Chapter 1 #2
I set my bags down next to the door and sniffed the air; chocolate chip cookies.
My mother always baked when she was sad or stressed.
This had been her coping mechanism for as long as I could recall.
When she was stressed at work, when she was arguing with me or my grandfather; even when someone else was stressed, she would bake something for them.
She told me that she learned to bake from her mom, but I had never had the chance to meet my grandmother.
My grandmother died before I was born. She was diagnosed with cancer when my mom was only a teenager.
She had gone through some pretty rough chemo treatments and a few surgeries over the course of her battle with the disease.
By the time my mom graduated high school, it was just her, my aunt, and my grandfather.
Following my nose all the way to the kitchen, I found my mom wearing a pink apron, pulling cookies from a baking sheet with a spatula and transferring them to a cooling rack on the island.
My aunt was sitting on one of the stools, opposite where my mother stood, with a laptop in front of her.
She was going through what appeared to be pictures of my grandfather, Raymond Allen Lawson.
She was planning for the memorial. Without any doubt, it was sure to be a big affair with lots of people and tons of stories being swapped.
Absolutely no expense would be spared. If anyone deserved to be celebrated, it was my grandpa.
My cousin Charlotte, was standing at the sink, washing dishes with a cookie hanging from her mouth. She was never very adept in the kitchen, but she was always willing to taste-test and wash dishes; which was the task that I hated the most.
“Joslyn!” my mother exclaimed as she quickly worked to empty her hands, removing oven mitts and placing them onto the counter.
She opened her arms wide and approached me with her vibrant smile.
She really was a beautiful woman; her hair was extremely dark brown and normally cascaded halfway down her back, but it was currently tied back due to the baking.
Light blue eyes reeled you in as soon as she looked at you.
These were both traits that I was fortunate enough to inherit from her, although my hair was actually black.
In her late forties now, she had kept up with style and fashion her whole life, and it was very apparent she knew what she was doing.
Average height and build, but everything else about the woman was anything but.
She had my grandfather’s toothy smile that always made you smile in return, whether you wanted to or not; it was infectious.
We reached one another and she wrapped me up in her arms. She always smelled so good, a combination of her shampoo, body wash, and deodorant mixed with the scent of butter and sugar. The woman never used body sprays or perfumes; she said they were horrible for your skin and hair.
“I missed you so much, babe,” she whispered in my ear as she kissed my cheek and squeezed me close.
“Me too, Mom. I love you, and I’m so sorry.”
When my mother finally released me, Charlotte was right behind her with wet hands and a giant hug.
Petite, with long thick, blonde hair that was full of body.
Her green eyes were big, bright, and innocent-looking.
They could change color depending on her mood.
Her build was muscular like that of a cheerleader, which she was, in high school.
Char was barely five feet tall and every boy next door’s dream.
She squealed as she embraced me; her little body bounced with excitement in my arms. She was always so bubbly and positive, and the girl could absolutely talk your ear off.
People tended to assume that she wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box and was slightly aloof.
That would tend to be a safe assumption most of the time—not always.
She was just as spoiled as I was when we were growing up.
Stubbornness was something that she came by honestly.
I couldn’t think of a person in our family that didn’t have an issue admitting when they were wrong.
It always felt like she fought a little bit harder than the rest of us, though.
She was very small, and there was no shortage of people reminding her of that—even in school.
She learned how to fight early and could throw a punch that would have made you think she was a full-grown man.
Most of the time, she was also the first person to throw one.
Char has had issues with addiction since we were teenagers.
Far too often, the rest of our family was oblivious to it—or chose to ignore it.
I was the one that stuck up for her and always managed to bail her out of trouble somehow.
She would make me crazy with her antics.
The men she dated usually ended up in silver bracelets and the ability to turn a ramen noodle into a damn burrito—but I loved her, so I just did it.
I made sure she was good even if it meant that I wasn’t.
My fault, not hers; she never asked me to look out for her.
I didn’t have it in me to let her suffer the consequences of her bad decisions if I had the ability to prevent it.
We hadn’t seen each other in a while, so the hug was long overdue.
When she finally let me go, I moved to where my aunt sat on one of the stools on the backside of the island.
Her hand was glued to the mouse, and she was scrolling through photos on the laptop in front of her.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders from behind and planted a big kiss on her cheek.
“How are you feeling? You doing, okay?”
“I’m good, sweetie. How are you handling everything?
” She turned to face me, abandoning her search for the moment.
She and her daughter looked so much alike, but my Aunt Victoria was taller by a few inches, and her blonde hair was cut short.
Their eyes were the same shape and color, but my aunt usually carried a little extra weight that my cousin didn’t.
“I’m alright, I guess. It’s hard, you know.
He was the one constant man in all our lives.
The one that taught us all the stuff that girls should know so they don’t have to rely on men.
I miss him, and I regret not making one last trip to see him.
It’s too late and I have to deal, but it just sucks. ”
“It doesn’t matter; if you had made it one more time, you would still be standing here wishing for more time.
Death is never easy, Jos; it sucks all the way around.
A lifetime never feels like it’s long enough.
We just have to try to remember that he lived a full life, and he harbored no regrets.
If the man wanted to do something, he did it.
