Perfectly Flawed (54 page)

I reach out to hug the winner standing next
to me, being a good sport and very proud of her—she is truly
spectacular, and sneak from the stage as they hand her a trophy. Or
try to sneak away. They hand me a second place trophy and I walk
down the stairs, directly into Zephyr’s waiting arms, letting him
envelop me.

“I think you were robbed,” he whispers into
my ear as he holds onto me.

I hit him in the arm lightly. “She deserved
it, she was fantastic,” I tell him. Is it a tad disappointing? Only
a miniscule amount, really. I’m not, I mean, I refuse to dwell on
it. “But I want to go home, now,” I mumble and let him lead me out
of the theatre. I think there was an after party planned, but
there’re other places I’d rather be. The cool night air is crisp
against my skin. It’s drizzling outside and I forgot my jacket at
home, but I refuse Zephyr’s offer of his. I just feel like walking
in the rain. I release Zephyr’s hand and begin to drift away,
moving farther into the rain, letting it wash over me.

“Jo, come on,” Zephyr calls loudly as I speed
up my pace, nearly running through the rain--or
frolicking
.
“You’ll get sick.” He worries too much sometimes.

“But it's fun,” I say from halfway across the
parking lot. I stop; raising my arms above my head, feeling the
rain hit my skin and soak through the fabric of my dress.

Zephyr walks up, pulling me into his arms
tightly. The rain picks up, pouring down, flattening my curls to my
body. I can see his hair is plastered to the side of his face. I
lean up and press my lips against his, wrapping my arms around his
neck.

“You’re wearing a white dress,” he points out
after our kiss. I pull away, looking down at my dress, my soaked
dress, but it doesn't show anything.

Still, I say, “Maybe, I should head home.” I
offer.

***

“These two days of school are just
pointless,” Zephyr grumbles as he closely follows me up the
driveway to my house, his hand threaded with mine. We just finished
school the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and I was happy that a long
weekend of food and family was a head of me.

Goody, goody gum drops!

“Shouldn’t you use the past tense,” I ask him
as my hands search my pockets half-heartedly for my keys. I unzip
the side pocket to my Dakine backpack and tug out the red-and-black
lanyard holding my keys, letting them dangle and jingle.

“Maybe you’re right,” Zephyr replies. I look
over to him and he shrugs and smiles. I lean over to kiss him on
the cheek briefly.

The front door flings open before I can pull
away from Zephyr. A loud squeal slices through the air, raising the
hair on the back of my neck and sending a tremble of joy down my
spine.

That can only be one person.

“There’s my little Joey Bean,” my
grandmother, or Grammy as I call her when I’m not jokingly
referring to her as Gram Cracker, yells, her Scottish accent not as
thick as it used to be. She darts from the front door—surprisingly
spry in her ripe old age of sixty (even though that isn’t really
that
old). She wraps her arms around me in a tight squeeze,
rocking me from side to side. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She must be talking to Zephyr because I feel him slam against my
back, emitting a loud
oomph
. “I’ve missed you so, so,
so
much,” she announces loudly.

“Mom, you’re going to suffocate them,” a deep
male voice, which can only belong to my Uncle Sam, calls from the
door.

“These are my babies,” Grammy yells to her
only son.

“Can’t… breathe…” I sputter out, tapping
Grammy on the back. I hear Zephyr struggling behind me.

“Okay, fine,” Grammy releases us and I fall
back against Zephyr, taking a deep breath. I feel like I’ve just
gone against a large boa constrictor—maybe, I should’ve been
calling her
that
my entire like. “How was your day,
kids?”

“Great, Gram Cracker.” I hear Zephyr giggle
as I call her the name she despises. I don’t always call her that,
it just makes me hungry for s’mores when I do. “Where’s the
Popsicle?” Also known as Grandpa… most of the time. Sometimes, I
mean actual popsicle—preferably cherry.

“In the house with Sam and Hilary,” my
grandmother points out. “When are you going to stop calling me Gram
Cracker?” she asks, following us as we walk toward the house.

“How does
never
sound to you?” I ask,
turning so she can see my smile. I could call her worse names; she
has to know that. “Remember how much you love me,” I sing as I hug
Sam. Now, while I enjoy making up nicknames for people, his
nickname was not my doing. His name
is
Sam and he
is
my uncle. “Hi, Unc,” I mutter into his flannel shirt as he hugs me.
He smells like pine and Christmas. It’s a bit early, and I’m not
sure where he’s been to gain that scent, but I don’t mind.

