Olive Oil and White Bread (8 page)

“Well, I'd suggest you order a split foundation. That's a box spring, just in two pieces instead of one.”

“Can we do that with you?”

“Sure. Could take up to four or five days to get it.”

Angie made a sound in her throat. Jillian squeezed her arm harder. “But you can bring the mattress in right now, yes?”

“Sure can.”

“Perfect. Let's do that.”

He gave one curt nod and went outside to get the mattress.

Taking Angie's chin in her hand, Jillian looked her in the eyes.

“Baby, it's fine. No worries. We can sleep on the mattress until the box springs get here. Okay?”

Angie cleared her throat and nodded. “Okay. Sorry. I'm freaking a bit.”

“I know.” Crisis averted, Jillian kissed her quickly on the lips and went to see if Shay and Laura needed more help. Another car was pulling up out front. “Looks like your parents are here, sweetie.”

Angie went through the kitchen to open the side door for her mother and father, Jillian right behind her. “Hey, you guys.”

“Angelina,” Angie's father said in his signature, singsong way. Nobody said Angie's name quite like her dad. “We come bearing gifts.”

“Oh, my god, Pop,” Angie said over her mother's shoulder as she hugged her and sniffed the air. “Is that your pizza?”

“You know your father,” Alice said. “He was afraid you'd order from those Parelli brothers around the corner. You know how he feels about them.” She turned, and held her arms open to Jillian.

“They wouldn't know how to make a good pizza sauce if my own grandmother taught them,” Joe muttered, his disdain for the local pizza chain always clear.

“Your timing couldn't be better,” Jillian commented, her voice muffled by Alice's shoulder. “Our box springs won't fit up the stairs, and our movers are starving. Food will definitely help everybody calm down a little bit. Just”—she slid boxes and papers and garbage around on the counter to make room—“here. Put it here.”

Alice came up behind the two of them and held out a bottle of champagne. “This is for you to celebrate. It's not for everybody. Just the two of you. Later.”

Jillian's heart warmed, and Angie kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thanks, Mama.”

“I'll put it in the fridge.”

“Doctor Jackson,” Joe called as he headed into the living room. “I thought you were above all of this. How did they rope you in?”

Jillian smiled, watching as Angie's mother dodged the bed guys and joined her husband in the living room, to talk to the women bringing in the final boxes from the truck. A surge of pride and thanks
washed through her. The house was small but adorable, and just right for her and Angie. Their furniture was mismatched, their dishes were all hand-me-downs from family members, and their hodgepodge of blue and yellow towels didn't come close to matching the green and beige bathroom. But the house was theirs. They were moving into their own place. Together. They'd been squished into Angie's tiny one-bedroom for nearly a year, and there just hadn't been enough room. Angie wanted a bigger kitchen. Jillian needed a place for her art supplies.

“I can't believe how fast this has all happened,” Angie's mother was saying as Jillian tuned back into the conversation. “It seems like you just decided to move yesterday.”

“Two months,” Angie clarified. “Started looking, found this house, put in an offer, closed. All in the space of two months. I can't believe my head hasn't exploded clean off my body by now.”

“Neither can I,” Jillian agreed with a wink.

“It was utter insanity.”

“But it's the perfect house for us and worth all the stress. Admit it.”

“I admit it,” Angie said with feigned reluctance, her arm around Jillian's shoulders.

The house was more than they had hoped for. Small, only two bedrooms, but gorgeous hardwood floors, gumwood trim, an enclosed front porch, and a master bedroom with a vaulted ceiling and skylights. With Jillian's regular teacher income and Angie's commission (getting better and better the more sales she made), things might be a little tight to start, but the two of them would be okay.

Forty-five minutes later, delivery guys gone and a lone mattress on the floor upstairs, the six of them sat in the living room, paper plates of Joe's homemade pizza in their hands, bottles of Bud Light all around.

“Thank you all so much for your help,” Jillian said, holding up her beer. “We so appreciate it, and we couldn't have done it without you. We owe you.”

They all held up their bottles.

“And we will collect,” Laura said. As the crew chuckled, she added, “And Mr. R.? This pizza? To die for.”

“You remember that the next time you want to order from Parelli's,” Joe told her.

Angie shook her head with a grin, watching her parents, while Jillian watched her, searching for words but unable to describe the love and thanks in her heart at that moment. Emotion clogged her throat, and she swallowed it down.

“Jillian,” Alice asked, breaking the spell. “Have your parents seen the house yet?”

Jillian shook her head. “No. Not yet. Maybe next week.” Alice nodded, but made no comment.

They finished up their meal, the time peppered with much laughter. Afterwards, Joe offered to take the moving truck back so Angie and Jillian could rest and Shay and Laura could be on their way.

“You're the best, Pop,” Angie said, hugging her father. “Thank you.”

“I can't believe my little Angelina owns her own home now,” he said, and the seriousness in his voice was a testament to the emotion he was feeling. “You kids are all growing up so fast.” He reached out and pulled Jillian into the hug. “My girls.”

“Don't go getting all sappy on them, Joe,” Alice said, grabbing his shoulder. “Leave the poor girls alone. They're tired.” Over his shoulder, she winked at them. “I'll be over tomorrow to help you with the kitchen.”

Angie nodded. “Thanks, Mama.”

“Thanks, Mama,” Jillian echoed. Alice's grin widened, and she patted Jillian's cheek.

