Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
CINDEL
My phone vibrates on my end table, way too early in the morning. The words “Take a Deep Breath,” fill my screen and I do just that, as I hit the speaker button.
“Yes?” I mumble, not even bothering to move my mouth away from my pillow.
“Is that any way to answer a call? Honestly, Cindel.” The words scroll across the screen, so I don’t miss any piercing words from my mother.
I pop in one of my paired earbuds because, apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment. “Hello, Mother.” I sing songs. My body protests as I try to sit up, reminding me how few hours of sleep I managed.
“Your father is here too. Say hi, Charles.”
“Good morning, Cinnabun!” I hear him holler in the background.
Cinnamon bun is my nickname. From as far back as I could remember, weekend mornings were for my dad and I.
Rising before the rest of the family, my dad would turn on Boston 25 News, while we made massive cinnamon buns, drenched in cream cheese frosting.
The aroma would fill the house, beckoning my mom and brother from their beds.
We’d enjoy the sweet, swirled pastry on the porch together, listening to the birds talk with one another.
“Sweetie, we need you to come watch Kingston this weekend. Your father and I are going to Martha’s Vineyard to celebrate our very overdue anniversary.”
I was taken aback by the implication that I can just up and leave with such short notice.
Kingston is the black Russian Terrier that my dad insisted on adopting after one of their client’s dogs had a litter.
Kingston and my dad do everything together.
Morning walks, trips to the local hardware store, but my mother draws the line when it comes to bedtime.
He sleeps on his own plush cushion, on my dad’s side of the bed.
She’d probably like the fur ball a little more if he didn’t develop a habit of sampling my mom’s expensive shoe collection.
That week my dad slept on the couch, with his delighted shoe connoisseur alongside him.
“Can’t you drop Kingston off to me on your way there?” I suggest.
“No, no, no… you know Kingston needs lots of room to stretch his legs. That tiny apartment you have won’t be adequate. Plus, it gives you a chance to get out of the city and breathe that fresh mountain air. It will do you a world of good.”
After my brother’s death, I think my parents couldn’t bear to be in Boston anymore.
They sold one of my favorite houses we ever lived in and have been ‘changing it up’ ever since.
Now, they’re home sitters in the Catskills.
The places they take care of are usually people’s second, if not third homes.
Clients with too much money, who need to hire strangers to come live in and care for their possessions while they are away on some lavish vacation.
I couldn’t imagine leaving Southie. Hell, I haven’t left the state in years.
The one time I could have gone on a thrilling adventure was in college.
The school offered educational trips for students to explore fashion on a global level, beginning in Paris.
I was so excited to go, but then things changed. The idea of leaving was unfathomable.
Boston is where I grew up, even just passing by the local cinema reminds me of my brother and I sneaking into rated R movies before we were old enough or stopping by Mike’s Bakery every Friday morning for a fresh cannoli.
The memories were painful at first, but now I relish them.
To feel like he’s still here. I don’t want to forget these kinds of things, but apparently my parents are fine leaving those reminders behind.
The only remaining family I have in town is my uncle.
We try to catch up once a month over breakfast. He actually doesn’t mind how much I talk about Theo.
The thought that I haven’t been to visit his grave in a while sends a swell of consuming guilt through me.
“Darling! Are you there?”
It’s too early for all this. “Yes… I’ve been kind of busy lately. Picking up extra shifts at Star Mart, and I’m also preparing for the upcoming Grand Bazaar. I really should be a vendor more often. The event is in—”
“You know, your father and I haven’t taken a proper vacation for years…” she cuts in.
Oh, here we go.
“We’ve made countless sacrifices. You have no idea what we’ve been through. We also sent you to the college of your choosing, then… then, your brother...”
I can hear her sniffling on the other side of the line. I’ve been down this road and it’s not pretty. I take a deep breath as I do many times on these calls, hence the contact’s name. I haven’t asked for any time off either of my jobs. I’m sure they can find coverage and free up my weekend.
“Fine. Okay. Text me the time you need me and the address. I’ll come watch Kingston.”