“Hello, little darlin’.” Ah, the familiar
accent I’ve missed.

My favorite part of the holidays is when my
relatives come to visit, or I visit them. Especially Thanksgiving
because my grandparents, my uncle, and the Kalivas family join my
aunt and me, and I can’t forget that Patrick is also joining the
festivities this year because we all want to see him squirm around
Grandpa, even Hilary, and he doesn’t want to go back to New
York.

“Sorry to hear about that singing thing—” my
uncle starts, but I’m quick to cut him off before he starts
sprouting out conspiracy theories.

“Don’t even worry about it. My boyfriend over
here”—I hitch my thumb behind me, pointing to Zephyr, the guilt
culprit—“signed me up for it without my knowledge.” I shoot a glare
over my shoulder.

“Did he, now?” Sam turns toward Zephyr, his
mouth a tight, thin line. “Atta boy, Zephyr.” My uncle claps Zephyr
on the back in appreciation and praise.

“Hey!” I complain loudly. “I thought you were
on my side.” I punch him lightly in the arm.

“I’m on any side that showcases your
talents.” I narrow my eyes. “I remember that I’d visit and you’d
just be sitting in your room, playing by yourself, and all that
we’d hear is your voice, all light and airy, floating through the
air.”

Zephyr sticks his tongue out at me.
How
classy
.

“Where is my grandbaby?” I hear Grandpa in
the kitchen. “Joey!” He calls, his voice gruff and breathy, like
he’d ran here just to see me, while his accent is smooth and
familiar, also a little worn.

“Coming!” I dart through the people standing
in the kitchen—my aunt, my uncle, and my grandmother—and launch
myself into my grandfather’s waiting arms. His familiar scent wafts
from his shirt and I take a deep breath, smelling the tobacco on
his shirt. It shouldn’t smell like home, but it does. Grammy has
been trying to get him to quit for years; he just keeps it up,
smoking, even though we all want him to live longer.

“I’ve missed you.” His hand pats me on the
head before it lightly taps my back.

“Me, too, Grandpa.” I lean back and smile up
at him, taking in his bald, shining head that glints in the kitchen
light. I need to call them more.

It’s great to have my family here, all in one
place. We all sit in the living room, even Zephyr, who should
really be home with his parents right now, but we all sit together,
swapping stories of the past year, trying to catch up with each
other in a way that can’t be done over the telephone. It takes no
time. The same questions are asked around, such as “When are you
going to settle down, boy?” Grammy will ask Sam, who’s only
twenty-five. He won’t answer. “What about you, girl?” she’ll ask
Hilary. She won’t answer either. Instead, she’ll blush
brightly.

Then they start congratulating and
complimenting everyone. “Congratulations on graduating early,
Joey,” Grandpa will tell me and Grammy will tell my aunt “I heard
about that new award nomination, Hilary.”

After a few hours of talking and laughing and
joking, it’s finally time for bed. I send Zephyr home and walk my
grandparents up to their room, the only guestroom in the house,
while Sam camps out on the couch. I sometimes feel bad about it but
the though quickly passes when I remember sleeping on that lumpy
thing. Even with Zephyr, it hurt like a bitch.

On Thanksgiving morning, I awake to the
delicious, mouthwatering scent of bacon. That’s enough to lure me
from my room tugging a sweatshirt over my head and yanking down the
hem of my Powerpuff Girls sleep shorts.

“I smell bacon,” I murmur like a zombie
toward the giant mound of crispy bacon on the counter next to the
stove. It’s the first thing I see, and with instinct and my arms
outstretched, I wander to it, partially dazed.

I look to my grandmother, fully dressed in a
floral dress and a cardigan. She smiles at me, the same she does on
every holiday and summer vacation. I walk over to her and wrap my
arms around her shoulders, trying to butter her up because I want
as much bacon as I can get. Right now, I want the entire damned
plate.

Grandma looks to me and nudges the plate in
my direction, and like a lion, I attack, pouncing on the bacon like
I’m a lion and it’s a fresh zebra carcass. Not to go on my own
bacon appreciation moment, but I love it more than pancakes. Hell,
I would kick a squirrel for some bacon.

