out loud, at least.”
Somewhere amid all of that, Gretchen’s embarrassment and anger melted away. She had spent twenty-three years hating everything about her name, and in one fell swoop John had almost entirely taken that away. Looking at her name as something unique that told people who she was in just one word had never occurred to her before. Her name had always been something to avoid talking about. John made it sound like a badge of honor. How did he do that?
Slowly, a bit of a smile turned up the corners of Gretchen’s mouth. “Maybe it’s not that bad,” she said.
Smiling triumphantly, John took her hand and kissed her fingers. He didn’t ask if her admission made it okay for him to call her Gigi, and Gretchen didn’t offer him any kind of answer. The idea that her name wasn't the worst thing in her life would take a little getting used to. Gretchen t
hought John understood that from her silence. At least, he didn’t press the point. They left it there, him getting up to load the dishwasher and her leaving to go take a shower.
An hour later, Gretchen emerged from her room dressed, refreshed, and excited to spend the rest of the morning with her parents. That only lasted until she took two steps out of her room and ran into her mom, who was looking very determined for some reason. Gretchen knew that look. She had something on her mind and she wasn't going to let her daughter out of her sight until she told Gretchen exactly what it was.
“Gretchen, dear, come outside with me for a minute, your begonias look like they have bugs,” her mom said.
It was a weak excuse, Gretchen’s mom left the landscaping and yard work to her husband or the kid who lived down the street from them, but Gretchen forced herself to smile, and said, “Sure, Mom.”
They walked out to the front yard and stood looking at of a bed of flowers that had been planted by the previous owners. Gretchen wasn’t sure whether or not there were any begonias in the planter. Aside from watering them every so often, she didn’t pay much attention to them. Her mom, however, was pretending to inspect the plants, from a distance, of course.
Giving her time to collect her thoughts, Gretchen glanced over toward Carl’s house without thinking. She started when she saw him walking to his truck. He was looking over at her as well, stopping when their eyes met. She expected him to head toward her, his ever-present grin leading the way, but instead he just gave a quick wave and kept walking.
Carl had never just walked by her before. Never. Carl did not give up a chance to try and steal a hug. The way his head hung and he avoided looking at her crushed Gretchen. She had the worst desire to run over and try to explain, but what was she going to say? She had already told him so many times. There wasn’t anything left to say. Maybe this was best.
Watching him drive away, Gretchen couldn’t believe that.
“That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about,” her mom said suddenly.
Turning back to her, Gretchen frowned. “What?”
“Carl, he’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Gretchen didn’t want to do this with her. “Mom, we’ve already talked about this. Carl and I have talked about this. I’ve even talked to John about this. Well, kind of. But the point is, it’s been covered. Carl is just going to have to accept the way things are,” she said.
“That’s not what I mean,” her mom said. “You told me why you didn’t want to date Carl, and I respect that.”
“Then what do you mean.” Gretchen was lost. Her mom had spent months trying to talk her into giving Carl a chance. And now she was saying she respected her decision? That hardly made sense to Gretchen, but it probably did to her mom.
“I wanted to talk to you about why you’re willing to give John the same chance you argued with me about giving Carl for six months,” she said.
Looking at the path Carl had just taken to slip away, Gretchen’s eyes narrowed at his retreat. “Have you been talking to Carl?” she asked.
Her mom frowned. “Carl talked about you or his job, not this. I’m asking because I’m concerned, not because someone put words in my mouth.”
Gretchen knew that tone of voice as well as she knew the look that led her out to the front yard in the first place. She was treading on thin ice. Knowing that only made the fact she didn’t have any more of an answer for her mom than she did for Carl even worse.
“I’m only asking because I saw what happened to you last time.” Gretchen turned away, not wanting to relive that, but her mom continued. “I couldn’t believe it when you came home after college. I didn’t understand when you told us you weren’t going to walk for graduation, not until you walked through the front door. You looked so different. You’d lost weight. Your hair looked awful. It was obvious that you’d cried the whole way home. I was honestly scared for you then, Gretchen.”
“But I got over it,” Gretchen said.
“Only because you had a job to get ready for,” she said. Her mom put her arms around Gretchen’s shoulders and hugged her. “You stayed in bed for two weeks. You wouldn’t even tell me what happened until I finally dragged you out of your room and threatened to kick you out if you didn’t. Even then, you moped around the house, not seeing your friends, not going out, nothing. I was half convinced you weren’t even going to go through with the move and the new job. I thank God to this day you already had the job here lined up before you fell apart. Otherwise, I think you would still be lying on my couch at home.”
