5. Matt
5
MATT
Everything was going well until Sam critiqued the way Mr. Jacobson battered his fish. Then all hell broke loose, Mr. Jacobson went after him with a water hose, and Sam was banned from the cooking area. Mr. Jacobson suggested he join Jake wherever he’d run off to so he could be as useless as his son. “Like tits on a boar-hog, the both of you,” he mutters.
“Do you know what that means?” Sam asks as he walks past me, trying to avoid Mr. Jacobson, who is all set to spray him again.
“No idea.”
Gabby laughs from where she’s shaking the fish we’d all cleaned that morning—and cleaning catfish is no joke—in a special mix of breading and spices, the contents of which Mr. Jacobson refused to share with Sam. It felt like it took us hours to clean those fish. Some of the kids helped. Some didn’t. But we had enough for a meal after Mr. Jacobson sent Jake to the corner store to get some frozen catfish fillets from Shy, who runs the small market everyone shops at while visiting the lake, just to supplement our catch.
The kids have been waiting to eat it ever since we made them leave the lake. Their skin is pink from too much sun, their eyes are red from swimming, and none of them have shoes on.
I look around. This place is just… different. Life moves a little slower here. You get a chance to enjoy the breeze without a car horn or a blaring radio jolting you out of it. Sky walks up.
“Why did I just pass a pissed-off Sam walking up the path?” she asks as she steps up next to me. My job is to watch the hushpuppies as they fry. Mr. Jacobson had set up a few vats of oil and fryers—one for fish, one for hushpuppies, and one for fries. “Sam muttered something about grumpy old men who wouldn’t know good fish batter if it bit them on the ass.”
“He critiqued Mr. Jacobson’s cooking,” I whisper to her.
She makes an O with her mouth, which makes me want to kiss her. “That doesn’t sound like a very good idea. Is that why he was wet?”
Mr. Jacobson, who must have been halfway listening, holds up his water hose. “I’ll get him again if he tries to tell me how to cook.” Sky holds up her hands like she’s surrendering to the cops. He grumbles as he continues to fry fish.
“How was your day?” she asks me.
“Paul and I got to play with pussies,” I say close to her ear.
She rolls her eyes. “The day you play with a pussy that’s not mine is the day you die, Matt, and you know it.”
I pretend to frown and shake a finger at her. “You’ve been spending too much time with Friday.”
She laughs. “I know. Isn’t it great?”
Our small kids are all playing in a small, fenced area Mr. Jacobson set up just because we have so many kids under the age of three who are toddling around. He hired babysitters to herd them around and keep them entertained, which was really thoughtful of him. The rest of the kids, the ones we’re not worried about running off to fall in the lake, are kicking balls, swirling hula hoops on their hips, and Gabby showed them how to draw a hopscotch board in the dirt.
Before we started cooking the fish, Mr. Jacobson cooked a few bags of dinosaur-shaped nuggets, and the small kids have already eaten. The bigger kids are waiting for the fish and hushpuppies.
The putter of Mr. Jacobson’s golf cart makes me turn my head. I see Jake and Sam climbing off it, their arms laden with bowls. Sam hesitantly walks over and sets a large bowl on the table next to the fish. Mr. Jacobson lifts the cling wrap and looks into the slaw. “Why are there carrots in my slaw?” he says. Sam grabs a spoon, dips out a bite, and holds it out to him. I hold my breath as Mr. Jacobson takes a bite, chews, and says, “That’s good, chef,” in a grumble. But his eyes twinkle. He lifts the foil from on top of the fish, plucks a piece out with his fingers, and holds it out to Sam. Sam’s face changes, his eyes dancing. He takes a bite and says, “It’s good, chef.”
“Don’t ever tell me I don’t know how to cook fish,” Mr. Jacobson pretends to grumble. But he pats Sam on the back. It’s about as close to an apology for spraying him with the hose as I think Sam is ever going to get.
“It was just a suggestion!” Sam crows, snags a hushpuppy, and runs off with it. He takes a hula hoop from Kennedy and tries to make it go around and around. He finally gives up. “I don’t think I have enough hips,” he says as he passes it back. Kennedy has no hips at all, and she seems to be able to make it work.
“You show them how it’s done, baby,” Pete says, scruffing the top of her head as he walks by.
Gabby comes to stand next to me and Sky. “Pop is funny about his food,” she says. “Doesn’t like for anyone to tell him he’s wrong, that’s for sure.”
“What do you have left to do for the wedding, Gabby?” Sky asks. “Anything I can help with?”
“I think everything is all set,” Gabby says. “But I was talking with Seth yesterday about the dress fitting I have tomorrow morning…” She lets her voice trail off with a wince. “I should have asked this already, but I didn’t know if you would want to go. Traditionally, it’s the mom of the bride and the mom of the groom who goes for the wedding dress fitting, but… well… that’s not possible. If you don’t want to go, I completely understand.”
Seth walks up, stuffs a piece of a hushpuppy into Gabby’s mouth, and says, “What are we talking about?”
“Wedding dress fitting,” she says, around a hot mouthful of hot batter. “Tomorrow. Oh, my god, that’s so hot.” Air hisses around her teeth as she sucks it in.
“I know I am, but what are you?” Mr. Jacobson chimes in from his spot in front of the fryer.
She rolls her eyes and ignores him. Finally she swallows. “I’d love for you to go if you want,” Gabby says shyly. “I don’t want to impose.”
“Of course she wants to go,” Seth says. He walks over, gives Sky a loud kiss on the cheek, and says, “My mom’s not here. And Aunt Sky’s the closest thing I’ve got. She wants to do everything the mom of the groom would normally do.” His brow furrows. “Don’t you? You don’t have to…” He suddenly looks unsure. “I’d hoped you’d sit in my mom’s seat and dance the mom dance with me.”
I watch Sky as she blinks back tears. She’s acted in a motherly role to Seth since he was sixteen years old, but he never seemed to accept her in that role until recently. His new attitude is a switch, for sure.
“I want to,” she whispers, her voice cracking. She places her hand over Seth’s, which is resting on her shoulder. “I do want to go, Gabby,” she says. “It would be an honor. I can’t wait to see your wedding gown.”
Gabby winces. “It’s more of a dress than a gown. It’s very simple, but I think you’ll like it. We have to be there at ten. Will that work for you? Mom and I will pick you up around 9:30.”
Sky nods. “I’ll be ready.”
Gabby and Seth walk away, his fingers tangled with hers.
“Did you hear that?” Sky asks, leaning against me as she watches them walk away.
“He invited you to stand in for his mother because he loves and appreciates you,” I say, pressing my lips to her forehead.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice watery. “He did. He does.”
“How’s that feel?” I ask, just curious.
“It’s the best, Matt.” She swipes a tear from below her eye before anyone can see her, and then she wipes her face on the sleeve of my t-shirt.
Mr. Jacobson calls out, “It’s done!” And we all go to make our plates.
Even Sam has to begrudgingly admit that it’s the best fish he’s ever had.