Kissing Kate (13 page)

“Do you have a recipe?” I said. “Tell me you have a recipe.”

“No recipe,” Jerry said over his shoulder. He was down on his hands and knees, digging through one of the lower cabinets. “I’ll make it up as I go along.”

Beth and I shared a look. Once he made grilled-cheese sandwiches with a layer of clams; another time he substituted venison for ground beef on a Chef Boyardee pizza. He was also a big fan of canned corn. Pick a dish, any dish at all, and at the drop of a hat he’d throw in a can of corn. Not as a side dish, but as part of the main dish itself.

“You’re not going to put corn in it, are you?” Beth asked.

“Aha! Found it!” He backed out of the cabinet and stood up with a nine-by-eleven-inch glass pan. “I thought I’d make a salad, too. Do we have any mandarin oranges?”

“Mandarin oranges?” I repeated. “Sure. I try to keep a few cans around for emergencies.”

He eyeballed me, then set the pan on the counter and fished a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. “Here. Run to the A & P for me, will you? I need mandarin oranges, lettuce, tomato paste—hold on, I better write this down.” He scribbled a list on the back of a receipt. “Don’t take too long. I want the sauce to have time to simmer.”

As we climbed into the truck, Beth said, “Who was that in our kitchen, and what happened to the real Jerry?”

I smiled. “He’s just nervous. This is a big deal for him.” “A huge deal. He’s, like, actually excited. Do you think he’ll kiss her?”

“Not during dinner, I hope.” I turned on the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

“
Afterward,
dummy. When he walks her to her door. That’s when the man makes his move.”

“Says who?”

“Says Vanessa. And the woman pretends she doesn’t want him to, but really she does.”

“And then they have a mad, passionate affair on the front steps, and the neighbors come out and cheer.”

“Lissa,” Beth said.

“Beth.”

She clamped her lips together.

“Vanessa is not the queen of the world,” I told her. “You can’t believe everything she tells you.”

“Duh.”

We pulled up to a stoplight. “Hey. Tonight’s going to be fun, okay?”

“Lissa,” she said.

“What?”

“The light’s green. Drive.”

 

 

 

Sophie showed up at seven o’clock sharp, wearing a fuzzy pink sweater and a denim skirt. She looked different than she looked at the nursery, more made-up, and her smile was friendly but slightly tense. It was a nervousness I recognized, because I always felt stiff when I made an effort to look nice. But I wouldn’t have expected it from Sophie.

She handed me a blue plastic plate stacked with brownies. “Double-chocolate,” she told us.

“Great,” I said. “Thanks.” I took them into the kitchen, along with the ice cream she’d brought to go on top. When I returned, Jerry and Sophie were standing awkwardly in the hallway, neither of them saying a word. Beth looked at me with urgent eyes. Do
something,
her expression said.

“Should we move into the den?” I asked. It was the most hostess-y thing I could think of.

Jerry let his breath out in a whoosh. “Sure. Good idea.”

“Lead the way,” Sophie said.

“So, Sophie,” I said once we were seated. “What’s new with you?”

“Oh, nothing.” She touched her hair, which clung in tight curls to her head. “I got my hair cut this afternoon. That’s always a treat.”

I couldn’t relate, but I nodded. “It looks good.”

“Thanks.”

We went through another round of smiling and nodding. Why didn’t Jerry say anything? And why didn’t
Sophie
say anything, for God’s sake?

“You like working at the nursery?” I asked.

“I do,” she said. “I absolutely love it.” Her fingers strayed again to her hair before she caught herself and clasped her hands in her lap.

Jerry slapped his palms against his knees. “Let’s eat,” he said.

We stood up and filed into the kitchen, where we each grabbed a plate and served ourselves from the buffet Jerry had set up.

“Everything smells heavenly,” Sophie said once we were seated around the table. She tasted the lasagna. “Mmm. Delicious.”

I took a bite and tried to hide my surprise. “Yeah, Jerry, it’s great.”

Jerry’s neck turned red. “The first one I made was god-awful. I had to dump it in the compost and start over.”

And then there was another long gap when no one said a word. Sophie took another bite of lasagna, chewed, and then stopped. But she didn’t swallow. I think she was worried about being too loud.

“How’s Q.T.?” Beth asked.

