Family Affair (42 page)

"Wow, that does look good," Chase said.

"It's not overly complicated. Rosarita says it's okay not like a chocolate mousse, double boiler thing."

Rosarita clucked and shook her head. "Simple is better."

"Exactly, especially when there's already a lot to do. Are we ready?" Chase asked.

"Si," Addison and Rosarita said in unison.

Chase handed the clipboard with the grocery list to Addison. "You're in charge of inventory accumulation."

Rosarita cocked her head and looked at Addison. "I'm in charge of checking stuff off the list. I know simple is better, but she's a writer and it's an occupational hazard."

Chase strode quickly to the door. Rosarita grabbed Addison's arm. "Come, before her big brain gets her in trouble."

Three shopping carts later they returned to the Hummer. With some difficulty and several attempts they got the groceries in the back.

"Be careful, those are the crescent rolls," Addison said as Chase attempted to shut the tailgate on them.

"Right." Chase pulled them out of the plastic grocery bag and threw them in the backseat.

"That's much better," Addison said, rolling her eyes.

They climbed in the car and Chase got out of the parking lot as quickly as possible as it was beginning to resemble a bumper car ride. As Chase merged onto the freeway, heading toward her mother's house she questioned Addison about the grocery list, making her reiterate it several times.

"Are you going to do these holiday things a lot?" Addison asked, putting the clipboard under her seat.

"I suppose so, especially once Bud arrives." She found herself thinking about Bud like a guest or long lost acquaintance soon to arrive. "Why do you ask?" She exited the freeway and turned on Mountain Avenue.

Addison didn't reply instead she readjusted the teddy bear's seat belt that had gone askew since being knocked in the head with the packet of buns.

Chase glanced in the rearview mirror. She must watch things like that. It could have been Bud's head. "All right, I'm a little nervous which tends to make me neurotic. I'll work on it."

"All will be fine, mija. No worries," Rosarita said, touching Chase's arm.

"I know." She took a few deep breaths. She almost chewed a cuticle, but Addison reached forward and grabbed her wrist.

"Don't, you're doing so well."

Chase put her hand back on the steering wheel. They pulled up into her mother's driveway. Chase swung the Hummer around the circular driveway so she could back up to the garage. The Hummer didn't fit into the garage, being too tall, an engineering snafu, Chase thought ruefully as the three of them stared at the load.

"I know," Addison said, hopping out. She pulled out a green metal garden cart from the depths of the garage.

"Brilliant," Chase said, and they began loading the cart and dragging it to the kitchen.

When they got into the house, Gitana and Stella were playing Scrabble. The game board lay between them on the white couch with the dogs curled up on either side of them.

Boy, things have really changed, Chase thought.

Gitana looked up and smiled. "Your mother is smoking me."

"I don't wonder. She used to drill me on vocabulary every night at dinner. Thank God, she didn't go in for the National Spelling Bee."

Stella smirked. "It did cross my mind." She put down six tiles to spell "radical."

"Thirty-five points!" Gitana screeched.

"I could help," Addison offered.

"No way, you're on kitchen duty," Chase said.

Addison ignored her. She reached over and rearranged Gitana's tiles.

Gitana smiled slyly and then plunked them down against an existing word, spelling out "callously."

Stella and Chase peered down at them.

"Fifty-five points," Chase said.

Stella smiled savagely at Addison. "You're next. If a nine-year-old can beat me, it's back to the dictionary."

"I only play for money," Addison said, rubbing her fingernails on her T-shirt.

"A nickle a tile?" Stella queried.

"I'll keep score," Gitana said, sliding over to let Addison slip in.

Chase put her hands on her hips. "There goes my kitchen help."

No one paid any attention as they set up a new game.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"This has been the weirdest nine months of my entire life," Chase said.

"Does that include puberty?" Lacey asked.

Chase thought for a moment. Puberty was boobs, periods, sex, lust and desire. "Okay, the second weirdest but a close second."

They were in the kitchen peeling and dicing potatoes for the big turkey day celebration. Chase pondered the value of these family rituals, but it always came back to Bud.

"Sex and driving a car, that's what I remember," Lacey said.

