“I’d say it’s working.” Bev grinned. Gilda and Margaret nodded and giggled.
“What’s working?” Adrian suddenly felt a little hazy.
“Honey, there’s marijuana in everything we’re eating,” Gilda said, pulling her hands down from combing her hair.
Adrian’s eyes grew wide as she eyed the pesto pasta and salad with an herb vinaigrette. Paranoia set in. “What if my mom finds out?”
“Too late,” Margaret said. The three of them erupted with laughter.
“Margie, you didn’t tell her?” Gilda asked between giggles, elbowing her friend playfully.
“Hey, she wanted to be included.” Margaret shrugged and gave a goofy smile. “So, here we are.”
“I can’t believe you got me high.” Adrian’s jaw felt like it hit the floor. She knew her mother was capable of a lot but drugging her was unexpected.
“Lighten up, Adrian. Have a brownie.” Margaret smiled, cutting into the pan to serve dessert.
“Are these…?”
Margaret nodded, reading her mind. “The oil from Harold.”
Adrian couldn’t believe it. Her mother was a pothead. And had a drug dealer. And pothead friends.
“Oh, Harold.” Bev sighed. “You should totally hit that.”
“Nah.” Margaret brushed it off. “I raised a daughter, I buried a husband, I’ve lived my life.” She had a slightly dreamy look in her eyes.
“Was he all googly-eyed when he dropped off the oil?” Gilda leaned toward Adrian.
“They both were!”
“Adrian!” Margaret admonished, and everyone laughed.
“Whatever. It’s true.”
Margaret stuck out her tongue at Adrian.
“What about you, dear?” Bev asked. “I heard you ran into my nephew today.
“Who’s that?”
“Christian.”
“Oh, yes. I did…but not literally.” Adrian mimicked a run-in by slapping her hands together, giggling.
“No brownie for you, lightweight.” Margaret took the brownie from Adrian.
Adrian slapped her mother’s hand to leave it be, and Margaret drew it back in surprise. “I can hang,” Adrian made a wave-like motion with her hand. When in Rome, right?
Gilda laughed. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“Did he say anything about me?” Adrian asked.
“Not much. He played it cool,” Bev said. “Although I know he had a thing for you back in high school.” She winked.
“Really?” Adrian felt giddy, like she was seventeen again. Funny how time changed things. If she’d heard Christian had a thing for her back then, she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But hearing it now excited her.
“Yeah, but don’t hold your breath.” Margaret mumbled through a bite of brownie.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been gun shy ever since his ex cheated on him,” Bev said.
“Yeah, I can relate. I mean, I can understand that.” Adrian quickly corrected herself while Margaret raised an eyebrow at her.
“So, what about you and Christian, then?” Gilda asked.
“How did she put it? I buried a husband…I think I’m done?”
“Smart ass,” Margaret said with a playful shove.
“You’re too young to give up.” Bev touched Adrian’s hand. “Just give yourself some time.”
“Alright, enough talk. Let’s play cards.” Margaret pushed back from the table to retrieve the deck of cards, handing them to Gilda.
“You in?” Gilda asked.
“Yeah, I’m already in this far, so why not?” Adrian shrugged. Gilda shuffled the cards and dealt everyone in for Gin Rummy. While Adrian lost hand after hand, thoughts of Christian poked through her marijuana haze.
Adrian rubbed the sleep from her eyes while she got dressed. Her mind worked overtime, still processing the things she’d learned at the previous night’s dinner party (and perhaps still waiting for some of the buzz to wear off). Her mother, against her doctor’s advice, wasn’t undergoing any treatment for cancer. Adrian couldn’t understand the logic or the lack of fight from a woman who was a perpetual fighter. Why was she giving up?
A light knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Mind if I come in?” Margaret asked, poking her head through the doorway. Adrian nodded, and her mother barely entered the room, leaning against the wall near the doorway. “Going somewhere?”
“Just out.”
“I take it you’re mad at me.” Margaret looked down at her feet.
“No, I’m not mad.” Adrian pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “But I need you to be honest with me.”
Margaret looked down, picking at an invisible piece of lint on her nightgown. “What do you want to know?”
“Why aren’t you undergoing any kind of treatment?”
Margaret sighed. “Look, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. You’d try to tell me I needed to undergo chemo or whatever treatment plan my doctor could scheme up. I saw what chemo did to Gilda and Bev, and they got lucky. They caught their cancer early. I wasn’t so lucky with mine.”
“So, you’re just going to give up?” Adrian’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t peg you as a quitter, Ma.”
Margaret fidgeted with her nightgown. “I’m not expecting you to understand, but I am asking you to respect my decision.”
That was just like her. It was okay for her to have an opinion about everything Adrian ever did, or didn’t do for that matter, but when the tables were turned, her choices were never up for debate.
“Fine.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay.” Adrian grabbed her purse. “I’m going out. Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good.”
“If you change your mind, just call me.”