“Q.T.?” Sophie said. “My sweet little cat?” She chewed again and now she went ahead and swallowed. “He is the most darling thing, but gracious, he is a handful.” Her face lit up as she went into a litter box-training story, and I thought,
Beth has nailed it. Beth has saved the day.

“Tell about the time he got trapped in the freezer,” Jerry said.

“Jerry, no,” Sophie said.

“Q.T. got trapped in the freezer?” Beth said.

“Tell her,” Jerry said.

Beth put down her fork. “Tell me!”

“Oh, all right.” Sophie pursed her lips like she was embarrassed, then began. “Well, Beth, I always like to get up in the morning and go for a walk before driving to work. My morning constitutional. And I like to take a chilled water bottle along with me. So first thing when I get up, I go down to the kitchen, fill my water bottle and pop it into the freezer. That way it’s got time to get cold while I’m putting on my sweats and sneakers.” She broke off and shook her head. “Jerry, why in the world am I telling this story?”

“You have to,” Beth said. “You started it, so you have to finish it.”

Jerry caught my eye and grinned.

“All right. Just let me have a little bite to eat to keep up my strength.” She took a bite of lasagna and washed it down with her iced tea. “Now where was I?”

“You put your water bottle in the freezer,” Beth prompted.

“That’s right. And as a rule I am very careful
not
to let Q.T. climb in when I go to get my water bottle out, because strange as it sounds, Q.T. just loves climbing into that freezer. I think because of the frozen fish.”

“I thought you were a vegetarian,” I said.

“Everything but fish. I can’t give up fish. Anyway, on this particular morning—oh, it was three weeks ago, I suppose—Q.T. must have been especially quick, or I must have been especially sleepy, because he hopped into that freezer and I had no idea. I went for my walk like usual, and when I returned—”

“You shut Q.T. in the freezer?” Beth cried.

“I didn’t see him!”

“Poor Q.T.!”

“When I finally found him, he was as stiff as a board. His fur was frozen in little spikes, and there was frost on his whiskers. I thought for sure he was dead, but you never know. You hear of people falling through icy lakes, then being resuscitated hours later. Sometimes there’s brain damage, but sometimes they’re just fine.”

I nodded that way you do when you think someone’s slightly crazy. Jerry, at the head of the table, smiled and shook his head. He seemed happy in a way I’d never seen before.

“So what did you do?” Beth said. “I mean, he’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Sophie plucked a slice of orange from her salad. “Well, I called the vet. His name is Dr. Petty—isn’t that a hoot? I always said, that is the perfect name for a veterinarian. And he got on the line and said, ‘Sophie, do you have a power mower?’ At first I had no idea what he was talking about, but then I figured out that he meant did I have a lawn mower. And yes, I did, so I told him so. ‘Go out to your garage and siphon some gasoline from the tank,’ he said. ‘Not a lot, just a thimbleful. Then pry open Q.T.’s jaws and pour the gas down his throat.’”

“Nuh-uh,” Beth said.

“That’s exactly what I thought, too,” Sophie said. “But I figured he was the doctor, and so I did what he said. I pried open Q.T.’s tiny jaws and poured in a drop of gas, and then I got back on the phone and said, ‘Okay, Dr. Petty, I did what you said but nothing’s happening.’ And he said that was his best advice and to give it a minute, but if nothing happened soon, then that was that and he was real sorry. And then he had to get off because he had another patient, a dog with a chicken-soup can stuck in its throat.”

It occurred to me that there was really no reason for me to have worried that no one would have anything to say. Give her an opening and Sophie had enough to say for all of us.

“So what happened?” Beth demanded. Her lasagna had gone untouched for five minutes.

“At first, nothing,” Sophie said. “I had just about figured him for a goner when his little left paw gave a twitch, like this.” She flopped her hand at the wrist. “And then his whole body gave a shake, and then another, until he was writhing around like he was possessed by a demon.” Again she demonstrated, shuddering and letting her tongue loll from side to side.

She stilled her body and leaned forward. “And I said, ‘Yes, Q.T., you’re my fighter, my brave angel boy,’ and all of a sudden he was up and gone, like a bolt of lightning had struck him on the tail! Racing through the kitchen, through the den, trying to climb the curtains and making it halfway up before he fell, then back again into the kitchen where he leaped up on the table and skidded all the way from one end to the other and then fell splat onto the floor—”she smacked her hands together“—and just lay there! Didn’t move a muscle!”

