Funny how being from the same place makes you family. “Thank you.”
Liz took my dish toward the dining room. Sonia and I joined everyone else in the living room, gathered around Eileen, who looked like she’d lost a few pounds. Otherwise, she was herself.
As soon as I entered the room, the women stood to greet me, their smiles warm and welcoming. One by one, I exchanged hugs with each of them, feeling the genuine affection in their embraces. Each hug was different—some tight and reassuring, others gentle and comforting—but all of them were sincere. When I finally took my seat on a well-worn love seat, the cushions sagged just enough to make me feel like I was sinking into the embrace of an old friend.
If you want to make friends in a small town, you need to be friend-ly. Gabriella knew how to advise me well.
The talk naturally drifted toward Eileen’s health, with everyone chiming in to check on her recovery. Eileen waved off their concerns with a lighthearted chuckle, thanking them profusely for coming and reassuring us all that she was on the mend, even if it was a slow process. The conversation was easy, flowing with the comfort that comes from shared history and mutual care.
As I sat listening, I glanced around the room at everyone’s feet. Three of the ladies had manicured toes, the rest—the majority of us—had come to Eileen’s house with real, lived-in feet. By that, I mean, no polish, calloused spots, dry spots, lopsided toenail lengths. Natural. In sandals, too, because it was still summer.
When I lived in the city, I always had my nails and toes done. Refused to wear sandals or open-toed shoes if my feet didn’t look presentable. Now here I was, sitting in a room full of women whodidn’t give one iota about the condition of my feet. We were here for Eileen. For each other. This felt right, and I was grateful to be a part of it.
Around the dinner table, the atmosphere filled with the gentle hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The table itself was a patchwork of mismatched dishes and well-worn utensils, a testament to the many meals shared and the memories made. I didn’t worry about who made what, or whose cat might have curled up in a serving bowl the night before. I just blessed my food and ate.
Of course, Gabriella’s dish stole the spotlight. “What’s in this?” Eileen crooned with wonder as she nearly choked from eating so fast.
“Sweet potatoes, black beans, and cinnamon, is all I know. I was too busy taste-testing to ask for details,” I confessed.
“I would ask for the recipe,” Valerie said between bites, “but there’s a consistency to the tortilla and the filling that I’d never be able to reproduce without watching her, and years’ worth of practice.”
“Does she sell them?” Lupita asked.
“I’m sure she would, for the right price,” I said, volunteering my jobless tenant. “Sometimes it takes her hours—days—to prepare the ingredients perfectly for her recipes. Room-temperature this, marinated that. She plans, she shops… It’s amazing to watch.”
“Clearly,” Christine said with another chomp of her third taquito. “She’s a master chef. Like the people on TV. You think she’d ever open her own place? I’d eat there every night, I swear.”
“Well…” I approached the topic cautiously. “She has agreed to make a meal for anyone who’s willing to help me fix up the house so it’ll pass inspection. And I’m pretty desperate for help.”
A soft silence fell.
This was not what I had planned to do. Well, yes, it was. But not so forthrightly. I’d hoped it would happen after I casually shared that I had “a little work” that needed to be done, and then they would offer to help me, and at first I’d say “Oh, no, I can’t ask you all to help,” and then they’d say “We insist,” until I finally accepted their offer. Then I’d throw in Gabriella’s cooking as a reward. That way it all looked more authentic, in a fake way. That was how I was taught to ask for help—the roundabout way.
But the route I had taken was a direct ask. Not something I was used to. It made me feel vulnerable to rejection.
“So, let me get this right,” Althea said. “She’ll cook us a whole meal if we help you fix up a few things around the house?”
“What kinds of things?” Sonia asked. “If I can’t do it, I’ll help.”
“And Wardell will help, too, whether he wants to or not,” Christine volunteered him. “I’ll be there to make sure of it.”
Lupita offered, “I have a cousin who owes me some favors. He can get supplies cheap, whatever we need.”
Valerie shook her head. “I can’t do no house-construction work; that would mess up my back and my disability case. But if you need some heavy lifting, I’ll send my grandson over. Just say the word.”
Their generosity set off my waterworks. “Thank you,” I replied tearfully. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap, trying to steady myself against the wave of gratitude and embarrassment washing over me. “I—I didn’t know how I was going to get it all finished before APS came back.”
“APS?” Liz remarked, giving voice to the shocked looks on everyone’s faces.
I hadn’t meant to putallmy business out there. And tonightwas supposed to be about Eileen, not me. “Oh, don’t worry about it.” I dried my eyes. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“You definitely don’t want to be on their radar,” Liz said. “Our cousin fell, broke her hip. Her husband was going to take care of her, but then he had a heart attack. Their daughter was trying to get back home from her job in Europe, but in the meantime, the officials got involved. Their daughter almost had to get FBI clearance to get her parents back in her care.”
Eileen chimed in, “I think they mean well.”
Liz shot back, “I think people show little to no respect for the elderly these days. It’s like, you get one little wrinkle and your IQ automatically drops 15 percent.”
Sentiments ranged somewhere between Liz’s and Eileen’s for the rest of the group. We might have disagreed on the motives, but one thing was for sure: These ladies were not going to let me fight this alone. I had an army now, and I couldn’t have been more grateful.
