Way to rub it in, lady.
Miss Flora Mae removes one single key from her key ring and hands it to me. “Guard this with your life, girl.”
I nod.
“And if you could water my plants as well.”
“Sure thing. Have a safe trip!” I turn to head back down the driveway to rejoin Oscar.
“Talk to ’em too!” calls Miss Flora Mae. “Just tell them about your day. Maybe play them some music. They like the jazz hour on WHPQ. And Aretha. They just swoon for Aretha Franklin.”
I twirl back around, my expression totally blank.
“The Queen of Soul!” she says, like I’ve just taken the Lord’s name in vain.
I nod slowly. “Gotcha. The plants. Talking. Music. Jazz. Queen of Soul.”
I walk back to where Oscar waits outside the gate to my mom’s house.
“What was all that about?” he asks.
I give him a deathly serious look. “I’d have to kill you if I told you.” But then I can’t contain the laughter that bursts out. “Nothing,” I say. “Just weird-old-lady stuff.”
Oscar rolls his eyes. “You get all the luck. My next-door neighbor just listens to talk radio really loud and shouts at the raccoons that get into his trash.”
Chapter Five
One Size Does Not Fit All
When Mom gets home from work, she offers to let Oscar stay over for dinner, even though dinner is just frozen lasagna.
Dad is kind of a snob when it comes to pasta, pizza, and cheese because I guess Italian people are supposed to be like that. Dad grew up in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Mom was in her last year of school when Dad was hired to paint the house she was renting. Dad kept messing up the job over and over again until he worked up the courage to ask her out. The rest was history. They got married and moved back to Valentine. I’ve only visited Connecticut a few times, but I know Dad must have loved Mom to move so far away.
Living in West Texas doesn’t leave Dad with many good options for Italian food, so any time it was Mom’s turn to cook, she’d make a frozen lasagna, and he’d make this whole show of turning his nose up and pretending like it was beneath him. They’d tease each other back and forth, and it would usually end in Dad stealing a kiss from Mom. It was totally gross, but it was kind of awesome, too, I guess. One time, though, I caught him eating the leftovers in the middle of the night while I was getting a glass of water.
“I thought you hated that stuff,” I told him as I rubbed my eyes.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.
I sat down at the kitchen table and nodded.
“Sometimes I think I like this stuff better than your own grandmother’s sauce, and you better take that to the grave, Sweet Pea.”
He handed me a forkful and I took it, even though I’d brushed my teeth hours ago.
“I blame your mother.” Dad shook his head. “My mom was right. ‘That woman will ruin you,’ she said. I just didn’t think she’d ruin my refined taste buds.”
Oscar and I sit at the kitchen table with our chairs scooted close together while he calls his mom and holds the phone between for both of us to hear.
“Mama, Sweet Pea’s mom invited me to stay for dinner.”
“Not tonight, baby,” she says.
I can’t help but blurt, “Nooooooo,” and then clap my hand over my mouth as I remember Mrs. Rivera can hear me.
“Moooooom,” moans Oscar.
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. Your father came home early from work and has been working hard trying to figure out my directions for enchiladas for a nice family dinner. Sweet Pea, I love you, but I love the thought of not having to cook a family dinner even more.” She pauses. “And yes, I can hear you.”
