Page 50 of One Week Hating You
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THE SMELL OF MOLASSES and brown sugar fills the air. Momma is busy twirling around a wooden spoon in a giant bowl. I’ve set up the table exactly like I was taught as a child. This kind of feels like old times, with the exception of Tim and Daddy who used to always sneak over our shoulders and steal a dollop of dough. Momma would swat them, and I’d laugh. When she wasn’t looking, I’d sneak some dough too.
It’s memories like these that make me miss my dad so much. I think about Blake. He used to be very close to his dad too. They’d go fishing all the time. I wonder how often he thinks about him, if his heart is still broken, if it has ever healed. Mine has, for the most part. It took years. Years away from this place. Every time I used to come back here, I’d be assaulted by memories of Daddy, and it would hurt so much. But it’s better now. I don’t know why exactly. It just is.
I love the feel of the cookie dough in my hands as I shape it into a ball. It’s just like when Tim, Marilyn and I used to play with Play-Doh as kids.
Momma and I work well together. She chatters about her friends, local people I probably should remember, but don’t. My mom can be a little gossip-y occasionally. That’s why everyone in this darn town knows all my business. Apparently Eloise Johnson’s daughter got knocked up – she’s only sixteen. She also tells me the Reynolds are getting a divorce. I’m not surprised. I used to babysit for them, and they were always fighting, even back then.
Gossiping aside, I’m happy to be spending quality time with my Momma.
“I’m going in for a shift later at the store,” she tells me. “Why don’t you come with me, for old times’ sake?”
Momma is a cashier at Jack’s Deli, the local convenience/grocery store. I used to work there part-time as a teenager, and I actually enjoyed it a lot. “I thought you were retired.”
She shrugs. “I sort of was,” she tells me, “but I’ve gone in quite a few times to replace Anita Greenwood. Poor little thing has Lyme disease. It’s pretty serious… they caught it late.”
I bring my hand to my mouth. “Oh no…”
She grabs two cookie trays and slides them into the oven. “What do you say? Coming or not?”
I want more time with her – I’m leaving in three or four days, and I want to make the most of it. Also, I’m looking forward to seeing the place again. “I’m in.”
Her smile warms me. My mother has the biggest most magnetic grin I’ve ever seen. It fills half her face; so many teeth, bright and big. She almost looks like a cartoon character when she smiles. I think that’s why so many people are drawn to her.
The place is not quitelike I remember… everything is just a little more organized, brighter. The old tattered posters on the walls are gone, replaced by stylish advertisements in Plexiglass. The worn vinyl flooring has been replaced by a nice wood imitation laminate. The place is not a dive anymore. It’s just like any other convenience store.
Momma turns on the radio speaker, and Madonna’sLucky Staris playing in the background. It takes me right back. Early Madonna was before my time but Momma loved her. Momma turns the key in the register and does her thing – she’s on auto-pilot. I’ve forgotten how all this works, and I’m sure everything’s changed since I worked here.
She eyes me up and down. Her gaze is stuck to my red heeled pumps. “I like your outfit, sweetie, but are you sure you’ll be comfortable working in those all day?”
I smile. She’s always such a mom. “These are Dr. Scholls. Super comfy,” I tell her. “I wear these all the time at work… or I used to.”
“Okay, if you say so,” she says. “I love the skirt… very you.”
I stare down at the black and white polka-dot skirt and silently agree.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask, eager to start.
She starts the coffee maker. “The usual. Customers come in, buy stuff. We cash them out. When it’s slow, we stock the shelves.” She eyes my shoes and skirt again. “We keep the coffee going, manage the register, and answer the phone.”
“I think I can handle that,” I say playfully. It’s all duties I used to have at my old job, save for the coffee making.
The door clangs and our first customer walks in – a small elderly lady wearing a fashionable vintage pea coat and matching hat. She smiles brightly at us as she inches closer.
“Maeve,” she cheers, her face full with excitement. “Don’t you look lovely.”
She obviously recognizes me, but I don’t quite remember her. I smile awkwardly.
“You remember Mrs. Wright, don’t you?” Momma says. “She used to own the flower shop in town.”
“Oh, yes,” I say, feigning recognition. “Of course I remember Mrs. Wright. Lovely pea coat, Mrs. Wright.”
She blushes a little. “Why, thank you, Maeve. I’ve had it forever. People in this town don’t really appreciate a good quality coat. They all wear those cheap jackets with plastic buttons. Of course, there’s nowhere in this town to buy decent clothing so you can’t exactly fault them, can you. Just the other day… I spotted a young woman sporting a man’s oversized leather jacket… can you imagine it?”
I glance over at Momma who is smiling widely. I get the impression that Mrs. Wright likes to chat a lot. She probably comes here for a little conversation. “Yes, wouldn’t it be great if we had a decent clothing store in this town?” I say.
“It surely would. I’d be the first one there.”
