He says nothing, but I can see the shock on his face.
I don’t know why, but I want Freddie to fight with me.I want to argue and shout and for him to show me that everything is not okay. But it doesn’t matter.
“I have to help your grandma set up.” I slide off the counter and let myself out.
After I shut the door behind me, I take a moment to gather myself and pull all my frizzing hair into a sloppy bun. I can feel how red my cheeks and chest are, but there’s nothing to be done about that.
I help Agnes set out tiny finger foods like mini quiches and triangle sandwiches. I want to ask her how much this whole thing cost her, but the truth is I don’t think I can afford to reimburse her for much. It makes me anxious, but all I can do is remind myself that this is for Hattie and not me.
Little by little, people start to trickle in. It’s mostly girls Hattie graduated with, a few people from work, and some of Agnes’s friends. I invited our mom, too, who only called to say that she would have hosted a shower for Hattie if I’d just asked. I didn’t know if I should count that as an RSVP or not.
Freddie stays in the kitchen mostly and only briefly ventures out to refill the veggies and dip and other finger foods. I try to catch his eye so that he can somehow see that I’m sorry for losing it this morning, but he’s too busy. Agnes mixes her signature punch into a crystal bowl with scoops of rainbow sherbet, which make it frothy and fluffy—and almost otherworldly.
I am left to small talk, which I’m learning is an actual skill. No, I don’t have any plans for college. Yes, I worka few part-time jobs. School is good, but I’m anxious to be done. No, I haven’t thought about what I want to be when I grow up. Because I’ve already grown up, which is what I don’t say out loud. More of Hattie’s friends from high school show up. I use the wordfriendsloosely, because truthfully these girls don’t give two shits about Hattie. They’re just here to spy on the first girl to get knocked up out of wedlock from their graduating class.
And then the girl of the hour arrives in her chariot. Saul and Ruth are more careful than normal with my sister as they help her down from the Jeep.
Hattie wears a white sundress that probably fit her boobs at some point in time, but not today. The empire waist of the dress flares out and a large pink ribbon is secured tightly above her belly and tied into a big bow. Really, the only thing missing is a gift tag.
Her hair is curled and teased into a pouf at the top of her head, and her makeup looks like she could press her whole face to a mirror and leave a full imprint from brows to lips. And I guess to anyone else, she might look ridiculous, but to me, she looks like herself, and after her horrible scare in the hospital, nothing could make me happier.
“Well, shit, Ramona,” says Saul. “You’re a mother-freaking Martha Stewart.” He reaches over me for the little paper cups with a few inches of dip on the bottom and stems of carrots and celery and peppers sticking up.
“That,” I tell him, “is all Agnes and Freddie.” I say his name a little too loudly, hoping he’ll hear me and somehow appear.
Saul crunches down loudly on a piece of celery. “Quite efficient. So how do these baby shower things work?” he asks.
I clip three clothespins to his shirt. “Okay, this is supposed to be, like, a mixer game is what Agnes calls it. If someone catches you saying ‘mommy,’ ‘daddy,’ or ‘baby,’ they can steal a clothespin from you. Whoever has the most clothespins wins.”
“Like an actual prize?”
I nod.
He glances around. “These bitches won’t even see me coming.” And then he’s off, squeezing into conversations with his veggies and dip in one hand and sherbet punch in the other. I marvel for a moment at how he fits into this place so easily. Saul was meant to live his life here in Eulogy. He’s like a goldfish, content with the size of his bowl and not too concerned with what might exist elsewhere, because he is the king of this domain.
I seek Hattie out and find her sitting in Bart’s recliner, sipping punch. She nods along as a few girls from high school trade gossip. After they migrate to the refreshments table, I sit down on the armrest.
“How do you like it?” I ask.
For the first time I can ever remember seeing, my sister’s eyes are filled with stars. “Ramona, it’s perfect. It’s like some kind of magazine or something.” She’s already wearing some of the Mardi Gras beads we’d used as table decorations.
“Well, most of that was Agnes.”
“You helped,” she says. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “Did you remember to invite Tyler’s mom? I want her to feel involved... if she wants to be.”
I nod. “I did.”
“Is she coming?”
“She couldn’t make it, but she had a gift sent over.”
Hattie looks up to me. “Well, that’s gotta count for something, right?”
“I think so,” I tell her.
Behind us one of Hattie’s old friends from high school says, “Did you see that boy in the kitchen? Black guys aren’t my thing, but he’s cute.”
I turn to Hattie, and she shakes her head.Dumb bitches, she mouths.
