Mom Over Miami (7 page)

The back door slammed shut. The pounding of Sam’s shoes thundered through the whole house.

“Oh, crumbs!”

The boy pulled up short just six inches shy of hitting the side of the kitchen counter at full force. Tub of spackling compound in both hands, he looked up at her, breathing hard from his run. “Wow!”

“What?”

“I never heard you cuss before.”

“I never…Oh, crumbs!” Hannah laughed. “No, honey, I just remembered I have to brush the crumbs off the cake before I ice it.”

“Why?”

“So the crumbs won’t get in the frosting.”

“Doesn’t it all get mixed-up together when you eat it?”

“Well, yes, but…” She made a motion in the air, trying to demonstrate the smooth surface she hoped to achieve. “Not important. Let’s just say, sweeping of the crumbs makes me happy.”

“You know that’s really weird, though, don’t you?”

She tipped her chin and held out her hand. “Hand me my spatula, good sir.”

“Where is it?”

“I left it right…hmm, no.” She spun around and checked in the sink.

“Can’t you use old trusty?”

Could she? For an instant it was tempting…but only for an instant.

“’Fraid not.”

He frowned at the rejection of his idea.

She placed her hand on his back. “But you can get old trusty out and test the spackling stuff to make sure it hasn’t hardened. How about that?”

He flexed his arms to show his impressive muscles and announced, “Spackle-tester man.”

“Go for it.”

“Where would I be if I were a spatula?” She shuffled through the things scattered on the countertop, peeking under the edge of the cardboard cake carrier, lifting up a crushed paper towel. No luck. “Wait, I had it with the frosting tub in the living room.”

Sam hoisted up the tub of frosting.

“Yup. There is it.”

He set her tub down again and placed his carefully a few inches away.

“Now to dust for crumbs and get this show on the road.” Hannah reached for the frosting.

Tessa’s piercing cry made her jerk, which almost knocked the tub to the floor.

Sam caught it in time and pushed it back in place.

“Thanks. I’ll go get the baby and be right back.” She dashed through to living room with a glance out the open front door to see how far the deliverymen had gotten.

Beep…beep…beep
. The truck backed slowly into the semicircular drive.

She sighed. At this rate there’d never be time to get the furniture situated, the walls retouched and the cake frosted before Lauren Faison showed up!

Hannah made the trek from front room to nursery in record time. A quick diaper change and a fresh T-shirt and Tessa could sit in her high chair and be a party to the goings-on from there.

“Hey, lady, what goes where in here?”

“Sam!” She called him to the nursery, and when he appeared in the doorway, she managed to call to him over her shoulder, “I’m up to my wrists in…”

He pinched his nose. “I know!”

“Can you tell the men to wait a minute?”

“I can tell them where to put everything, Hannah. I watched you and Payt walk around last night saying where to put stuff.”

“Okay. Fine. It’s not like I can stand and direct them anyway. And if I don’t like where they set things, I can always move them.” A year ago she’d have never imagined the skill with which she would be able to clean up a baby’s bottom and simultaneously give a young boy instructions. “Let me go over this for you—big couch and little couch on either side of the fireplace, oak armoire on the opposite wall, coffee table in the middle. Anything else just set out of the way and I’ll position it myself. Got that?”

He used his hands to show her the layout. “Big, little, oak, table.”

“Great. I’ll be in just as soon as—”

R-r-r-r-ring
.

“Just as soon as the world stops spinning,” she muttered. She stamped down the tab on her daughter’s fresh
diaper and picked up the child, drool-stained shirt and all, and headed for the kitchen.

R-r-r-r-ring
.

Hannah eased Tessa into her high chair and turned just as Sam nabbed the phone from its stand. “Hello?”

“Whoever it is, tell them I can’t take the call right now.” In two steps she had globbed liquid soap onto her hands and thrust them under the faucet in the kitchen sink.

“Sorry, Mrs. Faison, she can’t—”

She lunged for the phone, marveling that it didn’t slip through her soapy fingers and go sailing through the air. “I can’t believe it’s you, Lauren.”

She couldn’t. She
really
couldn’t.

“Yes, well, hate to impose, but Stilton’s Tae Kwon Do lesson at our church fell through at the last minute.”

And you want me to teach him how to break boards with various body parts?
She had the presence of mind not to say the first thing that popped into her mind, though the image of beating her head against a two-by-four lingered even as she said, “That’s too bad. What can
I
do for you?”

“Since we were already out running errands, I hoped you wouldn’t mind if we stopped by a bit sooner than we planned?”

She
was
an early bird. But she called first. Of course she called first—otherwise it would be a kind of a fault, and this woman didn’t have those.

