by Ashley Pullo
“Christina will recover, but I need to be straight with you, Ms. DeMarco. If there’s a next time, her heart won’t be able to handle the stress.”
“I can’t lose her, doctor. She’s my entire life.”
Squeezing her shoulder, Dr. Fletcher adds, “I understand. You will need to seek treatment for Christina – would you like to meet with a social worker to discuss options?”
Shaking her head and wiping away dry tears, Lois states, “I found a place in Florida near my parent’s house that offers a payment plan. When will she be released?”
“It’s too early to say, but as long as everything remains clear the next few days, she could go home as early as Monday.”
Exhaling in relief and dropping her shoulders in exhaustion, Lois says, “Thank you, Dr. Fletcher.”
“There’s no need for you to be here until she’s moved to a room. Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Ms. DeMarco.”
“I don’t want to leave her, but I do need to make a few phone calls and arrangements. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“I’ll keep you informed,” the doctor adds with a comforting smile before heading back through the ICU doors.
Lois drops into the nearest chair – weak and completely weightless. She closes her eyes once again and smiles . . .
Only this time, it’s the future dancing across her eyelids.
“Do you normally close on Saturdays?” Shelby asks while running a box cutter over the FedEx tape of a box.
“We’re not really closed, but I don’t post the hours outside the shop. Our schedule is so screwy around here that we decided to just let things flow.”
“Ah, so what happens if someone comes in while we’re unpacking all this shit? And why is the bubble wrap yellow?”
“Why so many questions, baby brother?”
“I’m cranky, I guess. What do you have to eat back there?” Shelby motions to the kitchen as Thessaly’s phone rings.
Grabbing it from the island and recognizing Lois’ number, she quickly mumbles, “Lots of healthy stuff. I need to take this call.”
Shelby closes the blade and nods to Thessaly. He stretches his arms and twists his torso in opposing directions before announcing, “I’ll grab some breakfast.”
“Iced latte,” Thessaly shouts at Shelby as he leaves the store. Swiping her phone to answer the call, Thessaly says, “Lois?”
“Tess, I have great news! Christina will be discharged in a few days.”
Sighing and praying to the heavens, Thessaly expresses, “Thank God, Lois. What can I do to help?”
“Tess, I’m afraid I have bad news as well.”
“Okay.” Thessaly bites her lip as she sits at the island.
“Christina will start a rehab program in two weeks.”
Glancing at the vase of flowers from Levi, Thessaly replies, “That’s a good thing, Lois.”
“The rehabilitation facility is in Florida,” Lois whispers.
“Oh.” Slouching over the counter, Thessaly props head on her arm.
“And I’m moving in with my parents so I can be close to Christina and eliminate my living expenses. The rehab is going to cost me nearly fifty-thousand dollars.”
“Holy crap, Lois. Maybe we can host a fundraiser or something?” Thessaly suggests.
“That would embarrass Christina, and she has to trust me.”
Thessaly’s phone vibrates with an incoming text, but she ignores it to finish her conversation with Lois. “Last night, Seth and Meg agreed to give you their remaining vacation days to help out with some of the medical bills. It’s not a lot, but it would give you another week’s salary on top of your early holiday bonus I can offer. I wish I could do more, Lois.”
Lois sobs, “You three are like family to me.”
“I feel the same way,” Thessaly replies.
“Tess, thank you for stealing me away from King’s last year and offering me an exciting adventure. I wish you all the success and happiness.”
“Don’t make me cry, Lois! Promise me, when Christina’s feeling better, you’ll pop in and let us give you two a proper New York sendoff?”
“Deal. I have to meet with my landlord now – I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Take care, Lois.”
“Bye, Tess.”
Ending the call, Thessaly walks to the kitchen while reading a text.
Mason: Let’s finish our conversation.
Thessaly: Give me the weekend to think about it.
Tucking her phone in the pocket of her shorts, Thessaly opens the small wall safe behind the mixing bowls. She removes the company’s book of checks and places it on the work station. Grabbing a pen from the canister near the refrigerator, Thessaly makes out a check to Lois DeMarco for two-thousand dollars. She then accounts for the check in the register and returns the book to the safe.