Margaret nodded. Adrian studied her, seeing a hint of fear behind her eyes. She realized her mother must be scared, knowing her time was running out. Without thinking, Adrian wrapped her arms around her mother, partly to comfort herself but mostly to comfort her mother. Stunned, it took Margaret a few moments to lift one hand and place it on her daughter’s shoulder. Adrian pulled back, looked her mother in the eyes and forced a smile. She squeezed her shoulder and left.
Once out of sight, Adrian felt a tear stream down her face. The toughness instilled in her by her mother still ran deep. She still couldn’t cry in front of her, even after hearing she wouldn’t fight the cancer. With her health rapidly deteriorating, Margaret needed to lean on a pillar of strength, not a puddle of tears. Could Adrian really handle the last stretch of her mother’s journey, supporting her as she crossed over from this life to the next?
She sat in her car, her hands on the steering wheel. She felt lost as she dialed Laura’s number. “You won’t believe what I found out last night,” Adrian said when her friend answered. “My mom isn’t going to treat her cancer.”
“Wow. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?” Dylan whimpered in the background.
“Not too good.” Adrian paused, lighting a cigarette. “I just don’t understand why she won’t at least try to fight it.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that. You know it’s an uphill battle trying to convince her after she’s made up her mind about something. I guess all you can do is try to be supportive of her decision, as much as you don’t agree with it.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to help her.”
There was a pause on the line. “You know, I heard something about golden milk being good for cancer.”
“Golden what?” What kind of hippie remedy was Laura recommending now?
“Golden milk. It’s made with turmeric, which is good for inflammation and pain management. I’ll send you the recipe.”
“Do I need to go to a witch doctor to get the ingredients for this or wait for a full moon or Chuck Norris’s tears or something?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny. You can get everything at a gr
ocery store.” Dylan’s whimpering turned into screaming. “I better go but try making the milk. I think it could at least help her feel a little better.”
Adrian agreed, and they hung up.
11
After a successful afternoon painting at the beach, Adrian stalked the aisles at Brennan’s Grocery to find the items on the list Laura sent over. Adrian felt proud of her work that afternoon and looked forward to sharing it at the next group meeting. Referring to her text, she checked coconut milk off the list and proceeded to the spice aisle to pick up other ingredients.
The concoction didn’t seem too hippie-dippy. And if it helped her mother feel better, that was all that mattered. Although, getting her to drink it might present another set of challenges, but Adrian would cross that bridge later.
She rounded the corner and searched the spices for turmeric, ginger, black pepper and cinnamon. She grabbed the jars and put them in her basket, referring to the list to see what was left.
“You didn’t strike me as the golden milk type.” She turned to see Christian smiling at her, his cobalt blue tie slightly undone. His gray pinstripe suit jacket was unbuttoned, revealing a crisp white shirt that hugged his chiseled body in all the right places. His eyes met hers, and her skin prickled with excitement.
“I’m full of surprises.” She smiled back.
“I have no doubt.” He winked.
Blood rushed to her cheeks, and her stomach fluttered under his scrutiny. She noticed he had a six-pack of beer under one arm and a frozen pizza under the other. “Your evening plans look a lot more exciting than mine.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? I lead a very exciting life.”
Adrian laughed. He licked his lips, drawing attention to the soft fullness of his smile. She thought about those lips gently brushing against her skin and felt certain parts of her body spring to life.
Another patron excused himself past them, breaking the spell. Christian studied the contents in her basket. “You’re missing coconut oil and honey. Do you already have that at home?”
She thought about her mother’s coconut oil and was certain that wouldn’t be Dr. Laura approved. Christian tried to decipher her micro expressions before she shook her head. “I better get them, just in case.”
“Coconut oil is over there.” He nodded toward the end of the aisle. “Here, mind if I…?” He motioned to her basket, asking if he could handle it for her. She nodded, and he put his items in the basket and guided her toward the oil, gently placing his hand on her back. Waves of excitement flowed through her body. She watched him bend over to grab the coconut oil and admired the view. “Honey is in aisle two,” he said, leading the way again with his hand.
“It sure is nice of you to accompany me through the store.”
“Don’t let this place fool you,” he said, looking side to side. “It can be rough.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about geriatric gangs on the loose.”
“Hey, getting poked with a cane is no joke, and I’d hate to leave a lady in danger.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” She raised an eyebrow, still very conscious of his hand on her body.
“Maybe, but don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a rep to protect.”
She laughed as they rounded the corner toward the honey.
“You’ll want local honey instead of regular.” He handed her a jar. His fingers lightly brushed hers, lingering longer than necessary.
“You sound like my friend Laura.”
“Laura’s a smart girl, then.”
She examined the contents of the basket. “I think that’s it for me. What can I help you find?”
“I’ve got everything I need.”
Her skin felt hot from his gaze. Was he also blushing, or was that her imagination?
They headed toward the checkout and waited in line. Christian told her to go ahead of him.
“So, what do you do to have to suit up every day?”
