“No trouble. In fact, Victor and I will cook something really special for you,” Antonia told Maria.
“You’ll get no complaints from me,” Maria said.
“A party for Carol,” Antonia told Larry.
“Pretty Carol,” he said pleasantly. “Good for her.”
“She is pretty, isn’t she?” Antonia said before turning back to Carol. “And I think I recognize your dress. Isn’t it Maria’s?”
Maria confirmed this and the women began making favorable comments on Carol’s appearance, almost as if she weren’t there.
Finally, feeling uncomfortable, she stood. “I, uh, I’m thirsty. Can I get you folks something to drink? They have a tasty cranberry punch and some hot tea. And I’ll bet the coffee is ready to serve by now.” She took their orders and, eager to escape, excused herself. She didn’t mind that they approved of her appearance, but she didn’t want to just sit and listen. And besides that, she needed to figure out a way to put the brakes on their birthday plans for her. Partly because it was embarrassing, but mostly because the idea of being in Victor’s home just felt plain awkward. Yet she didn’t want to appear ungrateful or put a damper on their festive evening tonight. As she walked to the kitchen, she decided to ask Maria to help her sort it all out tomorrow.
When she emerged with a tray of drinks, a three-piece band was just setting up on the little stage. She paused from navigating the throng of guests streaming in to check them out. A young woman wearing a flowing floral skirt was tuning a violin while a bearded man plucked a few notes on his guitar and another removed a mandolin from a case.
Several female guests milled about the bandstand, visiting among themselves and pointing about the room. She didn’t like to eavesdrop but couldn’t help herself.
“Doesn’t this look inviting?” a redheaded woman said. “And wasn’t that nice to have a stove to warm up at by the entrance?”
“Maria really outdid herself this year.” A younger woman pointed to a nearby table. “Don’t you love those little lanterns?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how Maria managed all this,” a third woman said. “I heard she was laid up with a broken arm.”
“Yes, but Margie Kincaid told me her niece helped her,” the redhead said.
Just as the band began to play a bluegrass version of “Jingle Bells,” three men joined the women, and all of them chatted away like it was a happy reunion. Feeling encouraged by the women’s comments, Carol brought her tray back to the table where her older companions were still waiting. So maybe she’d been worried about nothing. Victoria’s criticism had probably just been an attempt to put Carol in her place—to remind her she was the outsider.
Carol smiled pleasantly as she served the drinks, then sat down with her own coffee. But as she observed more couples streaming in, cheerfully greeting each other as they removed winter coats—hugging, patting backs, obviously at home here in the Grange—she began to feel out of place again. There was no denying she truly was the outsider here. Not only was she from “another world,” she didn’t even have a date. Maria and Antonia were chattering about an upcoming quilt show, and Larry was staring blankly at the crowd, possibly feeling as much on the outside as she. Although Maria had mentioned that Larry had been the Grange president for years before his illness worsened. Carol felt a nudge at her elbow and turned to see Antonia looking at her.
“Tell me about yourself,” Antonia said. “About all I know is you’re an interior decorator from Seattle.”
Carol considered this. There didn’t seem to be much to say beyond that at the moment, but she decided to try. Digging deeper, she shared about an interest in gardening. “Unfortunately, I livein a condo so I have to make do with container gardening on my terrace, but I’ve had good success with tomatoes and cucumbers and herbs and flowers ... and it really makes my terrace pretty and green all summer.”
“Plants must grow well in Seattle’s wet, mild climate.”
“Yes. It makes me wish for a bit more room to grow. Occasionally I play with the idea of finding property with enough land and maybe some greenhouses. And then I’d grow lots of flowers and maybe even start a small floral design business.”
“Oh, that sounds like fun.”
“Yes. But land is pretty spendy in my area.”
“That could be challenging.”
“I guess I need more affordable dreams.” She shrugged, trying to think of any other interests she could tell her about. “I’ve often wished I’d taken more time to learn how to cook.”
Antonia’s brows arched. “You don’t know how to cook?”
Carol shook her head glumly. “Cooking or any kind of homemaking never interested my mother, so I never really learned. Most of the time I’m content with microwave meals, but sometimes I wish I had skills like yours.”
“Don’t we all,” Maria chimed in. “No one cooks like Antonia. Well, except Victor. He’s got the gift too.”
Antonia looked proud. “Victor is far more accomplished than I am.”
“Well, I admire you both,” Carol confessed. “I doubt I could ever learn to cook something like lasagna. Even if I did, I doubt anyone would want to eat it. By the way, your lasagna was amazing.”
Antonia waved a dismissive hand. “Learning to cook is easy. Like rolling off a log.”
“My attempts at fancy cuisine usually tasted like they’d rolled off a log.” Maria laughed. “Lucky for me, Don and I always liked simple food.”