“Tess?” Shelby shouts outside the kitchen door.
“In here,” Thessaly responds while addressing an envelope.
Shelby pushes open the door carrying a caddy of Dunkin Donuts coffee and a box of donuts. “Strawberry frosted with sprinkles,” he ploys.
“Ugh, their iced coffee is watery.”
Removing a large iced vanilla latte from the cardboard caddy, Shelby suggests, “Chase it with a glazed donut.”
Thessaly leans against the work station and sighs. She gouges the plastic cup with an orange straw and groans.
Talking with his mouth full, he asks, “What’s up, sis?”
“Mason asked me to marry him. And move to London.” Taking a sip from her coffee, Thessaly adds, “Or maybe it was move to London and hypothetically get married.”
“Weren’t you engaged once before?”
“He’s never really proposed, or maybe I never really answered – God, I’m so confused.”
“So he asked you to move to New York with him, and now he wants you to move to London, but you’re not together?” Shoving the rest of his donut in his mouth, Shelby adds, “Seems like he just wants a moving buddy.”
Thessaly stomps her foot and laughs. “Holy shit! Mason’s such a pussy!”
“I could’ve told you that,” Shelby drawls.
“He needs me, but once he’s settled, he doesn’t want me. I’m like his, his . . .”
“His blankie,” interjects Shelby.
Thessaly nods while her eyes expand in horror. “Oh, my God – Mason had this torn flannel blanket at Duke. He’d sleep with it every night, and I mean every night. He’d also wear it like a cape when he was sick. One time, I tossed it in the hamper to take to the laundry room, and he went ballistic!” Tilting her head and frowning, she mumbles, “I’m his flannel blanket.”
“Nah, you’re just really sweet.”
Reaching for a strawberry donut, Thessaly exhales and lowers her head. “I don’t want to move to London. I want Levi.”
“Then buy some,” Shelby replies as he leaves the kitchen. “These boxes won’t unpack themselves, TayTay.”
Laughing, Thessaly grabs her coffee and follows him into the shop. “I really like the square jars, don’t you?”
“Amazing. Sometimes, when I’m sitting in my neurology clerkship discussing brain anomalies, I’m actually daydreaming about square jars.” Shelby positions the containers of raw honey on the island and whistles along to the music blasting through the speakers.
“Shelby?”
Crouching down near the stack of boxes and removing his box cutter, Shelby says, “Yeah?”
“I love you,” Thessaly proclaims.
“You should.”
While Shelby and Thessaly organize the inventory and argue over the best television spinoffs, Seth and Meg waltz into the store holding hands.
“Did you hear from Lois?” Meg asks, ripping her hand away from Seth.
Smiling at her friends, she replies, “I did. Christina is going to be fine. Although, they’re moving to Florida.”
Seth picks up a large container of honey and scowls. “That sucks.”
“It’s for the best,” Thessaly says with conviction. “And by the way, are you two official?”
“Officially not dating, if that’s what you’re asking!” Meg leans against the island and grins. “Hey, Doogie. How’s New York treatin’ ya?”
Sitting on the floor and retying the laces to his sneakers, Shelby answers, “Not bad. I managed to get tickets for Jimmy Fallon tonight – wanna come?”
“Hell yeah!” Meg exclaims.
Standing from the floor and slapping Seth’s arm, Shelby apologizes, “Sorry, man, I only scored two tickets.”
“It’s cool. I’ll just watch Silicon Valley with my roommate. Maybe grill some cheese sandwiches and share a six pack . . .” mutters Seth.
“Awesome,” Shelby agrees. “Donuts?”
Meg follows Shelby to the kitchen while Seth helps Thessaly unwrap the remaining jars. “Jimmy Fallon and a doctor? I can’t even compete,” Seth drones.
“I wouldn’t worry. Meg is totally into you.”
Spilling from the kitchen with a napkin and two glazed donuts, Meg frowns. “Did I hear my name?” She places a napkin on the island and then shoves the shiny golden pastry into Seth’s face.
