Page 51 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
I pause at that one, trying to imagine my aunt salsa dancing. I can’t.
“You should see her,” Uncle Peter says, pride clear in his voice. “Puts the twenty-year-olds to shame.”
She swats at him playfully. “Stop it, you old charmer. Caitlin doesn’t want to hear about my dance moves.”
“Actually, I do,” I say, realizing how much I’ve missed their easy affection, the way they still flirt and tease each other, even after thirty years together. It’s so different from the tense meals at the Kelleys, where criticism flowed more freely than conversation.
As we finish our soup, the conversation shifts. Uncle Peter’s expression grows more serious.
“So,” he begins, exchanging a look with Aunt Charlene. “You mentioned you were interested in working at the restaurant again.”
At my nod, he continues. “You might have noticed things weren’t exactly booming when you stopped in yesterday. To be honest, we’ve been struggling for a while now.”
I had noticed. The lunch crowd had been thin, with barely a quarter of the tables filled.
“Business has been dropping steadily for about two years now,” Uncle Peter continues. “It’s all these trendy new places opening up downtown. They’re attracting all the tourists, and we’re getting left behind.”
Aunt Charlene nods, her usual exuberance dimmed. “We tried a few things. Did some updating, some ad campaigns, remember? But…”
“But it’s the food,” I finish for her. “The menu hasn’t changed since Grandma was running things.”
“People around here used to want familiar,” my uncle says, sounding tired. “Now they want ‘elevated’ and ‘reimagined’ and all those words the food magazines use.”
“What if…” I hesitate, then plunge ahead. “What if we tried updating the menu? Just a few dishes at first, specials maybe. Things that honor Grandma’s traditions but with some new twists.”
Uncle Peter doesn’t exactly look convinced, but he nods and says, “We may as well try it. Nothing else has worked.”
“You sure this is what you want to be doing?” Aunt Charlene asks, reaching across the table to take my hand. “You can take time to decide what you want to do, maybe decide if you want to work somewhere else or even go to school. You don’t have to work at Louise’s Table.”
“I want this,” I say with a shrug. “I want to work, and I need to cook. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me right now.”
“Oh, honey.” Aunt Charlene reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “We’d love that. We’ve missed you terribly. I’d love to cook beside you again.”
“I guess that’s settled then,” Uncle Peter says, his smile returning. “You may as well start tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a flutter of excitement for the first time in months. “Sounds great.”
“Perfect!” Aunt Charlene claps her hands together.
We clear the table, Uncle Peter washing dishes and me drying. Everything is comfortable and companionable, and I bask in it.
“If we’re going to head up to Louise’s house this afternoon, Peter, we should get going,” Charlene says, shrugging into a jacket. “God knows what state Whitney left it in,” she adds with an eye roll.
I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Grandma’s house? Weren’t you guys renting it out?”
“Yeah, to Charlene’s niece Whitney. Her sister Barb’s girl,” Uncle Peter explains. “She moved out last week, and we haven’t had a chance yet to stop in and see what shape she left it in.”
“I’m not expecting much,” my aunt mutters. “Whitney is a sweet girl, but those boys of hers were wild, and they had two big dogs. Friendly animals but energetic and stupider than a plank of wood.”
“Want to ride along?” Uncle Peter asks.
My heart gives a little jump at the thought of seeing my grandmother’s house again. The old farmhouse surrounded by Grandma’s fruit trees and gardens was where I spent most of my childhood. Even before Mom took off for good and left me with Grandma, I spent most of my time there. All the best memories of my childhood happened in that house.
“We thought you might want to see it,” Aunt Charlene adds. “Maybe… well, maybe you’d have some thoughts about what to do with it.”
“I’d love to see it,” I say, surprised by the emotion suddenly clogging my throat.
* * *