“Fine, Lauren. I’m frosting the cake ri-i-i-ght—” she leaned over, dipped the spatula into the tub and slopped a dollop of frosting onto the cake “—now.”

“See you in a sec!”

“A what? A sack?” Hannah stuck her finger in her ear. The movers had begun shifting furniture about, clunking and grunting and shoving things along the carpeted floor.

“Well, Tessa, honey, I hope she won’t find me in a sack. Though if I thought I could find one big enough to hide in, I might try it.” She waved the spatula, then started to work. “I shouldn’t have let this frosting sit with the lid off so long. It’s gotten dried-up and a little stiff.”

More thumping, bumping and grumbling came from the next room.

She scraped the frosting from the edge of the blade, releasing the sweet scent of sugar and vanilla into the air. “Hey, Sam.”

He peeked around the corner.

“How’s it looking?”

“I can’t tell. Everything’s in plastic, but the big couch looks kinda small.”

“Really?” She plunked the spatula down and stretched to peer around the corner at the plastic-covered lump in her living room. “Must be the love seat.”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Yup. You can pull the plastic off if you want—I have to make this frosting work.”

She heard the plastic ripping. Sam let out a whoop.

“At least someone is having a good time, huh, Tessa?” She stabbed the spatula in the tub and tackled the cake once again, but this time the thick white icing went on smooth and gorgeous. “It’s working!”

She didn’t dare stop now, not even when a loud
whump
shook the walls.

“What was that, Sam?”

“It’s big and wooden—must be that arm ware.”

“Armoire. It’s—it’s not important. Are they putting it in the right place?”

“Yes.”

She took a deep breath and smiled down at the suddenly flawless waves of frosting on top of her soccer celebration cake. “At least something is going right today.”

“Hello? Hannah? It’s Lauren.”

“Come on in. I’m in the kitchen.”

“I see you’ve got your furniture.”

“Today’s the day for early arrivals. We didn’t expect it until this afternoon. Pardon the chaos, by the way!”

“Don’t give it another thought. Everyone’s had some days when their house looked like—”

“Wow!”

Wow?
Hannah mouthed Stilton’s reaction. The furniture must look better than she remembered. She couldn’t wait any longer; she wanted to see. If it wowed an eight-year-old, it must be…

“Retro chic?” Lauren skimmed her fingertips over the high-gloss finish of a full-fledged wet bar. Right there in her living room where her Mission-style armoire should have rested. “Is that what they call this, Hannah?”

“No! No, no, no, no! They call this a mistake. This is
not
our furniture!”

Hannah made a quick tally of the things deposited in her home. A leopard-print futon—the thing she’d thought was her love seat. A giant orange ottoman, on wheels, no less. A bar, with a glass back and rack to hang glasses overhead. And a pair of stools with dice and drinks on the cushions!

“This is not my home. This is somebody’s rec room!”

Lauren touched her, shoulder to shoulder, and murmured, “Somebody with very…interesting taste.”

Hannah looked at the open doorway. “Where are those delivery guys?”

Sam pointed. “Inside the truck.”

“Maybe I should just get the cake and get out of your way so you can sort this out.”

“Oh, yes, good.” The sooner Lauren left, the sooner Hannah could fall apart. She motioned for the woman to follow her into the kitchen.

“I didn’t have time to decorate it, but I bought some of those premade sugar decorations as a backup, so you can take those with you and put them on as soon as the icing sets a little more.”

Lauren swiped her finger along the edge where some frosting stuck to the foil. “Um, Hannah, if this frosting sets anymore, it will be ready for wallpapering, not sprinkling with candy soccer balls.”

“Oh, no.” She couldn’t have. Could she? She took a quick sniff of the flawless covering. “Oh, no!”

“What is it?”

“I had the frosting and some spackling compound for repairing the walls in the same kind of container.”

“You frosted the kids’ cake with spackling compound?”

“Not at first.” She didn’t know what made her feel worse—that she’d pulled another dumb stunt in front of Lauren or that her frosting hadn’t been as smooth or as moist as a home-improvement product.

“You’re having a rotten day, aren’t you?” Lauren laughed, but not too much. Then put her arm around Hannah and added, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the snack.”

“Let me guess. It will be something homemade?”

“Probably. If you don’t think the kids will mind.”

She opened her mouth to say something, though she had no idea how she could both convey her frustration over the ease with which Lauren handled everything and still sound grateful. Before she could compose a single comment, a commotion started in the living room.

A commotion. The spot-on perfect term for a seventy-something fireball with chopsticks protruding from her red topknot, wearing a pink dress and work boots.

“Surprise!”