Seth rips off a piece with his teeth and smiles at Meg. She moves closer to him, their bodies touching, and whispers, “Good boy.” Spinning back around to face Thessaly, Meg says, “I was thinking we could suspend online orders for the remainder of the month. Without Lois, and with the new launch coming, it will be impossible to keep our high standards of delivery.”
“How many pending orders do we have?” asks Thessaly.
“I’ll look again, but I think less than ten. We can fill those tomorrow and ship them out on Monday.”
“All I have to do on my end is deactivate the online store – which is really easy.”
“Then let’s do it.”
“Did you talk to ice cream guy?”
“Mr. Softee!”
“Levi,” Thessaly corrects.
“Like the jeans?” Shelby teases.
Clarifying the confusion, Meg recites, “Levi Jones is the owner of Brooklyn Soil. He has a crush on your sister and got a boner during a photo shoot . . .”
“Stop right there,” begs Shelby.
“Levi and I had a few dates this week, but it’s not going to work.”
“Because of Mason?” asks Seth.
Crossing his arms, Shelby scorns, “I thought you ended things with Mason.”
“I tried, but then he asked me to move to London,” answers Thessaly.
“You’re moving to London?” squeals Meg.
“No, I mean, I said no.”
“Good. So what’s up with Levi?” asks Seth.
Ashamed, Thessaly whispers, “Levi took some of my clients.”
“He has honey,” Meg clarifies.
“Brooklyn Soil?” Shelby asks.
“Yes!” Meg and Seth shout in unison.
“Keep up, brother,” teases Thessaly.
“I do actually.” Swiping the iPad from the island, Shelby types in Brooklyn Soil and Immigrants into the Google search bar. Tapping the first title of a dozen articles, Shelby enlarges the screen and passes it to Thessaly. “Mama wanted me to find a youth program in Asheville that would allow troubled kids to spend a week on our farm. Brooklyn Soil kept popping up in my searches when I was researching youth farm programs – it’s pretty impressive.”
As Thessaly skims the article, Seth peers over her shoulder and asks, “So Levi is a good guy?”
“He’s amazing,” Thessaly mumbles.
“And you never googled him?” Meg quips, scrolling through her phone with a smile. “Do you follow his Instagram account?”
“No,” she answers quietly.
“I just did! Damn, he was in the Peace Corps. Look at this photo, Tess.” Meg flips her phone around to reveal a photo of Levi with a group of kids in an open kitchen in Belize. They’re all holding an ear of corn and a sign that reads: We’re so corny!
Thessaly smiles and then continues to read the online article. “What’s the refugee alliance,” she asks the group.
Shelby moves to Thessaly’s side and reads over her shoulder. “It’s a program that offers jobs to refugees seeking asylum. They work in agriculture or the arts while assimilating into New York.” Shelby taps a photo of a young couple on the iPad and addresses his sister. “And take a look at their newest project.”
“Beekeeping,” Thessaly whispers.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be concerned, Tess. They have one Afghani beekeeper, one apiary, and ten colonies.”
“Tess, he posted a pic with you!” Meg exclaims as she squeezes between Shelby and Thessaly. “You look drunk, but beautiful.”
“Obviously you haven’t seen Tess drunk,” Shelby teases.
Placing the iPad on the counter with a screen shot of a black and white photo of Levi planting cabbage, Thessaly calmly says, “Let’s get back to work, Shelby.” Glancing at Seth, she adds, “You two don’t have to stay. Go enjoy your day off!”
Nodding in agreement and pulling Meg away from Shelby, Seth replies, “Let’s go, weirdo.”
Looking at her phone while Seth tugs at her waist, Meg sighs. “Gah, he’s so nice, Tess. I bet Levi has a naughty little secret – the nice guys always get freaky in bed!”
“Bye, Meg.”
“Hey, Meg?” Shelby interrupts. “Meet me at the pub on the corner for drinks around five.” Breaking down a box into a flat rectangle, Shelby adds, “You can come, too, Seth.”
“See you guys later,” Seth grunts, stepping over bubble wrap. “You should lock the door – it’s a mess in here.”
Thessaly waves them off as she glances at the iPad screen with Levi’s picture. “Lock it behind you then,” she mutters.
“What’s next?” Shelby asks.
“Do you want to help me make honey sticks? We’ll use your flame method to seal the straws.”
