The Queen of Bad Decisions (6 page)

Mary ran her fingers through the cat’s soft, gray hair and was rewarded with a throaty purr for the effort. She wasn’t stupid. There was no way she was going to make it easy for her little brother to even ask for more of her hard-earned money. He could work a bit to get around to the imminent request. Payback for interrupting her reading time. “It is very good. Thank you for bringing me the little midnight snacks. I’ll enjoy them with my new book this evening.”

George cleared his throat. “As you know, anything gourmet isn’t cheap to buy or make. I was wondering if you could float me a small loan to get more supplies? I’m sure the peanut butter will sell like gangbusters. I’ll pay you back before you know it.”

“You need more than recipe ingredients for a food business. Where are you going to make the peanut butter? Your rat hole apartment isn’t a commercial kitchen. Have you researched large-scale production? How much is that going to cost?”

He fluttered his hand in the air, like the questions were annoying bugs he needed to shoo away. “No, but those things are inconsequential at this time. I need to make samples to woo suppliers and those can be produced in my kitchen
if
I have all of the ingredients. I am currently out of everything except the cinnamon.”

Mary carefully relocated Patsy to the floor. The all out begging would arrive next, followed by whining. His usual routine. She ran her fingers through the water in the basin. It was barely lukewarm, but salvageable if she added more hot water. Time to end the brotherly invasion before she had to start over with her foot soak. She stood and pointed at the door. “Sorry, but I’m not loaning you anything. You’ve proven many times that your schemes are a bad investment.”

His face turned crimson. He stomped to the door, but whirled around before opening it. “If you loved me,
like a good sister is supposed to love her baby brother,
you would lend me a thousand dollars.”

Nice try, but she wasn’t falling for his ploys again. Playing the guilt card wouldn’t work. She glared at him as she slowly walked into the kitchen. She filled the tea kettle with water again and set it on the stove to heat before responding.

“Why don’t you use some of the other money I’ve loaned you over the past fifteen years? I think your tab is somewhere around $7,000 at this point.” She grabbed a wooden spoon out of the stoneware crock near the stove and swished the utensil back and forth like a sword as she said, “In fact, how about you pay me back all of the money I’ve loaned you,
like a good baby brother
? I want to put a gas fireplace in at the book store. The money you owe me would easily pay for a nice model.”

George took a step backward. He grunted when the door knob poked him in the kidney. “The peanut butter will be so successful I’ll be able to pay you back with interest. If you loved me, you’d help me out now.”

“Sorry, Georgie. I do love you, but it’s time you got a taste of tough love. I’m not funding your drinking binges while you pretend to play entrepreneur. Why don’t you get a real job and save up your money to start the peanut butter business?”

He shook his head. “Do you know how hard it is to find a decent job when you have a prison record?”

“I suppose it isn’t easy, but I’m sure it’s not impossible, either. I guess you should’ve thought twice before becoming a weed farmer.” The kettle’s shrill whistle cut through the thick tension. “Now if you would, please leave. I would like to enjoy the rest of my evening. Alone.”

Turning The Page

Take a sip of tea from the yellow mug adorned with a cheerful smiley face.

Look out the window, search for a mane of black hair among the people on the sidewalk.

Go into the bathroom and stand over the toilet. Take slow, deep breaths to tamp down the nausea.

Repeat.

The circuit around the studio calmed Anita as she waited for Alex to arrive. Of course, her only child didn’t want to be called Alex anymore. She and her painfully formal father deemed Alexandra a much more appropriate moniker for a law student and the daughter of a hot shot lawyer. The boyish nickname was not to be used at any time, buried in the past like a shameful secret. The sweet little girl who read the entire Little House on the Prairie series three times during one summer vacation, while munching on countless bags of pretzel sticks, was gone, replaced with a serious young woman who rarely felt the need to visit a radical, insane mother. A mother who filed for divorce from an esteemed lawyer then turned into a hippy, starving artist wasn’t thinking rationally - the sentiment was broadcast loud and clear through Alex’s snipes and snarks. Never mind that Anita had put all of her dreams aside to raise a child and host dinner parties for her husband’s clients.

Anita chugged the rest of the tea. According to the clerk at the health food store, the blend of herbs was supposed to be calming. Nervous energy still propelled her around the room like a frenetic puppy. She refilled the mug with fresh water and put it in the microwave to heat. Filling the tea kettle and heating it on the stove was too much effort for her overloaded mind. What would her daughter think of the changes to her appearance and the new, Bohemian abode? Hair color was not a topic that ever came up during the infrequent phone conversations. The switch from fake honey golden blonde to clown wig red would surely shock her fashionable daughter. Insomnia had set in a week earlier when Alex called to say she was coming back to town for a high school friend’s wedding. She would have a bit of spare time to visit with her mother. The conversation had the tone of a queen granting villagers the right to see her for a few seconds while she passed through town in a carriage. Or maybe she had just imagined the haughty note in Alexandra’s voice. It could have been a bad cell phone connection.

Three, sharp knocks on the door punctuated the hum of the microwave. Her heart plummeted to her sandals. The microwave dinged. Time was up. Anita smoothed her hair one last time and took a deep breath. Another series of knocks tapped out the message that Alexandra was too impatient stay around long enough to knock a third time.

“Just a moment,” Anita said. The urge to run into the bathroom and throw up challenged the need to answer the door. She rested her forehead on the door frame for a few seconds and then turned the handle. A doppelganger of herself at age 25 stood in the hallway. “I’m so happy you’re here. Welcome to my studio.”