He never asked for anyone’s permission, and he didn’t have to worry about money.
So, he just did whatever he wanted at a moment’s notice.
Think about it, kid; his profession was basically chasing fairytale creatures.
He was also smart enough to figure out how to do what he loved while also making a shit ton of money doing it.
His life was good far more often than it wasn’t. ”
“You’re right. He was in great health, ate right, exercised, and was extremely active—even in his everyday life.
He had so many friends and admirers, fans even; a wealth of knowledge that he thoroughly took joy in sharing with others.
I know that death is never expected and always sudden, and that he was blessed more than most. He loved his life and did his best to enjoy every second of it. ”
My aunt smiled and tilted her head toward her shoulder.
She would carry fond memories of her father with her for the rest of her life, and she would share those memories with her future grandchildren.
They would no doubt hang on her every word, just like Charlotte and I had listening to our grandfather.
The ability to convey a story was passed on to her through her father.
That was the thing about our family; my mother and I look very similar to my grandmother, Carolina, with darker hair and blue eyes.
My aunt and cousin very much resembled my grandfather.
Personalities were where we all differed the most.
I let my aunt get back to her endeavor and set my phone down next to her on the countertop. Detouring into the pantry, I grabbed an apron from the row of hooks on the wall. As I exited the small room, I slipped the apron over my head and reached behind me to secure it.
“So, are we making food ahead of time for the luncheon, or are you just stress baking?” I asked my mother as I joined her at the counter and began rolling dough into balls and placing them onto a cookie sheet.
“I’m making cookies, a few cakes, and a dozen or so pies for the memorial luncheon.
Vic and I went this morning and made the arrangements for the funeral.
I can call and talk with them if you would like to add anything special.
We will be meeting with the florist in the morning to select the flowers.
The viewing will be at Marshall Manor Funeral Home from ten in the morning until one in the afternoon on Wednesday.
The luncheon will follow the funeral procession and graveside service.
He is being laid in the family crypt at Dahlia Harbor Cemetery.
” My mom had memorized all of the information. Sadly.
“I am sure that whatever you and Aunt Victoria chose, will be beautiful. Are we making all the food, or did you hire caterers for anything? How many people are you expecting to be there?” I asked, handing her a full cookie sheet. She took the pan of raw cookie dough and put it into the oven.
“I’m not sure how many people are going to make it, but I am planning on food for five hundred.
The luncheon is taking place at the college.
The Dean contacted us to offer the space.
There was a group of students that asked if they could plan a small tribute to him, and the college canceled classes for the day—to ensure that the kids don’t have to choose between class and attending their mentor’s funeral. ”
“Well, it was the right thing to do. Besides, if they hadn’t canceled classes, then none of his colleagues would be able to attend either. Back to the food; all that you are making is dessert? Correct?”
“Yes, I’m making the desserts and having some of Dad’s favorites brought in from local vendors. There is the Irish pub a few blocks down that serves the fish and chips—you know, the place he ate at every Friday night.”
I did, in fact, know the pub that she was referring to.
I had gone in there with him on many a Friday night; they also had some of the best macaroni and cheese.
He would have fish and chips, and my cousin and I would eat mac and cheese and chicken strips, until we were eventually brave enough to try the fish.
After that, we too were sold on the delicate fried cod that quickly became one of our favorite meals.
“The bakery on Townline has the molasses bread that he insisted on using for any sandwich that he ate in this house. We are also purchasing basics like chicken, mashed potatoes, sides, and salads—things of that nature—from the college’s food service.
So, yeah—just desserts. The college is also providing drinks, setting up and tearing down the room, and providing event staff to help us out.
We don’t even have to do any of the clean up after. ”
“Well, it sounds like you have everything in order. Except for the fact that we are going to be baking until the funeral and I don’t hear any music.
I don’t know about you,” I said, pointing at my mother.
“But my mother always taught me that kitchens were made for dancing.” She laughed as my cousin walked over to the radio that sat on its own table in the corner of the room.
Charlotte flipped the switch, and music flooded the air, already elevating the mood.
“Ahh, that’s better,” I said bumping my hip against my mother.
We were going to be baking all day, well into the night, and probably half of tomorrow.
I hadn’t baked anything in so long—but much like my mother—it was something that relaxed me, and I was good at it.
After we finished taking the last tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, we placed the first sheet of peanut butter cookies in.
Those were my grandfather’s favorite kind of cookie.
He was a firm believer that peanut butter was perfect on its own.
He always crinkled up his nose when anyone offered him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Even the subject of mixing chocolate with peanut butter was strictly prohibited.
Charlotte was once again doing a load of dishes. She had learned over the years that washing them by hand was much faster than using the dishwasher; especially when my mother was baking. The house only held so many cookie sheets and mixing bowls.
My aunt closed her laptop and stood up from her seat at the island. She announced that she was running to pick up some pictures for the memory boards, along with a few copies of the slideshow she had been working on all afternoon.
“I will grab us dinner while I’m out. Any special requests, or doesn’t it matter?”
“I am fine with whatever,” I answered as I was setting the timer on the oven.
I asked her if she wanted any company, but she insisted that she couldn’t possibly steal any worker bees from her big sister, and she was out the door laughing, knowing she had sealed our fate and stolen our only avenue of escape.