She stared at us, wide-eyed, and we stared back. Beth’s jaw hung open. And then Sophie relaxed her features and speared a piece of lettuce. “This salad is delicious, Jerry. I would truly like the recipe.”

Beth banged the table with her palm. “
So what happened?!
Did he . . . did he die?”

“Die? Why no, honey. He just ran out of gas!” She let out a peal of laughter.

Jerry rubbed Beth’s head with his knuckles. “She got me the first time, too.”

“You mean it didn’t happen? None of it?” Beth looked at me indignantly, and I smiled and lifted my shoulders. I’d fallen for it, too, but I didn’t want to say so out loud.

“Poor Q.T.,” Jerry said, “ran out of gas.”

A snicker escaped, and Beth gave in. “Ha. I’m going to tell that story to Vanessa and Nikki, but I’ll say it was a guinea pig, because Nikki has a guinea pig named Noel. Do you think it would work with a guinea pig?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sophie answered.

The phone rang and Beth leaped to get it. “Maybe that’s Nikki now.” She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

Jerry and Sophie turned back to their dinner. “You’re good with kids,” he said, stabbing his last bite of lasagna.

“Back in Alabama, I spent every weekend with my nieces and nephews,” she said. “I miss them.”

Beth appeared at my side. Her eyes were big. “Lissa, phone.”

I stood up and strode across the kitchen. “Hello?”

“Lissa. Hi.”

My legs went hollow.

“Are you there?”

“Hold on.” I put the receiver on the counter. “Beth, hang up for me. I’m going upstairs.”

Her chair scraped the floor.

“Okay, I got it,” I called from my room. I waited until Beth hung up, then took my hand off the mouthpiece. “Hi, Kate.”

“WHAT’S UP?” KATE SAID.
“Am I interrupting something? I heard people talking.”

“We were eating dinner. Jerry kind of has a date over—this woman, Sophie, that he knows from work.”

“
Jerry
has a
date
? Yikes.”

“I know. Big step, huh?”

“Extremely,” Kate said.

“At first I thought she was a goof—and she is—but I like her anyway.” I lowered my voice. “She has a cat named Q.T.”

“Q.T.?”

“As in the initials. As in, ‘He sure is a cutie pie, my Q.T.’” Kate snorted. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

“Lord. Well, maybe I should call back later, let you finish eating.”

“That’s okay. I was pretty much done anyway.”

There was a pause. Talking about Jerry had been easy, and for a second we’d been able to pretend things were normal between us.

“So, why didn’t you call me?” Kate asked. “I told you to call me, but you never did.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed. “I don’t know. I was busy.”

“You were busy?”

Another pause.

“Look,” Kate said, “this is dumb. We haven’t had a fight like this since . . .“She struggled to come up with other examples. “This is really dumb,” she said again.

“I agree.”

“So can’t we
stop
? I mean, God, Lissa, I miss you. I miss talking to you.”

My hand, which had been twisting the cord, grew still. “Me, too.”

“Then are we friends again? Can we stop acting so retarded around each other?”

I saw her in my mind, how she’d be lying on the floor with her legs crossed up on the wall. That was how she always talked on the phone. “I think that would be good,” I said.

“Thank God. I thought I was going to die for a while there. No one got my dumb jokes.”

“What about Ben?”

“Ben? Lissa, Ben and I broke up. Didn’t you know that?”

Something lifted inside of me. “You and Ben broke up?”

“Yeah. Turns out he’s an asshole. Go figure.”

“What happened?”

“He got drunk at Terri Anderson’s party. Started dancing around in this hideous robe he found in her mom’s closet.”

I smiled.

“And then he ended up in a corner with Alice Spradling. End of story.”

“What—they were fooling around?”

“Yep.”

I stared at my jeans. The lightness I’d felt was gone. “Funny how that happens, huh? Get drunk, fool around . . . end of story.”

“What are you talking about, Lissa?”

I gripped the phone. I couldn’t believe I’d said that, and now I didn’t know how to take it back. And part of me didn’t want to take it back, wanted Kate to hear it and respond and . . . and just
talk
to me about it.