Jillian and Angie stood on the porch and waved as everybody pulled away. Then Jillian closed the front door and turned to Angie.

“So. Here we are,” she said. “
Alone
.”

“Finally,” Angie said, opening her arms, then wrapping them around Jillian. “In
our
house.”

Jillian smiled, placed a kiss on the side of Angie's neck. “Doesn't it feel weird?”

“It kind of does. I mean, I feel like a grown-up now.”

“That's exactly it,” Jillian said. “I feel like this is the final step from old teenager to real adult.” They stood quietly in each other's arms. “We own a house.”

“We do. Together.”

Jillian pulled her head back to look at Angie. “I think it's time to pop that champagne.”

They grabbed the bottle, two plastic cups, and headed up to the bedroom. In the doorway, they stood looking down at the mattress. When their gazes met, they each burst into laughter.

“Just our luck, huh?” Jillian said, shaking her head.

“I'm getting some sheets.” They quickly threw some bedding on and pulled their down comforter out of the garbage bag it was packed in.

Looking down at the bed, Jillian said, “Well, it's bigger than that double we had at your apartment.”

Angie flopped down on it. “And more comfortable.”

“That's because it's not fifty years old like the other one.” Jillian sat next to her and opened the champagne.

“Don't throw that cork away,” Angie said, taking it from her.

“What are you going to do with it?” Jillian poured two cups.

“You'll see.”

Jillian held up her cup. “To us and our new home.”

Angie looked into her eyes and said softly, “I love you.” They kissed sweetly, then sipped.

Jillian lay back on the mattress, letting her eyes wander across the vaulted ceiling and enjoy all the knotty pine, and big wood beams. Skylights let in a soft moonlight, and Jillian breathed a contented sigh, knowing this beautifully crafted house belonged to her now. “When we first looked at this house, and we came up here, do you know what my first thought was?”

Angie stretched out next to her. “What?”

“That I wanted nothing more than to make love to you under these skylights.”

“And now?”

“I want to make love to you under these skylights.”

Angie cuddled close and pulled the comforter over them.

They fell asleep.

Six

“It just makes me crazy. I've been waiting for more than two years.” Jillian set her glass down on her mother's kitchen table with a thud.

“At least you were able to get a teaching job right out of school,” her mother, Liz, said, sipping from her china coffee cup. “A lot of people are out of work.”

Jillian sighed. “I know, Mom. That's not my point.”

“I know what your point is. I'm just saying, you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I'm not.” Jillian stopped herself, feeling her frustration build and her voice rise. She mentally counted to five. “I'm just saying they promised me first shot at a high school opening, and then they hired somebody else. From outside.”

“What does that mean, anyway?” Ted Clark stood at the butcher-block kitchen counter and refilled his own cup with the remainder of the coffee from the pot. “What the hell is a gift horse exactly? Have you ever seen one? I haven't.”

Jillian smiled. It was just like her father to try to allay any tension that cropped up between her and her mother. A full-time job for him, she was sure.

He kissed the top of Jillian's blonde head as he sat down at the head of the table. “Don't you like teaching the little ones?” he asked.

“Actually I do. Sometimes, it's fun. I just wanted something else, you know? I thought I'd be doing that by now.”

“Well, if you get fed up, I can always teach you the ins and outs of real estate.” Her father ran his own real estate company and had done quite well for himself. So when her brother, Brian, was laid off
from his job at a local advertising firm, he had joined the company and gotten his real estate license.

“I know, Dad. Thanks, but I think one Clark kid is more than enough for you to handle. Two of us in your office would drive you over the edge.”

“Your brother has been doing very well there. Hasn't he, Ted?”

“I'm sure he has,” Jillian said before her father was dragged in. “I was just kidding.”

“How's the house coming along?” Ted asked.

Jillian appreciated his attempt to change the subject, though his choice of topics didn't help with the tension. She dove in anyway. “It's great. We've done a lot in the past month. Painting and unpacking and arranging furniture. Then rearranging the furniture.” With a chuckle, she turned to her mother. “Just like you used to do when we were little. Remember how often you rearranged the living room?”

Liz nodded, tight-lipped, and sipped from her cup.

“I'd love for you guys to come and see it.” Unable to stand the fact that her mother wouldn't look her in the eye, Jillian turned to her father. “Maybe you could take a look at the furnace, Dad? It makes a weird sound, and we'd love to save the money a service call will cost if we can.”

“Sure, sweetheart. I'll give you a call this weekend.”

An uncomfortable silence hung around them, but Jillian was determined not to let it pull her down. Part of her wanted to ask her mother, point blank, when she was coming over. She wanted to tell her that Angie's mother had been to the house every weekend since they'd moved in to help unpack things, arrange cupboards, hang curtains. She wanted to yell, to cry, to show her mother that she was hurt by the obvious lack of interest.

Instead, she stood and took her glass into the kitchen. “Okay. Time for me to head out.”

“You don't want to stay for dinner?” Liz's expression said she'd simply expected Jillian would.

“Oh, I'd love to, Mom, but Angie's making her famous lasagna. It's to die for. I wouldn't miss it for the world.” She'd meant it to sting,
and she could tell by her mother's face that it had. So why did she feel no satisfaction?

She gave each parent a kiss on the cheek and left. Once outside—and not for the first time—she was amazed at how much easier it was to breathe.