“Aunt Phiz!” Hannah leaned back against the counter for support. “You said you were
sending
something.”

“Yes!” She wrapped Hannah in her arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I make it a policy to always send the best, so I sent…myself! Ta-da!”

Sam laughed.

“This must be Sam!” She swooped down to envelop the boy in her expansive arms. Then, looking up at Stilton, said, “And this must be…?”

“A friend.” Hannah patted the boy on the back. “You really did pick a dilly of a time to pop in all the way from China, Aunt Phiz.”

“Oh, my! Did I throw a monkey wrench into the works?”

Sam’s eyes went all starry and bright. “Did you bring a monkey?”

“No, she did not bring a monkey.” Hannah raised her gaze from the boy to her aunt. “Please, please, tell me you didn’t bring a monkey.”

Phyllis Amaryllis Shelnutt Shaffer Wentz burst into an uproarious gale of laughter.

Lauren joined in, politely covering her mouth with her manicured hand, but laughing all the same.

The boys began to leap about shouting, “Monkey! Monkey!”

Before Hannah could calm them, a bald man with sweat dripping down his thick neck crossed the threshold, his hands behind him gripping something huge. “Okay, lady,” he asked. “Where do you want the Ping-Pong table?”

Aunt Phiz pulled herself together enough to pinch Hannah by the arm and shake her head. “You poor little thing. I guess I showed up at a very bad time.”

“Actually?” Hannah looked around her at the laughter and the letdowns and couldn’t help but think about her wish for something more exciting to write about. “You may have come at a moment of divine inspiration.”

“How’s that?” Lauren cocked her head.

“Let me rephrase that.” Hannah folded her arms and made a mental note of every last detail of the bedlam surrounding her. “Can I use your real names in my column?”

NOTE TO SELF: FINISH COLUMN BEFORE SENDING.

“A
s to any special dietary needs?” Phiz paused to clear her throat.

Presented with the first gap in the morning’s meandering monologue, Hannah dove in. “Not to worry, Aunt Phiz. Cincinnati has a little bit of everything. Whatever you need, we can find it here.”

“Me? Oh, don’t you concern yourself about me, dear.” The stout old gal patted her rounded belly and stretched out her bird-thin legs. An egg perched on stilts, Daddy had once described her figure. “I have the stomach of a goat.”

“Lucky you. Sadie is like that. That girl can eat anything. She’s the one who taught Sam that concoction of chocolate milk over cereal topped with strawberries.”

Hannah cuddled into her plump new couch. The salesperson had promised her that the cheery checkered upholstery would withstand the assaults of two kids, a dog and whatever else they threw at it. She whisked the back of her hand over a berry-shaped chocolate stain and
sighed. Obviously that man had never been to Hannah’s house and seen what her family was capable of throwing.

Still…She smiled over her coffee cup and tucked her legs up under her. “That’s right, you and Sadie and Sam, our family’s very own three billy goats gruff, with stomachs to match. April has eyes like a hawk, and Daddy—”

“Your daddy is ornery as a skunk.”

“I was going for crazy as a loon, but skunk works, too.” Hannah laughed. “Meanwhile, me? I was blessed with hips like an elephant.”

“Pfffttt.” Aunt Phiz sputtered her distaste and scrunched up her deeply lined lips. “You have a darling figure.”

“Yeah, darling if elephants are darling. Which I guess they can be, but mostly to other elephants.”

“Stop that this instant.” Aunt Phiz’s delicate antique teacup, which she had hauled hither and yon around the world over the past two decades, clinked down into its saucer.

Hannah curled her heavy coffee mug, a freebie from a pharmaceutical rep calling on Payt’s office, close to her chest. “Stop what?”

“Do you not know? Don’t you even listen to yourself?”

“Why do people keep asking me that? Of course I hear myself. My voice comes right out of my mouth, conveniently located just inches away from my ears. I can’t help hearing myself.”

“Hearing and listening.” She held both her index fingers up to demonstrate her point. She touched them to
gether then whipped them apart, her jewelry jangling. “Not necessarily the same thing.”

Hannah braced her bare foot against the edge of the new coffee table and pressed her lips together.

“And furthermore, your voice may come out of your mouth, young lady, but your words come from someplace else. Sometimes it’s your mind. Sometimes it’s your heart. Sometimes it’s even your stomach.” She patted her rounded belly and laughed. “Feed me chocolate now, and no one gets hurt.”

Hannah’s lips twitched, then relaxed into a hint of a smile.

“But in truth, what you say says more about you than simply the sounds you make. And, Hannah, what I hear you saying about yourself worries me.”

“I just meant I’m not happy with my hips. That’s all.”
But was it?