As quickly as turning off a faucet, she collects herself and responds. “Wonderful! We’ll see you soon then. Oh, do tell Andrea we said, hello.”
I don’t know why I bother; they sometimes talk to her more than me.
“Love you, Cinna!” I hear my dad say farther away than before.
“Love you, too,” I reply. Great, a multi-day trip to the middle of nowhere is exactly what I need right now.
With the drapes drawn, I can’t tell how late I have slept. I’m actually surprised when I glance at the time and see it’s just after ten in the morning. I rarely sleep this late. Pushing my feet within the plush, purple slippers beside my bed, I make my way out into the kitchen.
No sign of Andrea, which wasn’t a shocker. Unlike me, the schedule on the refrigerator says she works today. It’s interesting that she claims I’m overworked, when I swear, her erratic working hours have me wondering if she’s part robot.
I find a pot of stale coffee on the burner.
After sweetening the bean water to my liking, I check on Miss Thelma.
She’s a Chilean rose-hair tarantula, who was originally my brother’s pet before he died.
Andrea’s not a fan of things with more than four legs and can easily hide inside a shoe, so I do all the feedings and cleaning for Miss Thelma.
To my surprise, she is out and sitting atop the faux, skull hide, indicating she is hungry.
It’s good to always have something squiggly on hand to nourish her.
This week's menu offers a choice between mealworms and crickets. She's really no trouble to care for. Mostly active at night, thus it was strange for her to be up at this time of day. Over the years, I’ve learned what she prefers, but Thelma was still Theo’s pet.
She’ll let me hold her temporarily but won’t hang out with me like she would him.
My parents wouldn’t take her when my brother passed.
In fact, it was such a hard no, that my mom wouldn't even sit near the enclosure when she came to visit me.
Fortunately, that was a rare occurrence.
After feeding the fuzzy little insomniac, I fill my tummy with raisin bran and start the task I have put off too long.
Starting in my closet, I sort my inventory for the upcoming bazaar.
I plan to make silk woven earrings, bracelets, as well as a shit ton of embroidery hoops.
Some customers like to display my art more than they like wearing it.
So far, I have a few solid pieces that I have upcycled from my years of thrifting.
I lay out five vintage band shirts, cropped and trimmed with lace. Three necktie skirts, adorned with metal studded waistlines and four bedazzled jackets.
Of course, I held onto my stud setter from childhood.
Ordinary pieces can easily be jazzed up with a row of rhinestones.
My favorite piece to date is the one that brings all the warm and fuzzies back for me.
The notorious world of Lisa Frank had my mom pulling out her hair over the number of stickers I littered my bedroom furniture with.
How could she be mad when she played a part in creating this monster?
I was given all the trapper keepers, folders, and pencils available on the market.
My childhood was colorful, and I was clearly spoiled, but it brought me joy.
Now I chase that high, making wearable art in an attempt to return to a simpler time.
Dolphins leap from the water in the shape of a heart, on the back of a consigned jean jacket.
It took nearly an entire day to paint the back, plus some bedazzling to tie it all together.
I planned to display this magnificent piece in my booth at the event.
After sorting and pricing the items that are ready to go, I lay out the unfinished projects on my bed.
Definitely a lot more work than I remember. Andrea is handling the new banner for my booth, designing and printing it at one of the companies she freelances with. She drew the logo herself, insisted it’s a gift and my money is no good to her.
I push the majority of the projects aside; I’m in the mood to embroider today. Customers seem to like those catchy phrases to hang up in their houses. Sayings such as; Shoes Off Bitches or Come Back With a Warrant. They’re easy enough to make, and even grandmas find the idea absolutely hilarious.
I begin setting out different colored threads, various needle types, wooden hoops, and yards of fabric onto the coffee table in the living room.
Thelma nestles back inside her little skull cave, only leaving her little legs poking out.
I sail through chain stitches, which I normally struggle with, and finish by adding French knots around the word BITCHES for emphasis.
The satin stitch takes the longest, but it looks so clean and vibrant when you add bold faced words in your embroidery.
Eight hoops with hilarious catchphrases take me all the way to nightfall.