I loved you from the day I met you. I only wish you were here to see this.
To the side, she added:
Glad you weren’t here to witness that after all.
A pit opens inside me. It’s not until Derick rushes to my side that I realize I’m crying. I show him the notebook, though I know he doesn’t have all the info. He gets it anyway. Somehow, his nearness makes the hot-and-salty tears flow freer. I’m a blubbering mess by the time Alice gets back; her eyes are dewy as well.
She takes one prolonged look at me and says, “I may be a bitch, but life’s a bigger one, ain’t it?”
We all laugh, which cushions the pain, but only so much. It’s clear Alice, like Derick, has found humor a helpful coping mechanism against life’s injustices. The words, cross-outs, and ink smudges in this book prove that Alice has been living in pain for so long, but I think our presence here has been helping lift that. At least a little bit. Not that she’d ever admit it.
“I’m giving you the all clear,” she says suddenly, echoing Derick’s words from earlier.
“Pardon?” Are those floor-cleaner fumes finally causing me to hallucinate? I need to be sure I’ve heard her correctly.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” She twiddles her clubbed thumbs, unable to look at us. “Go talk to your podperson. Show my movie. You’ve more than proven yourselves worthy.”
A second round of tears comes on as I register this. “Th-thank you, Alice.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” she says, grabbing her keepsakes back as speedily as she offered them. “Onward!” When we don’t move right away, still shocked by her generous about-face, she barks with her usual cranky cadence, “Back to work!”
And, like a couple of fake dogs, we obey.
Twitter
@WileysDriveInWVBreak out the sparklers! Let the Fourth of July celebrations commence. When you’re done grilling and swimming, don’t forget to head over to Wiley’s Drive-In for prime Willow Valley Fireworks Spectacular viewing spots. Reduced rates for groups over four. Bring your lawn chairs and your children! You won’t want to miss this epic display of patriotism!
5 replies. 10 Retweets. 45 Likes.
@StayAtHomeSteph25Is this a per car or per person event?
@WileysDriveInWV$5 per person! But discounts given to any carload over four. It’s our carpool discount! Want as many people as possible in our lot tonight to celebrate! Please tell your friends.
@RolandOnTheRiver14I’ll be there!
@WileysDriveInWVCan’t wait to see you! We’ll save you a good spot!
@420BlazinBoiiY’all flirting on here still?! Shameless. You think if I slide into the Burger Joint’s mentions with this cute shit they might hook me up with free fries?!
Chapter 15
Mom is a Pinterest fanatic. Sometimes, she stumbles upon spectacular ideas—see the mason jar of “Keys to Success” she made for my high-school graduation party where guests wrote words of wisdom on tags attached to ornamental, antique keys. Sometimes, she strikes out. Like right now, with this American flag made from hamburger buns.
She’s dyed the rolls red and blue. They look even more unappetizing than I anticipated. The food coloring is off and the flag looks sickly. Like a good son, I do my part and discard the atrocious ones before anyone notices so I can finish the staging and move on.
Mom is in the dining room strategically organizing her Bella’s Bottles into a covert display. While her crafty side hustle is mostly an online enterprise, she does bust out the back stock whenever she gets the chance to attend a craft show or roving market. Our annual Fourth of July backyard bash, at least for the last seven years, has moonlighted as a sneaky marketing strategy.
“Do these look conspicuous enough?” Mom asks, pushing her summer selections to the front of the bunch in the china cabinet. Not sure why we even have a china cabinet when we’ve never had any priceless, fancy china to display in it. Now, it’s full of her crafts. “I want people to notice but not notice too much, you know?”
I do know. “Seven is too many for one spot. Put the sunset beach one on the stand in the bathroom, plugged in. It goes well with the seashell decor. Spread four out in the cabinet, and then add the lemon grove to the kitchen—it’ll complement the backsplash—and the summer sports one in the den so the men can see it.”
“That’s my smart little manager. Always thinking ahead.” She bumps my hip as she passes by me to get to the den, her hands full of her highly breakable creations. “Be sure that Avery and Mateo know that the seltzers and beers go in one cooler with the laminated Adults Only sign taped on it. We don’t need a repeat of last year when the Wongs’ little girl ended up shaking all those sparkling ciders and cracking them open in a twenty-one can salute.”
Avery and Mateo know the drill by now. Mom is a planner by nature (likely where I get it from) with full-blown checklists that need to be precisely followed. Their help is integral to the success of our party. Together they fill the cooler with ice and various canned beverages out on the back patio.
“Is Derick on his way?” Mom asks. She insisted I invite him after his exceptional breakfast skills went over so well only a few weeks ago. All I do is nod to avoid any further probing questions. She was more than a tad inquisitive when he left that morning, even after I did the “we’re just friends” song and dance for her.
Claire is keeping company with Alice in the living room. She’s probably telling her all about the all-girls school she’ll be attending next year for chemical engineering—a field no one in my family can comprehend where she got the smarts for.
