“That sucks,” I say, because what else is there to say? I can’t tell him that I understand, because I don’t. I have two parents. My grandparents are all still alive down in Florida. The only death I’ve ever dealt with was my childhood dog, Thunder.
“Yeah, it does.” And he goes back to stirring. I feel like I should give him a hug or something, but I can’t seem to cross the distance between us and make it happen.
“How’s the pasta coming?”
“Not sticking,” he says. “How do you know when it’s done?” I give him a look. Has he never made this?
“What? The only pasta I’ve ever made myself is Easy Mac, and you just cook it ‘til it’s done.”
I motion for him to get out of my way while I stick the spoon into the pot and pull out a few noodles, blowing on them so they don’t burn my mouth. Then I nibble on one and gather up some more so Sawyer can try it. I hold out the spoon and he opens his mouth, sucking air in so he doesn’t burn his tongue.
“See how it’s still a little uncooked? We’re going to put it in the oven, and it will finish cooking and soak up the sauce to make creamy awesomeness.” I turn the stove off and get out the colander to drain the pasta. Sawyer takes the pot and tosses its contents in the colander and we both get a steamy pasta facial.
“It’s good for your pores,” I say as we both lean back and laugh. Sawyer stands clear as I assemble the pasta in our biggest casserole dish. I always make extra so my mom can portion it out and freeze it for future use.
“Thanks for your help,” I say as I shove the dish in the oven and set the timer.
“I’m sure you couldn’t have done it without me,” he says, and I throw one of the empty pasta boxes at him. He ducks and picks it up.
Then the door opens and the screaming minions return, along with my mother.
“Sawyer!” she exclaims. So fake. She knew he was here. Now our mothers are conspiring with each other to get us together. God, it’s like the entire town is pushing us together. That would not surprise me one little bit. They’d probably had a town meeting and voted on it. They’d had meetings about stranger things before.
“Hello, Mary. It’s good to see you.” Mom gives him a hug. Saltwater residents are huggers.
“How’s your mom?” Like she doesn’t know. I’m sure they talked and planned this whole thing. I go to help the minions gather their things so they can be ready when Stacy and Drew get here in a few minutes, which gives Sawyer and my mom a chance to talk. Drew and Stacy show up and collect their spawn and step-spawn and suddenly the house is quiet.
Ahhh.
“So I invited Sawyer to dinner,” Mom says in a way that tells me that there will be no argument. I zip my lips as he gives me a smirk and gets out the salad bowl. He’s been in my house so many hundreds of times he knows where everything is.
“So, Mom, Sawyer’s mom was looking for her crockpot but we couldn’t find it.” She pretends to think. An actress my mother is not.
“I think I gave that back to her after the last community dinner. I’ll give her a call.” She goes to do just that and I give Sawyer a look.
“You know our mothers are conspiring,” I say.
“Uh, yeah. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” Sawyer’s mother may be grief-stricken, but she’s still determined to get us back together. Maybe even more so now. That makes me feel kind of bad. Like I should go along with her, just because of what she’s going through.
“Help you with the salad?” Sawyer says as my mom chatters away on the phone.
“Sure thing.” The timer dings on the mac and cheese and I turn the oven off.
Dinner with Sawyer and my parents. This is going to be yet another time warp.
“So how’s your mother doing?” Dad says as the four of us sit down together. My GOD, how many times is he going to have to answer this question? I’m irritated for him. He must answer this two hundred times a day. At least one time for every resident of Saltwater, and probably twice for some.
“She’s doing well.” This seems to be his standard answer. I don’t blame him. He should just carry around a recording and play it when he talks to people. That’s what I would do.
“Good to hear, good to hear. If she ever needs anything at the house, any trees taken down, you tell her to give me a call, no charge. Your daddy was a good man and he did a lot for this town. Anytime she needs anything, you tell us. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” Sawyer always calls my dad that, despite it not being the norm around here. Everyone goes either by their first name, or their nickname.
“Leave the boy alone,” mom says, passing the bread around again. “He knows that we’d do anything, right Sawyer?”
“I do, thank you.” Poor guy. He’s probably overflowing with help. That’s another thing about small towns. When something bad happens to one resident, something bad happens to all of them. We take care of our own. It’s hard to remember the good things about this town when I can’t help but concentrate on the bad stuff. The stuff I wanted to leave behind.
The conversation shifts to other things about the town, and soon I’m caught up on all the gossip that I’ve missed since I left. Marriages, divorces, affairs, babies, DUIs and all the other crap that goes on when people have too much time on their hands and no Starbucks in sight.
We talk and laugh and I am actually having a good time. Sawyer nudges me under the table and smiles at me. For some reason it makes me blush and have to duck my head so no one sees. In the process I drop my knife on the floor.
