“We need juice glasses on the table—not to mention, the actual orange juice. Do I have pitchers? And the Bloody Marys! Oh, and what about something to set down the hash browns and frittata on the table? Trivets?. Hot plates. Do I have those?”
“You’re sharing your frozen orange juice? That’s love.” Danny winks, giving the hash browns a last shake before moving them off the burner. “Alex and I are on it.” His hand moves slowly to rest on my shoulder. “It’s brunch. Everyone here is on your side. Breathe. Just breathe. That’s all you have to do.”
And so I do. The frittatas look good when I pull them from the oven, but who knows what they’ll taste like?
“Okay, go check the table for me?” I beg.
Minutes later, Danny is back. “Coffee, OJ, and Bloody Marys are now out.” Danny shows me the hash browns that he put in a ceramic dish. “Alex has the fruit salad. Hot plates are on the table. You ready to go? Serve your masterpieces! Alex and I are ready.”
“Sure. Right behind you.”
Iwantto be right behind them, yet I have to take a minute. It’d be nice if I had more confidence in myself, if I wasn’t so shaky and nervous. If I didn’t feel like some kind of everything was on the line right now.
As Danny said,it’s brunch.End of story. So, I will be proud that I tried.
When I peek my head around the corner, I see that the dining table is full and the conversation is flowing—voices loud—with abounding laughter, so I have to eavesdrop a bit.
Nicole is laughing so hard that she can barely speak. “Remember that time that I found our young Danny pinned between his front door and the storm door? What was he, two years old?”
Amelia giggles. “I was with you because we were dropping off groceries for Andie. Danny had tried to sneak out of the house, but he got trapped, all splayed out in only a diaper. He looked so cute and surprisingly calm, like he knew someone would free him soon.”
“And we did!”
The women clink glasses.
“He was the cutest kid,” Amelia says and turns to him. “Danny, you really were. Do you remember when you broke your arm and asked us all to sign your cast under a celebrity name? It was so great, having you stay with us for the weeks after you tumbled out of that tree. Not that I liked that you’d broken your arm, but it was still so fun to have you with us.”
He chuckles, but I know a damn fake laugh when I hear one. And I know pain when I see it.
“I’d always wanted to meet Denzel Washington,” he says. “Who doesn’t?”
I have to stop this. “Frittatas for all!” I call out.
Danny gives me a grateful look as he, Nicole, Amelia, Ray, Jackson, Matteo, Slowski, Mary Ann, Paul, and Alex generously applaud.
“Cherie, is lovely.” Nicole grabs my hand when I make my way around the table. “Issolovely. I know how much I will like this. You make a special day for us all.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I hope so.”
Matteo gasps and claps. “Bellissimo!Sembra così delizioso!Sembra cosìdelizioso!”
And I about melt.
As I’m about to take my seat, Ray stops me. “Having all of us here and being cool about it? Cooking up a storm when you probably don’t remember any of us?” He crosses his arms and looks away. “We remember you, kid. We remember you and your family. We remember Mike. And we all love you.”
“Despite the spatchcock incident?”
“Your father would have laughed and cheered you on, sweetheart.” Ray adjusts his water glass and looks away.
It’s true. My dad would have loved that messed up shopping trip. He’d have also loved that I’m hosting a brunch, as his mother used to.
I raise my glass. “To my dad. To all of you. And to all of you who won’t own up to caring for this house and for me. For cleaning, for doing laundry, for making beds, for filling my fridge. For knowing that orange juice has to be nearly frozen to be perfect. For remembering me and my family. For caring. And for getting through my novice cooking. I’m trying, and I’m trying to have fun.” I start to clink glasses, and as I do so, I realize that I am having fun. That’s the truth.
But when I sit down, I am slammed with more thoughts. Would my mother be proud of me? Would she care about this brunch or my perfect chicken? Or wonderful boys or working cars or the fact that I chose a tile color? That I chose cerulean? That I’m turning this house into something special?
I don’t know.
Yet everyone at the table plows through their plates, and I hear nothing but praise for what I’ve served.
They care. They appreciate me.
It’s going to take a bit for me to accept this support.
“I am done eating and have to go home now,” Alex says as he abruptly stands and looks at me. “I would like to have a lemon to take home. Callie, do you have a lemon for me? I will return a similar lemon.”
“Yes, of course.” My smile is sincere. “And, Alex? I’d be happy to give you a lemon.”