Her distracted look led Chase to believe she was reliving those moments. Lacey was in charge of dicing while Chase peeled. She had a sudden concern for Lacey's fingers. Chase brought her back. "Like it's any different now. Puberty is still all about a pounding clitoris and being behind the wheel of a potential killing machine. Sixteen is really too young to be driving."

"Oh, no, poor Bud won't be allowed to drive until she's twenty-five." Lacey dumped a pile of neatly diced potatoes into the enormous stainless steel pot Rosarita had given them.

Chase glanced at the endless pile of potatoes she was required to peel. "Are you implying that I'll be an overprotective parent?"

"Yes."

"I know. I'm hoping I'll ease up."

"Gitana will make you." Lacey glanced at the twenty-pound bag of potatoes. "Are we really going to need all these potatoes?"

Chase glanced over her shoulder at Rosarita who was making the masa for the corn tamales. That was the problem with living in New Mexico, too many cultures crammed into one place— the triculture. They were having Anglo, Hispanic and Native American food. Too much food for one table.

Rosarita, with their help, was essentially making three Thanksgiving dinners. This was blatant overfeeding, Chase decided. Something must be done for the sake of the planet. "Quick, open that cupboard," she whispered to Lacey.

Lacey, being an expert at shirking, understood immediately. She took the bag of potatoes and shoved it in the Tupperware cupboard, knocking over some of the containers but with no other consequences. Rosarita hadn't heard the noise.

"That was brilliant," Lacey whispered.

"I thought so." Chase dumped the cut and peeled potatoes in the boiling pan of water and wiped her hands on the blue and white twill apron Rosarita had insisted she wear.

Graciela came in with three bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon precariously perched atop of case of Modelo beer.

Lacey lunged for the wine. "Those are expensive. Have you lost your fucking mind—two trips, duh."

"Don't I know. I had to detail a Benz and a Land Rover just to foot the liquor bill," Graciela declared.

Chase pulled out her wallet. "I'll get it."

"Don't worry. I got it covered." Graciela set the case of beer by the inset wine fridge next to the stainless steel one. She opened the wine fridge and pulled out two bottles of Modelo from the cardboard box. They fit perfect in the rack.

"You're not putting beer in there," Lacey said.

"Why not? It keeps the beer at the perfect temperature."

"Like you would know," Lacey said.

"I work for rich people, remember. I have knowledge of their finer habits."

"Whatever," Lacey said, handing Graciela back the bottles of beer and putting the wine in their place.

"Fucking wine snob," Graciela said.

Rosarita looked up from her masa. "No bad language—baby coming."

"Sorry," Graciela said. She opened the fridge and attempted to put the case of beer into it, unceremoniously shoving important side dishes every which way.

This time Chase intervened. "You're like a bull in a china shop. Get out of here before you destroy Thanksgiving."

"All right, already." She snagged a beer and made a hasty exit.

Gitana poked her head in the kitchen. "How's it going in there?"

"You mean between the language police and the stress monkeys—fantastic," Graciela said, stomping past her.

"You're supposed to be resting," Chase said.

"I'm bored," Gitana said.

"You sit here. You help me with the tamales," Rosarita said, pulling out a stool at the kitchen island.

Chase frowned.

"It's good," Rosarita said.

"All right," Chase conceded unwillingly.

"Can I help? It looks like fun," Lacey said.

Chase smirked. Fun, ha! Lacey must be entertaining thoughts of domesticity with Jasmine.

"Oh, yes. Gitana show you how. I must do the posole now."

Chase's intestines did a loop at the mention of posole—that stuff was so hot it would melt lead—not to mention the driving force of the hominy. The whole mess cleaned you out like Draino.

A bowl of Rosarita's posole would make you crap for a week.

"I'll get Addison and we'll set the table." Chase had to get out of the kitchen. She was reaching overload.

"Use the good," Rosarita said.

"No, not the china," Chase moaned.

Rosarita raised an eyebrow. "Special day."

"I know." Chase left the kitchen and went in search of Addison.

She found her sitting at the dining room table surrounded by strange dried floral things of unrecognizable origins and a hollowed out pumpkin.