“Well you know what they say when you drop a knife,” Mom says, giving me a pointed look. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“They say if you drop a knife a man will come into your life,” she says, grinning at Dad as if they’re sharing an inside joke.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I say. Sawyer makes a choking sound that I think is to cover a laugh.
“Nope, that’s what happens. I dropped a knife at dinner the night before I met your father.” Okay, let’s put an end to this conversation as of right now.
I start buttering my bread so everyone will stop staring at me. Yeah, that doesn’t work. Mom and Dad start laughing and I want to sink through the floor. So instead I mumble something about getting a drink and go to the fridge and grab a Bud Light. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but desperate times and all. I need it right now. I crack it open on the counter and take a swig before I sit back down. Sawyer nudges me under the table and thanks my mom for the wreath that I gave him last night. That takes the heat off me and I appreciate it. He did me a solid and he’ll probably rub my face in it later.
“Sawyer, would you like to take some of this home for your mom?” I get up to warm the apple crumble as Mom, Dad and Sawyer clear up the rest of the meal and put away the leftovers.
“That would be fantastic. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” The other thing that goes around this town is Tupperware. Everyone is always trading meals and leftovers, so we just sort of have community Tupperware and it just keeps going around and no one remembers who owns what.
Sawyer says goodnight and leaves, agreeing that he’ll say hello to his mother and give her our regards and all that jazz. The minute the door closes behind him, my parents are both smirking at me.
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing,” Mom says, looking at Dad as they go back to clean the rest of the kitchen. “Not a thing.”
Chapter 7
The next day I’m busy getting my presents together for my parents and siblings. It’s nothing too fancy, some new thick work gloves for Dad, some new shampoo, body wash and bath salts for Mom, a funny trucker hat for Drew and a cute tote bag for Stacy. I also have some little candies and toys for my nieces and nephews to put in their stockings. The rule at the Emerson house is that stockings are not to be hung until Christmas Eve. So many rules with Christmas.
I get everything wrapped and ready to go, but I feel like I’m missing something.
Sawyer. Of course I didn’t plan on him being here, so I didn’t plan on needing a present. I don’t have anything to give him, and there’s no way I can find anything in Saltwater that he couldn’t just buy himself. It’s too late to order anything online, even if I knew what to order. So I’m screwed. Gotta be creative with this one.
What in the hell could I possibly give him? I’m coming up blank. This is going to require some thought. I grab my phone and text Allison.
What would you get your ex bf for xmas?
I’ve got no one else to ask, and I only have to wait a few seconds for a response.
Do we want him to be an un-ex? Or do we hate him and just have to give him something?
God, wasn’t that the question.
Before I could figure out what I wanted to get him, I had to figure out what I wanted it to mean. It shouldn’t be too romantic, or give him any romantic ideas. I don’t want him to read anything into the gift. It should be plutonic.
Plutonic gift.
I wait a few more seconds for a response.
Gift card? Blow job?
Yeah, neither of those is going to happen. Especially the second one. She is being completely unhelpful and I suspect it’s on purpose.
If you don’t want to help me, that’s cool.
The phone rings.
“Look, I don’t know this guy. I only know him from what you’ve told me about him. He’s a guy. Guys are so hard to buy for. That’s probably why I never seem to have a boyfriend around any major holiday. I think I sabotage the relationship so I don’t have to buy them a present. So I’m the wrong person to ask, babe.” I sigh.
“I know, but I didn’t think this was going to be an issue. Why haven’t I thought of this until now?”
“Uh, I don’t know, but you better think of something quick. Good thing you’re not Jewish, then you’d have to get him seven. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. By the way, when are you getting out of there?”
That’s another mysterious question. Now that I’m here, and mom’s told me how much she wants me to stay . . . I don’t know.
“No idea, but I’ll keep you posted. What’s up with you?” She tells me about how her holidays are going and then launches into funny stories about her bubbe. I adore that woman. Best advice you can ever get is from my friend’s Yiddish grandmother. Talking with her is sometimes like being in a Saturday Night Live sketch, only it’s real.
“Okay, well let me know what you come up with, and when you’re coming back. I freaking miss you,” she says.
“I miss you, too. I’ll keep you posted. Over and out.”
“Roger, roger.” She hangs up and I’m left without any ideas. I can’t just get him nothing. Or not get him anything. However that’s supposed to go. Well, I’m not going to get any ideas by sitting around the house.
“There you are. I was going to send one of the kids in to make sure you hadn’t jumped out the window and bailed,” Mom says as I walk back to the kitchen. The kids are strangely quiet, all parked in front of the television and munching on various snacks. Yup, I’m gonna have to vacuum again.