Ginger Krinkles (8 page)

“Yes, I know. I want that.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

($1,520.00 New lipstick for the big date.)

(Busha, circa 1999-slash-times she said that)

Lauri said it with me, “Joe, no L.” We laughed. “So what is his last name?”

“Steward. He’s a Navy Seal.”

We both just thought about that for a moment.

“He asked you out while you were wearing an eye patch.”

“And working in a food truck,” I reminded her.

“And you took diablo cold pills and acted weird on a date? That’s so unlike you.”

“I know. You’re right. I am my own worst enemy. And now I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“He hasn’t called.”

I just looked at her.

“Sorry,” she said.

I handed her a folder. “Here. I did your marketing outline for Yogasm.”

“Please come,” she thanked me.

“I always do.” I said it, but the words fell flat. I followed Lauri back into her studio.

“All is lost. I let Joe Noel go. I ruined it. I thought it would be easier. Before you start,” I held up my hand, “I don’t need any sappy messages. I worked so hard to change, when underneath I’m just like my mean ol’ grandmother. This isn’t what I planned. It’s nothing that I wanted.”

“Good,” Lauri told me softly. “Then you’re doing it right. Don’t abuse hope with expectations and have a selfish attachment to outcomes. The wishes you get are always better than the wishes you want.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I tweaked my retina. It didn’t matter what Lauri said, the universe was compelling me to move back to Ohio. With my parents. And snow.

“How was class? How did Ava do?” she asked me.

I’m kind of like her secret shopper, checking out new yoga teachers.

I smiled. “Well, there was this one girl she kept calling out. ‘Straighten your back leg, Jeanine. Shoulders up, Jeanine.’ She was relentless. I kept thinking good grief, Jeanine, get it together. I mean seriously, this Jeanine was even holding her elbows wrong. I really felt sorry for the teacher. I could tell she was getting frustrated. Jeanine was starting to piss me off.”

“I don’t know who Jeanine is.” Lauri frowned.

“I know, me neither.” I said. “I finally had to check this chick out. Guess what?”

Lauri smiled, waiting.

“I’m Jeanine! Your teacher got my name wrong, and was on my back the whole class.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lauri laughed. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

“Be nice. She’s a good teacher and I don’t mind corrections, but dang, stand down on the name calling.”

“Nobody is perfect,” Lauri said. “It was a good lesson for you. Now come on. Tell me more about this guy and why it will never work.”

“So? That’s it. Nothing? No earth-shattering yogasms to tell me how to live my life?

Lauri folded her hands at her heart.

I sighed. “Quit mocking me.”

Lauri laughed. “You know how to live your life. What you are looking for is looking for you. Let yourself be pulled to what you love.”

“Didn’t you Instagram that last week?”

She nodded and hooked her arm through mine and walked me to my car. “Cheer up,
Jeanine
. I wish I could help you. You help me so much. And look at how much you’re helping Frankie. I don’t want you to leave. You are my best friend. I want the world for you.”

I cleared my throat. “Please don’t kiss me.” I squeezed her elbow that was tucked in mine a fraction closer. “My biggest regret is Joe-not-Noel. But I blew it. It started when I was so freaked out about his name.” I held up my hand. “Guilty. Don’t go there. It was stupid. I know that.”

We walked on. “And then I blew the date. I wasn’t myself on those crazy red sinus pills. But, actually, it did help me chill out. And, wow. What a guy.” I shivered, remembering how sweet he had been. “That’s what a girl like me gets. Regrets.”

“You act like you don’t deserve him. Just some bumps on the road. I think he likes you.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m leaving after the holidays. I just wish …” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

Lauri didn’t say anything. Not one peep.

I couldn’t help myself. “Not even an ‘I’m going to miss you?’”

“If you embrace confusion and sadness, it will lead you to a better path to find your bliss.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m about as sad and confused as they come.” Sometimes it’s really hard to have an enlightened one as a best friend.

“I’ll see you later. I have to meet Frankie and his truck in Coronado. I told him I would help him with some ads and we’re going to shoot on the beach.” I waved at her.

Frankie brought the girls in bikinis, I brought my iPhone. A friend of mine was working on a Tood Fruck app to let patrons know where the truck was going to be. We only had about ten users, including me, Lauri, and Frankie, but it gave me other stuff to focus on besides Joe-not-Noel. “You better appreciate this,” I told Frankie.

He showed his appreciation by keeping me super busy, serving up his cheesy fare day after day. I was starting to get the hang of Tood Fruck, and making a little money, as in enough to buy my ticket back to Ohio. In the category “love makes you stupid,” subsection, “unrequited love makes you stupider,” the mad crush on my holiday hero, Joe-not-Noel, left me positively oozing with goodwill toward my fellow man. I was even humming along to the carols tolling in the mall plaza. I realized maybe I wasn’t like my Busha, and it made me feel downright elf-like. I smiled at people and they smiled back. I told the dingbat trying to place an order to “take her time,” even though there were ten people pressed up behind her, and after all, it’s really only grilled cheese, what was there to think about?