The day before, we spent hours—literally long
hours—at the store purchasing everything we need for this upcoming
weekend. We took two cars and maxed out two credit cards, that’s
how big and expensive the shopping trip was.

I take a good layer of bacon—one very large
handful—and start snacking, leaning against the counter while my
grandmother cooks at the stove. I’m sure the sight is
entertaining.

“Don’t fill up on bacon alone, honey,”
Grandma tells me. I can’t help thinking,
That would be the
greatest breakfast, ever!
I quickly quiet the thought because
she’d force me to indulge in some fruit, and in all our haste, we
forgot to buy apples. She keeps her voice quiet to let my uncle
continue sleeping soundly on the sofa in the living room. “I also
fixed up some eggs and grits”—I’m in
heaven
—“I’ll start the
pancakes and French toast in a moment.”
Yum!

Hearing her say
fixed up
makes me
giggle. While Grammy is from Scotland, born and raised, just like
Grandpa, she has lived in the United States, primarily Texas, long
enough to speak like one of her neighbors or members of her book
club. I’m just waiting for the accents to combine.

“Did I ever mention how much I love you?” I
tell her with a piece of bacon dangling from my lips.

The front door opens and I raise an eyebrow,
catching a smirk play across my grandmother’s lips. “I remember the
deal around here,” my grandmother tells me, her accent kicking in,
as Zephyr and Jamie walk into the kitchen, both wearing jeans and
t-shirts. It’s always customary we spend Thanksgiving together, and
I’m not entirely sure when it started. Behind them, their older
brother, Aidan, walks in. He looks the same, only taller with more
hair and it’s as unruly as ever. I stand up and hug him, nearly
tackling him in the doorway.

“Grammy,” Jamie announces loudly, I think my
uncle is awake by now, wrapping her thin arms around my
grandmother’s shoulders as I had done. “How have you been since we
last saw you?” she asks.

“Been well, dear,” she replies, taking a good
look at Jamie and her tiny frame. “Have you been eating? It’s good
that I’m here to put some meat on those bones.”

Zephyr starts laughing—he snorts, in fact,
receiving an angry look from his sister. “Good luck with that.” He
grabs the plate of bacon from the counter and places it on the
table between us. Jamie joins us and it’s like a normal school day
morning. Soon, everyone is up and eating, even Molly and Antonios
join us, and I head up to change into more appropriate attire.

“So where’ve you been applying, Joey?” my
grandfather asks as I set a vegetable platter down on the dining
room table. He’s seated during a commercial break during the
football game while Sam, Aidan, Antonios, Zephyr, Patrick, and
Hilary wait for the commercials to end.

“Uh, mostly Pacific Northwest schools,” I
answer, grabbing an olive and popping it into my mouth. “I really
want to go to University of Oregon.” I resist the urge to quack
like a duck.

“No schools in Texas?” my grandmother asks
from the stove. I return to helping her cook. Mostly, I just stand
by and place things on plates while Molly works on a pie and Jamie
watches her. Jamie and I are really useless in the kitchen.

“Not really,” I answer honestly.

“Well, whatever makes you happy, dear.” She
pats me on the head. “Now take this over to your grandfather for
me, please.” Handing me a large salad that’d make a rabbit happy.
My grandfather, not so much.

That night, when we all sit down for the
delicious dinner, things get interesting. Patrick’s seated between
me and Hilary and Grandpa refused to look anywhere else but at him.
From what I could tell, they didn’t talk much during the game. I
think he—Patrick—is terrified of my grandfather, as well he
should.

“He’s scaring me,” I hear Patrick whisper to
Hilary—thus affirming my theory. She giggles in response, shooting
a glance to Grandpa as he winks to her.

“He’s really harmless,” I tell him, trying to
reassure him. “At least he wasn’t cleaning his gun, or guns, at the
table.” He does reside in Texas, he is a
big
fan of
guns—when they are used for the right reasons.

The nervous smile falls from his face and he
gulps. “That’s not helpful, Joey.” I could hear the fear in
Patrick’s voice. It took all my effort not to laugh. Because
Grandpa’s a sweetheart.

After all the fear and joking, Grandpa
finally warmed up to Patrick. It wasn’t like Grandpa didn’t like
him, he was just trying to put the fear of God in him, which
worked. I’ve never seen any one more terrified. And then, there was
the usual threat of “
If you hurt her, they will never find
you
,” from Sam, which works considering that he’s a Marine.