Chapter 14
Cassie
I burst into Nana’s house, dripping with sweat from the trek between the car and front porch thanks to the ongoing mid-September heatwave. Temps are almost ninety today. I slogged through the suffocating humidity with my nine by thirteen Glad container full of red velvet cupcakes on my hip and a gallon of Milo’s sweet tea in my opposite hand, looking forward to the frigid blast of Nana’s AC.
Crossing the threshold brings no relief. Instead, the temperature ratchets up a few degrees.
“What’s going on?” I yell through the house.
A box fan sits in the window next to Granny, powered on high, lifting the few hairs on her head perpendicular to her scalp. Unlike her usual attire of a cotton housecoat and blanket, she wears a floral tank dress and a sweat band high on her forehead. A football game screams from the television.
“Granny, why is it so hot in here?” I yell over the TV.
She raises a boney hand. “AC went out Wednesday,” she says, and then drops her hand to her lap, case closed.
“Wednesday? Why didn’t you tell me? Nana!” I holler.
I thunder through the living and dining rooms and barge into the kitchen. “What’s going on? Granny said the AC’s been out since Wednesday.”
Nana stands in front of the stove fanning herself with a random envelope. Sweat pours down her temples, forehead, and cheeks. She looks like a freshly glazed donut.
“Granny would know,” Nana says.
Mom stands at the perpendicular counter stirring something, the cornbread I assume. She peeks at me over her shoulder. A fan whirs furiously on the table but offers little relief.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We didn’t want to worry you,” Nana says matter-of-factly.
“We could have eaten at my place,” I say. “I could have given you a break from this furnace.”
“I grew up without AC. We’re not going to melt.”
“You look like you’re melting, Nana.”
I set the cupcakes on the table, and then I join Mom at the counter to see what she’s making. I was right. Cornbread.
Nana’s fixing fried chicken with red beans and rice. In this heat, none of it sounds appetizing.
“Do you want me to go to the store and get a pineapple or something?” I ask.
Nana shoots me a confused look. “Why would I want pineapple?”
“Because it’s freaking hot in here. All I feel like eating is tropical fruit and salad.”
Nana hmphs.
“Did someone come out to look at the AC?” I ask.
“There’s no fixing it,” she answers.
“So, someone looked?”
“The cost to repair is almost the cost to replace. And they don’t make freon anymore, so it’s moot,” Mom says. She methodically spoons her cornbread mixture into a muffin tin with an ice cream scoop.
I collapse into a chair by the table. Exactly what I was afraid of. Nana’s house is falling apart before I have the money to fix it.
“You can’t live here like this,” I say. “It’s too much stress on Granny.”
Nana waves the back of her hand at me. She’s focused on the thermometer in her vat of oil. The breaded chicken sits in a pan on one of the unused burners, ready to be fried.
“I’ll buy you a window AC,” I say. “You can put it by Granny’s chair.”
“I’ve already got one lined up,” Nana answers. “Gina has one in her garage that she’s going to loan me.”
“Meanwhile, you two are going to roast back here in the kitchen.”
Mom bats Nana out of the way with her hip and slides the muffin tin into the preheated oven.
I do a rough calculation in my head. So much of my money is tied up, I’m practically living on rice and beans. However, if things go well, I should have enough net profit by next summer to replace the AC many times over. If not, I’ll find the money somewhere.
Mom’s screams interrupt my mental math. The fizzling sound of squirting water hits my ears. I turn to find Mom taking a full shower at the kitchen sink.
I dart over.
“The faucet’s leaking,” Mom yells over the din of spraying water.
“That’s more than a leak!” I yell.
Nana rushes over and the three of us try, pathetically, to stop the deluge with our hands.
“Turn off the water,” I urge, as high-powered droplets sting my face. All things considered, it’s kind of refreshing.
“We’re trying,” Nana says as she grabs at the base of the faucet.