My new found attitude lasted until I got to my car in the parking lot. And it wouldn’t start. It had been making funny noises for a while, and had been hard to get going. My dad warned me I was thirty-thousand miles over needing a tune-up, but what did he know? Apparently, a lot.

I ran back to the truck, just as Frankie was starting to pull away. He stopped and let me in. I buckled myself in the front seat and explained to him about my car. Let me slow-mo what happened next.

Frankie, in that big doofus way of trying to comfort me, leaned over and bumped foreheads with me, and put his hands up to cradle my head. While that may have looked like some romantic gesture from the outside, I was in the middle of a panic attack about my car, and yelled at him. “Get your hands off me.” I waved my hands in front of my nose. “And for the record, Kim Jong-Un called and wants his garlic back.” I jerked my head away and I smirked at Frankie. It wasn’t a smile, honest. When I glanced up, I saw Joe Noel right by the truck. He had started to raise his hand in a wave, but then turned and walked away.

Frankie gunned the engine as I tried to open the passenger door. That doesn’t work from the inside. “Let me out, you goon.” I banged on the window and tried to roll it down. “Stop. Frankie. Stop this truck. I need to get out.” Joe disappeared into the crowd. Frankie made a U-ey and drove away and told me to let it go. “I will never forgive you for this,” I said as Frankie picked up speed.

I punched Frankie on the arm. “He came back to see me, and I blew it.”

“Hey. Cut it out. Dude’s not right for you anyway.”

“It was bad enough he thought I was such a jerk on our date, now he thinks I’m romantically involved with you? This is just perfect. What next?”

($1,220.00 Car repairs. Don’t ask.)

Never ask the universe, “What’s next?” It opens a portal or something. Frankie dropped me off and I ran inside. As my foot hit the creaky floorboard, I waited for the pounce. I wasn’t in the mood. I stopped and looked around. No Ming. I tossed my purse on the couch and headed into the kitchen. I better feed her royal hiney. I put her can of cat food on the counter, a noise which always brought her running. I opened the can and waited for to sashay on in.

“Ming?” I walked back to my bedroom. She was on my bed, curled up in my favorite sweater, of course. “There you are. Aren’t you hungry? You didn’t come and scratch my ankles or try to trip me. You’re slipping.”

Ming didn’t move.

“Raor, rrreeow.” I made cat noises at her. Which usually bugged the snot out of her.

“Cat got your tongue?” I goaded. I walked over and rubbed her fur the wrong way, up over her head, between her ears. Her cue to latch onto my forearms and scratch me. “What did you do all day? Why are you so tired?”

I dropped to my knees. “Ming? Ming?” For once, I petted her the right way. Gently, starting with her nose, up between her eyes. My hand slid down the rest of her body, waiting for her rarely given purr.

I lifted her soft paw, and rubbed my finger on the velvety pads, something she had never let me do. I squeezed it, forcing her sharp claws out. I set it back down. I wrapped my arms around her, snug in her little nest, and buried my face in her silky fur.

I cried more for Ming than I ever had for my grandmother. Which made me cry harder.

I wrapped the sleeves of my sweater around her still body. I slumped on the floor next to the bed. And texted Joe.

He showed up thirty minutes later, Navy Seal style. He picked Ming up and ushered us both out the door to his car. We drove to the after-hours vet to have them take care of Ming’s body, and he paid the bill on his credit card. I opened my mouth to protest and he held up his hand.

We drove home in silence. Which for me, was a novelty. I should try not talking more. He walked me up to the door and I invited him in. As I hit the third step, the creak, I paused as if waiting for Ming and started crying all over again. I happen to know that while crying does make my eyes look greener, the contortion that goes along with it is a deal breaker.

Joe hugged me, and was comfort and joy. I told him all about Ming, from the hairball to how I thought maybe she was supposed to find me a guy, like a veterinarian or a firefighter. “There’s more to my inheritance, too.” I went and got the bottle of molasses that I had almost gotten rid of. I don’t keep a pair of socks with a bad memory, I threw out the ones I had been wearing when I got fired, thinking that cruddy molecules of bad mojo could be sticking to them, but I kept the molasses. I rolled off the rubber band, and got a few more teary-eyed blurs at the yellowed piece of paper with my grandmother’s handwriting on it.

“It’s in Polish, though. I don’t know what it says.”

“Let me see.”

“You speak Polish?”

“Yes.”

“Who speaks Polish? What else do you speak?”

“Italian, French, a little Mandarin.”

“Oly-Hay Ow-Cay.”

He uncurled the yellowed paper.

“
Przesilenie Zimowe
,” he said. “Which means Winter Solstice.” He paused and then read:

The elf part of your very self,

Is a soul filled with every wealth.

Of wisdom, of woe,

Laughter to polish your glow.

A female elf, it has been foretold,

Has the power of the very bold.

The youngest child of the youngest child is the bravest of them all,

She strives and dares, fails and cares, and captures to enthrall.