Hannah was no dummy. When two of the people she loved most in the world told her to her face that she needed to listen to herself more carefully, she had to take notice. But honestly, she didn’t see how it would change a thing, especially about her hips.

She looked around at the new furniture that had taken six hours, three movers, eight phone calls and one near hissy fit to get installed in her living room. They’d been in Loveland such a short time, and while she loved the sweet little town, she had begun to wonder if she would ever settle in here. Every day some new thing confronted her that she felt ill equipped to handle. Even a simple discussion with her aunt had gone so off-kilter that she sud
denly felt the need to defend her interior life, her sense of humor, her very cellulite!

All she wanted was one day where she didn’t have to endure a lecture on her shortcomings. Or face an uphill battle or downhill slide into humiliation brought on by her shortcomings. Or…or go through a day where she would be called upon to demonstrate her shortcomings.

Apparently, today was not that day.

She smoothed her hands down the legs of her pink Capri pants but the bumps and ripples and imperfections she saw there were not in the fabric. “Can we just drop the whole hearing and listening analogy for now and suffice it to say that Tessa is almost seven months old and I still haven’t lost all the weight I gained.”

“Fine. Yes. Fine. Let’s not quibble.” Phiz raised her age-spotted hand, setting her stack of silver bracelets clattering as she gestured in staccato movements with each word she spoke. “That brings us back to my question, though.”

It took a full three seconds for Hannah to realize that her aunt expected an answer. “What question?”

“Dietary needs?”

“You want to know if I’m on a diet?” She folded her arms over tummy.

“Or have allergies or have any special restrictions, preferences or dislikes. Not just you, but the whole family. If I am going to be cooking for you I need to know.”

“Cooking?” She unfolded her arms and dropped her feet to the floor with a thud.

It boggled the mind to imagine what exotic dishes Aunt Phiz might concoct. And how her family might react to them. What if they actually liked Aunt Phiz’s Roasted Rack of Yak or Cream of Octopus Soup? Hannah couldn’t even flip a decent flapjack, much less start off each morning serving up crêpes flamingo flambé. Hannah didn’t even know where to get a flamingo in Ohio!

“That’s so sweet of you to offer, Aunt Phiz, but I think we should stick with my brand of simple but nourishing style of cooking for the family.”

“I’ve seen your handiwork.” Even partially obscured by soft, crinkly skin, the older woman’s eyes still sparkled.

Hannah raised her head. “I manage.”

“And your family? They like these cakes with spackling for frosting?”

“No. They like…” They
liked
eating out. In fact they vastly preferred it to Hannah’s effort in the kitchen. “Look, Aunt Phiz, I know I’m not the world’s best cook but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to learn, that I don’t want to get better at it.”

The senior tented her plump fingers over her chest and leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

“I’ve waited so long for the chance to do just that, to take care of my very own family.” Hannah gazed into her secondhand mug and swirled the dregs of her coffee around. “Surely you understand?”

Her aunt lifted her teacup and sipped her aromatic, anise-flavored tea. Her eyes searched Hannah’s face for a moment before she set the cup back on its saucer with a
decisive click. “Not only do I understand, but I think I know precisely how to help you realize that very thing.”

“Help?” she asked weakly, when deep down inside she wanted to fling open a window and scream it.
Help! Help!

“Never fear, Hannah, my darling. Aunt Phiz is here, and she is going to teach you to become a first-class gourmet cook!”

Cooking lessons. She guessed she could squeeze those in, somewhere between mothering, writing, running the nursery and…

Aunt Phiz pushed up from the oversize floral wingback. Everything from her hair to her boot laces swung into the action as she waddled off to the kitchen, her precious teacup in hand. “Get the kids ready. We are going shopping!”

Who knew?

All these years everyone teased her for being a lousy cook when they should have teased her for being a lousy shopper!

Okay, it wasn’t quite that simple, but standing in her own kitchen now piled high with a shiny new collection of pots, pans and gadgets filled Hannah with a soaring sense of unlimited potential.

She could study the recipes in her new cookbook.

She could listen and learn and do her aunt Phiz proud.

She could make…meat loaf!

“Turkey meat loaf.” Aunt Phiz waved her hand over the ingredients strewn along the cluttered countertop.

“Turkey? You sure about this?”

“Considered a healthier alternative by some.”

“Some as in someone whose name rhymes with Shyllis Shamaryllis?”

“Humor me.” She slapped the meat, wrapped in bright white paper, into Hannah’s palm. “And get cooking. We’re burning daylight.”

“Okay, but do me a favor. Don’t use the words
cooking
and
burning
in the same breath around here.”

“You’ll do fine. Just follow my instructions.”