“Fine, as long as I can pick the music. This crap you have playing right now is awful – Lilith Fair called and they want their lesbians back.”
Tossing Shelby the iPod, Thessaly says, “Go for it.” Heading toward the kitchen, she looks over her shoulder and adds, “Grab my coffee, will ya?”
Inside the kitchen, Thessaly pours raspberry honey into a plastic bottle normally used for mustard. She bought it at a restaurant supply store because the tip is narrow enough to fill a straw. She then removes a box of clear plastic straws from a nearby shelf and two sets of disposable gloves.
“Ah, nature’s Pixie Sticks.” Leaning against the work station and throwing back the last of his coffee, Shelby asks, “Do you remember that Halloween when Mama gave out honey sticks instead of candy?”
“Yes! Didn’t the house get egged?”
“Oh shit, you’re right.”
Handing Shelby a pair of gloves, Thessaly advises, “Trust me, you’ll want to wear them.”
Shelby tosses his coffee in the trashcan and slides on the gloves. “So what’s up with your friends? Are they together?”
“They’re together as far as you’re concerned,” Thessaly warns.
“All right!” Shelby throws his hands up in defense and adds, “I was just asking.”
“Pass me the pliers,” Thessaly says as her phone buzzes. Glancing at Meg’s name, Thessaly removes her gloves and answers the call. “Hey, Meg.”
“Tess – I got a really interesting email.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s from a lady that runs the Pennsylvania chapter of historic inns and bed and breakfasts.”
“Okay?” Thessaly sips her coffee and watches as Shelby spills the straws onto the workstation.
“They want you to submit a vendor proposal. Tess, this is huge!”
“That’s incredible, Meg!”
“I’m forwarding the email to you now.”
“Thanks, Meg.” Thessaly smiles at her brother as he ties a floral apron around his waist. Ending the call and opening the email, Thes
saly mutters, “No way.”
Silently reading the closing salutation from Dani Jones-Rockford a third time, Thessaly finally connects the dots. Laughing as she opens the text thread with Levi, Thessaly types as quickly as her fingers will allow.
Tess: Rooftop @ 7?
“My parents died in a bus crash when I was a young boy. I was raised by my Polish grandparents in Brooklyn. They tried to give me a normal life, but they also thought McDonald’s was an Irish pub.”
Chapter Eleven
“Regular coffee and a knish, Tommy.” Frank Kazlow tucks his oxford shirt into his polyester dress pants and then swipes two packets of mustard from the counter. “You see that Yankees game today?”
“Nah, man. I work all day on Saturdays,” Tommy replies. “Extra napkins?”
“Toss a few in the bag.” Taking his brown paper sack and the small cup of coffee, Frank slaps three dollars, a quarter, and four pennies on the counter. “Same time tomorrow,” he chimes.
“Take care, man,” Tommy replies.
Frank Kazlow isn’t lazy, he’s just not particularly interested in a job opening doors and signing for packages. And his new evening shift that started this month is cutting into his real passion – polka music.
In fact, Frank Kazlow and his band, the Polka Dots, have revitalized the genre by shredding the instruments to an Eastern-style Polka. The band consists of a drummer and a bass guitarist, a female lead singer, a trumpeter with a mohawk, and two trained boxmen. Consistently booking shows and birthday parties all over New Jersey, the Polka Dots are on their way to the big time – the Fortieth Annual Chicago Box Festival. And Frank Kazlow, middle-aged doorman with a beer gut and wispy orange hair, is determined to get laid by a buxom boxwoman.
Sneaking in the delivery entrance and grabbing his gray sport coat, Frank meanders through the supply closet and approaches the lobby desk. He unfolds the wrapper to his knish and slathers on a packet of yellow mustard. Tucking a napkin in the collar of his shirt and sipping his coffee, Frank powers on a small radio beneath the podium. He takes a huge bite of the gushy potato just as Thessaly exits the elevator.
He nods politely, always intrigued by her fashion choices. Not bad, he thinks, running his eyes up her long legs. She’s not his type though, too thin and tall for his taste, but he can’t deny that her sweet disposition is a complete turn on.