“Mom, you’re being overdramatic. It wasn't that bad,” Gretchen said, looking down so her mom wouldn’t see the lingering pain in her eyes.
“Yes, it was,” she said. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be trying not to cry right now just thinking about it.
Gretchen sniffed, giving away how right she was. She remembered those long summer days all too well. Having her mom remind her of how she acted and looked shamed Gretchen to no end, but at the time, it was all she could do not to give up on everything. It was easier now, almost a year later, but it still hurt to think about it.
“I don’t want to see you go through that again. I don’t think either of us could take that,” her mom said.
“What does this have to do with me choosing John over Carl?” Gretchen asked.
“You told me why you wouldn’t date Carl, because he was too good of a friend to lose if things didn’t work out between you and him. I’m well aware of the fact that if John ever recovers his memory, it might take him away from you.” Gretchen’s mom turned to face her. Her questioning gaze was filled with an honest concern only a mother could manage. “Carl befriended you when you had no one. He’s helped you and tried his hardest to get you to fall for him over the past year, but you turned him down. John drops into your life and all of the sudden you’re putting yourself out there again. I want to know why now, why John and not Carl.”
“Either way, I could end up hurt. I’m supposed to love again, aren’t I?” Gretchen asked. “What does it matter that I chose to take the risk with John instead of Carl?”
“Because,” her mom said, “it’s a lot more likely that John is going to be the one to hurt you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tempting and Stealing
Standing up to his elbows in mini quiches, John couldn’t help wonder what on earth he had been thinking when he agreed to cater a wedding. It was way too big of a job for just one person. Melanie’s crew of nieces and nephews were the only thing keeping John afloat. Gretchen had wanted to help, but John told her in no uncertain terms that she was not allowed in the kitchen. He didn’t want her to miss her friend’s wedding because of him. She was one of the bridesmaids. John hadn’t wanted her trying to do both.
“The ceremony just ended,” Clara, one of the nieces, said as she popped her head into the kitchen.
“Are there salads and bread baskets on every table? Drinks?” John asked.
“Everything’s set.”
They were good. Apparently, this wasn't the first time the nieces and nephews of Melanie’s family had been called on to play the part of wait staff at a family event. The oldest was only sixteen, but John wanted to kiss each of them for their help. Clara had been especially helpful, organizing all of her cousins and making sure they did exactly what they were supposed to be doing. They were doing an amazing job.
“Great,” John said. Mini quiches slid off the baking tray and onto the serving platter with a satisfying whoosh. “Take this last tray out to the appetizer table and gather everyone up and get them back here to the kitchen so we can start plating the entrée.”
“No problem,” Clara said, bouncing as she turned.
“Oh, and, Clara,” John said. She paused, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Thanks for all the help.”
Beaming at the compliment, Clara bounded down the hall to gather her cousins. John watched her go and sighed as the stack of one hundred
plates caught his eye. The work was only beginning. Aching for something to sit on, John pushed ahead and went to grab a stack of plates. Thundering steps rang down the hallway as the nieces and nephews barreled into the kitchen. Clara barked out orders and, in minutes, they were plating fish, chicken, and beef, and carrying it out to the waiting friends and family of Eric and Melanie.
Twenty minutes later, a gangly boy of fourteen named Zack carried out the last two plates and left John alone in the kitchen. Sinking down to the kitchen counter, his head resting in his hands, John tried to ignore the pain in his leg. The cast had been off for several weeks, but it still ached if he used it for too long. John guessed that was what came from having it broken in three places.
The soft sound of rented dishware sliding across the table startled John. His head snapped up to find Clara standing in front of him, a plate of steaming pot roast, garlic potatoes, and almond covered green beans on the counter. He looked around, wondering how she had snuck up on him so easily. John could have sworn the room was empty a few seconds ago.
“Well, don’t just stare at it. Eat!” Clara said happily. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks, Clara, but I think you and your cousins did most of the work.”
She smiled and made herself a plate as well. Walking back over to the island counter where John was standing, Clara handed him her plate. John took it, unsure of why she was giving it to him, and then watched her hop onto the counter to sit, looking at him. John handed her back her plate with an amused smile and turned back to his own meal.
“Mmm,” Clara said, “this is really good, John.”
“Are you surprised?” John asked, digging into his own meal. It really was good.
Clara laughed. “Yeah, actually. My mom told me you were like in a coma, or something, and you forgot everything.” John nodded, his mouth full of beef. “I guess I was just surprised someone who forgot everything they used to know could cook so well.”
Memory's Edge: Part One Page 15