“I’m a lawyer. I took over for my uncle when he died, and I have a partner…in practice. Not that kind of partner.” He cleared his throat.
“Gotcha.” She smiled at his display of nerves.
“What about you?”
“I’m just taking care of my mom right now. I was living in Austin for a while, working in tech.”
“I’ve never been to Austin, but this must be a big change of pace.”
She nodded as he reached past her to grab the divider. Her knees threatened to buckle as she smelled a hint of his cologne.
The cashier gave her the total as she smacked gum. Adrian handed her a card and she swiped, staring at Christian. The cashier checked to make sure there were no bumps on the top of her blond ponytail.
Adrian looked at Christian, who seemed oblivious to the cashier’s interest. He clearly had no idea how attractive he was, which only made him hotter. Adrian never liked men who knew they were good looking. His lack of awareness of his effect on women was endearing.
She waited for him to complete his transaction, and they walked out together. “It was so nice running into you again,” she said.
“You can run into me anytime,” he blurted. They both blushed.
She could feel the heat radiating between them, and she sensed he might ask her out. She thought about Brad, which killed the buzz in the air. “Enjoy the beer.”
“Oh, I will,” he said with a hint of disappointment.
She felt his eyes on her while she walked toward the car. She looked over her shoulder to see if he was still watching. He was. The chemistry between them was palpable, but she didn’t have any business getting involved with anyone. She fought the urge to turn around as she got in her car and drove away.
Margaret shuffled into the kitchen and saw Adrian standing over a pot, watching it boil. The spices in the air tickled her nose. What kind of weird soup was she making for dinner?
“What is that smell?” she asked.
“Golden milk.”
“What’s golden milk?”
“Laura recommended it.” Adrian stirred the pot. “She said it will help you feel better.”
“I didn’t ask for…whatever that is.” Margaret sat down in her designated spot at the kitchen table.
“Just humor me, Ma. And if not me, do it for Laura.”
Margaret scoffed as she rubbed her eyes. “Laura…since when did she become so granola?”
She thought she saw Adrian crack a smile as she ladled some milk into a mug and set it in front of her, joining Margaret at the table.
Margaret eyed the mug. “This looks like puke.”
“It’s not puke.”
“Well, you could have fooled me.” Margaret sniffed the mug. “It smells funny.”
“Just drink it, will you? Look, I’ll have some with you.” Adrian ladled the golden concoction into a mug for herself and returned to the table. “See? We’ll do it together.” She held up her mug, waiting for Margaret to do the same.
“Okay, kid. It’s your funeral,” Margaret said, picking up her mug with a shaky hand. “Bottom’s up.” She clinked her mug against Adrian’s and they both held eye contact while they brought their mugs to their respective lips. Margaret secretly waited for Adrian to take a sip first, just in case she keeled over at the table.
“See? This is good,” Adrian said.
Margaret took a sip, feeling the warmth coat her throat. “That is kind of nice, I suppose.” She examined her mug again. Who would have thought something so unappealing to the eye would taste so good? “What’s this do again?”
“Laura said it helps with pain and some other stuff. I don’t remember.”
They sipped in silence. Margaret had so much she wanted to say but no clue how to say it. How could she make up for years of misunderstandings before it was too late?
“How is Laura doing, anyway?” Better to stick with safe topics for the time being.
“She’s good. Dylan is growing so quickly, and somehow, she balances being a super mom with selling houses
and teaching yoga.”
Margaret, unsure of what to say, took another sip from her mug. She never considered herself a super mom, and in fact, there was so much she would go back and change if she could do it all over again. Why did women hold themselves to those insane standards? Margaret never participated in the stupid games women play with one another, like How to Outdo Every Woman You Know, or I’m a Better Mom Than You. She knew better than to think Laura was handling all three of those responsibilities well and being a super wife on top of that. Chances were, Laura was barely holding it together. Margaret knew that feeling all too well.
“Ma?”
Margaret shook her head. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“I said it was really nice meeting your friends last night. When are they coming over again?”
“Oh, probably next week. They really enjoyed meeting you too, by the way.”
They both went quiet again. Margaret enjoyed the warmth of the milk as it radiated through her body. She felt it gurgle in her stomach from nerves, knowing there would never be a good time to re-open old wounds. But they needed to in order for them both to heal.
“I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, and I know I have a funny way of showing it, but I hope you know I’m glad you’re here.” Margaret reached her hand across the table.
Adrian, dumbfounded, looked down at her mother’s hand resting on hers. “I—,” Her phone rang. “It’s Laura.”
“Go on, take it,” Margaret said, retreating her hand. Apparently, it wasn’t the time. “Tell her I said thank you…for the milk.”
Adrian nodded as she answered, leaving the table to head outside to smoke a cigarette, no doubt.
Margaret finished her mug, rinsing it in the sink before placing it in the dishwasher. She settled into her familiar recliner in the living room but not before pressing her ear to the front door to listen to the low hum of her daughter talking to her best friend, smiling as she heard her laugh.
Unfinished Business Page 8