A flicker of surprise passed over her daughter’s face, quickly replaced by the emotionless lawyer’s mask Anita had seen so many times on her ex-husband’s face. “Hello, mother. I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to check on you. The wedding rehearsal starts in an hour.”

The condescending comment deserved an indignant response. She wasn’t the crazy relative who needed to be monitored for signs of emerging psychosis. The relationship with her daughter had been strained to the breaking point since the moment she separated from Phillip. One angry remark could leave it in a pile of irreparable rubble. “It was nice of you to fit a visit with me into your schedule. Please, come in. Would you like some tea? I think I have about a dozen varieties, mint and lemongrass, matcha, jasmine pearls?”

Alexandra shook her head as she passed by Anita. She stopped at the edge of the kitchen island and slowly surveyed the apartment. The crammed studio was a far cry from the custom-built suburban mansion she grew up in. The entire apartment was smaller than her childhood bedroom.

“Surely dad pays you enough alimony to live in a better place than this.”

Disdain oozed from the statement. She appeared perplexed that her martini sipping socialite mother had turned into a kombucha brewing artist. Although there was a good chance Alexandra had no idea that the jar full of brown liquid sitting on the kitchen counter was fermented tea. “I could live in a luxury apartment, but I like the community aspect of this artists’ colony. There are potlucks, special interest groups and even movie nights. I find it much more stimulating than sitting alone in an over-priced ivory tower.”

“Sounds like college. Are you trying to relive your glory years at U of M or something?”

Her daughter was right. The colony was similar to a dorm, but she certainly didn’t have any fantasies about going back to her years in college. Too many painful lessons she didn’t care to repeat. “I definitely don’t want to go back to college, but the atmosphere is like a much more grown up version of a dorm. The diversity in the residents and the art they create is amazing. Why don’t you have a seat? Tell me about your life in southern California. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to visit in over a year.”

“I really need to get going. I love California so much more than Michigan. I’m sure I’ll never live in this state again. Daddy is helping me get into an entertainment law firm in L.A. My life is perfect. Don’t feel bad about not visiting. I’m doing fine.”

Anita nodded. She still knew how to interpret her daughter’s mannerisms. The short, precise sentences, like a robot reciting a bulleted list, exuded discord. The subtext behind Alexandra’s words was that she didn’t want Anita to visit. She had always been a daddy’s girl and was perfectly happy staying like that, especially since he had the connections to land her a dream job at a high-powered law firm. Blood ties weren’t easily cut, though. Anita wouldn’t let her daughter just float away like a delicate balloon caught in a crosswind.

“I love you, so I’m always with you in spirit.” She picked up a book from the end table and handed it to Alexandra. “This is what I do now, instead of shopping for designer shoes or interviewing party planners.”

Alexandra accepted the book like it was a flier handed out by a vagrant on a street corner. Then she flipped the altered book over. Her eyes widened as she caressed the embossed title with her index finger, “Little House On The Prairie”. It was her favorite book in the series she was obsessed with as a child. Anita had found a vintage hardcover copy of the book. Instead of gluing, folding and painting the pages, techniques she often used, all of the pages were left loose and intact. Tucked between them were inspiring quotes handwritten in swirling script on vintage paper, interspersed with bits of antique ephemera like tickets to plays and scraps of sheet music. A few photographs of Alexandra as a happy child were hidden in the mix.

A slight smile brightened Alexandra’s face as she opened the door. “Thank you, mom. I love it.”

Raisin and Date Chutney

1/2 cup raisins, light or dark

1/2 cup pitted, chopped dates

1/4 cup apple cider vinegar

1/4 cup brown sugar

3/4 cup water

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

1/8 - 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper - depending on desired heat or omit completely

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Combine everything in a medium, non-reactive saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat and simmer for 30-45 minutes, stirring occasionally, until thickened.

Keep for one week in refrigerator or freeze for up to six months.

Black Pepper & Honey Glazed Carrots

2 1/2 cups thickly sliced carrots

2 teaspoons butter

1/4 cup water

2 tablespoons honey

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Salt to taste

Bring water and butter to a boil in a 10-inch skillet. Add carrots, cover and reduce heat to medium. Simmer for 5-10 minutes, until carrots are just tender. Remove lid. Add honey, pepper and salt to taste. Continue to cook over medium heat, stirring frequently, until glaze is thickened and coats carrot slices.

About The Bartonville Series

Sometimes all you need is one or two bites to satisfy a craving.

That is the principle behind The Bartonville Series. We're all busy. Settling down and spending hours reading a nice, long novel is appealing, but how often do you get to do that? With that thought in mind I am creating a women's fiction series where each book will contain stories of different lengths with companion recipes. There will be flash fiction stories that can be read during a coffee break, novellas that can be devoured over an evening and everything in between, like short stories and novelettes.

Other stories in the series:

Must Love Sandwiches
(Volume 1)

About The Author

Janel Gradowski grew up, and still lives, in the mitten shaped state of Michigan. She is a wife and mother whose writing companion is a crazy Golden Retriever named Cooper. In the past she has worked many jobs. Renting apartments, scorekeeping for a stock car racetrack and selling newspaper classified advertisements are some of the experiences that continue to provide inspiration for her stories. Now she writes fiction and is also a beadwork designer and teacher. She enjoys cooking and is fueled by copious amounts of coffee. Her work has appeared in many publications, both online and in print. She is the author of two series. The Bartonville Series is women's fiction with recipes. Each volume will contain stories of various lengths, all set in Michigan. The 6:1 Series features collections of her stories that are based on the title's theme. You can connect with her in various ways.