Meet well the Longest Night,

Gather ingredients to greet the light.

For on the morrow,

Joy fills the vacuum of sorrow.

“Wow.”

“That’s a really sweet message your grandmother gave you.”

“Well, aren’t I quite the catch? A dead cat, a poem, and a bottle of molasses. Unfortunately, according to my bank statement I’m not a thousandaire any more. “

“Do you have any idea what her poem means?”

I shook my head and gently rubbed my fingers over the tops of my ears. I pinched the skin up and over the cartilage. Which kind of felt pointy. “No idea.” I looked at him. “Thanks for translating this for me. And thanks for helping with Ming.”

He patted my shoulder and told me goodbye. No “I’ll call you, let’s get together, you’re really good at sex.” You couldn’t swing a dead cat and not hit upon one of my flaws. I wouldn’t ask me out.

($620.00 One-way plane ticket to Ohio.)

There it was. December. The winter of my discontent. I had purchased a one-way ticket back to Ohio. According to my meditation app, it was time for me
to let go of expectations.
Really?

All was lost. No Joe, no money, no goodwill. I thought it would be easier to change and grow up, and in doing so, that would get me what I wanted. That’s kind of the definition of not growing up. I had a pity party in which my curiously ever-pointy ears filled me with dread. I recited my grandmother’s poem, looking for a clue. I may be the youngest child of the youngest child, but I knew it was time to really grow up.

Time was passing as slowly as molasses in January. When I was a kid, I always used to say that to Mike and Melissa, surprised I never got punished as I was always saying mole asses. Maybe that’s why I never liked Ginger Krinkles cookies.

I had enough ingredients to make some more cookies. I called my mom for a new recipe. She heard the tears in my wobbly voice. “I checked on flights, Mom. I am going to come home the first week of January, my landlord said I could wait until after the holidays, okay?”

She paused. “If you’re sure, Ginger. You’re always welcome here.”

“Gee, thanks for that rousing vote of confidence.”

“We just want you to be happy.”

I laughed at that. “Do you think I’m like Busha?”

“What? No. Why would you ever think that?”

“She was so angry. All the time. And Mike and Melissa always told me I was just like her. They were so mean to me and always trying to scare me. Busha was never really that nasty to me, she mostly ignored me, so I thought I must be like her. And why did she leave me,” I paused, “Ming?” I sniffed. “She also gave me that bottle of molasses, with a poem in her handwriting. It’s about being an elf, and the youngest child of the youngest child. Isn’t Dad the youngest in his family?”

“What are you getting at Ginger?”

“Remember, she told me I was an elf? Our last name is Krinkles. Why did you name me Ginger? What were you thinking?”

“Oh, Ginger,” my mom said. “You were a holiday baby, you know that. Our last name is, for better or worse, tied up with the season. And as for ‘Ginger,’ your grandmother actually suggested it.” My mom paused as if remembering. “I was trying to get along with her at the time. She was incredibly difficult, and seemed to think her role as mother-in-law gave her legal recourse, like a sheriff or something, to clean up the streets of delinquent parents and sassy children.” She gave a little laugh. “She had a hard life. Can you imagine living in Poland as a single mother and emigrating to the US with your little baby? That was almost seventy years ago. Your dad was only three when they came here. I do feel guilty for not trying harder to get to know her,” my mom said. Her temporary weakness didn’t last long.

“No matter,” my mom continued. “We all make our own choices. Besides, we love your name, and it suits you. It’s a little spicy, a little sexy.”

“Don’t ever say that again. Geez, Mom.” I rubbed my arms.

“Oh, stop. You are a good, funny girl.” I tried not to smile on my end of the phone. My family can charitably be called Grinch-like in the compliments’ department. Wait for it. She continued. “Who happens to think sarcasm is a way of life, like Buddhism. Your sister Melissa calls you snarky.”

“It’s just as big a sin to laugh,” I told her. “I work hard to make Melissa like me.”

“She’s your sister. She has to like you.”

Not the answer I was looking for, but again, have you met my family?

“And you don’t really think you are an elf, do you?”

“Why would Busha say that?”

“Ginger, she wasn’t in her right mind. Maybe she wanted to believe it. She did love Christmas.”

“And she held my hand and said ‘Good’.”

“What are you talking about? She was in a lot of pain. She kind of groaned and said ‘God’.”

I did use to work in PR, didn’t I? I was silent.

“She did love you in her way. She gave you her cat and her special molasses.”

“Ah, yes. My inheritance.”

“Let me give you her Ginger Krinkles cookie recipe. Make them or not,” my mom said.

I’ve been trying to avoid those cookies my whole life. I never liked them when I was little, and don’t even remember tasting them. But this year, I would honor my grandmother and make her life, or the end of it, mean something good. I would use her last gift, the molasses, and put some heart and hope into making my cookies. That may sound good on paper, and I truly meant it to be that way, but the sad truth was, I had no money for anything else.

($610.00 More parchment paper and holiday tins.)