“I mean, shut off the water main, or whatever it’s called. Watch out.” I crouch and jerk open the cabinet doors under the sink. Thankfully, the shutoff valve is accessible behind a mess of half-used cleaning bottles and rusty, discarded steel wool. The knob screeches as I turn it. Seconds later, the shower ceases, and Mom, Nana, and I are left dripping.
I stand. A droplet of water clings to Mom’s nose, beneath her humored eyes. She wipes it and then melts into laughter.
“Nothing like playing in the sprinkler on a hot day,” she says.
Admittedly, I do feel better. The cold water cut the heat and coupled with the breeze from the fan, I feel cooled and halfway functional. However, I have another item to add to my list of home repairs. A kitchen faucet can’t wait, though.
“What are you fools doing in here?” Madison says from the kitchen doorway. She enters and Harrison trails behind her. The creases around his dark brown eyes betray amusement. They must have seen everything.
“The faucet broke,” Mom says, “and we panicked.”
“I saw,” Maddie says, confirming my suspicion.
“You panicked,” I say. “I sprang into action.”
“Why is it blazing hot in here?” Madison plops her bowl of homemade coleslaw onto the table. It’s the closest I’ll get to a refreshing salad today.
“The AC’s out,” Nana says.
Madison’s lips scrunch into a pout. “I wish you would have told me. I might not have come.”
“It’s fine,” Harrison says, flashing us a broad smile. He walks over to Nana and tries to give her a side hug, but she presses against his chest.
“I’m wet and I smell like I rubbed onions under my armpits.”
“That’s pleasant,” Madison says.
Harrison offers his arms to Mom instead, and she returns his hug, patting his back as she squeezes. She looks miniature in his arms. He dwarfs all of us at a height of six feet seven inches. His height and superior hand-eye coordination earned him a spot on the Charleston Cougars basketball team, and he still has the muscles to show for it. He’s gorgeous and a sweetheart to boot. Maddie is a lucky girl.
“I can run to the store and get a new faucet,” he offers. There’s a mom-sized wet stain on his maroon Izod shirt.
“The oil’s ready,” Nana says. She grabs the hand towel from the oven handle and mops her face. “Dinner’s in fifteen. We can use the hose out back if we get desperate.”
Madison seems displeased by the prospect of incorporating a garden hose into dinner preparations. I share Madison’s sentiment but understand Nana’s determination. A pot of oil at the perfect temperature demands attention.
“Go keep Granny busy. I have this under control.” Nana shoos us out of the kitchen, Mom included.
“Don’t let any sweat drip into the oil,” Madison says on the way out. “Oil and water don’t mix.”
“Also, that would be gross,” I add.
Nana is unstoppable. Homemade fried chicken in ninety-degree heat. She’ll do anything to get her southern comfort food.
I nearly twisted her arm to get me to bring premade sweet tea. She called it an abomination. I called it a much-needed break for her arthritic feet.
“Sweet tea takes five minutes,” she said on our way out of the sanctuary this morning.
“It takes longer than that,” I argued.
“Ten.”
“Just let me help out, Nana.”
“Your Grandpa will be rolling in his grave.”
“It’s just tea, Grandma.”
“Fine. I’ll drink water.”
“You hate drinking plain water.”
“I don’t like chemicals in my tea.”
“Yeah, but you’ll drink it thick as syrup.”
“That’s the way Allen liked it.”
I sighed, hugged her, and headed off to the store to purchase the “abomination.”
I could use a cold glass of tea right now. My wet shirt is no longer cooling me. It feels like a seal’s coat including the underlayer of blubber.
We retreat to the living room and Granny looks at us like we’re aliens.
“Why ya’ll comin’ in here?”
“Nana kicked us out,” I say as I settle on the couch next to Granny’s recliner. Madison and Harrison choose the couch next to me. Mom settles onto Great-grandpa Charles’s wooden rocking chair, probably the wisest choice with its built-in air vents.
“I’m watching my game,” Granny says.
“We won’t bug you Granny,” Mom says.
Granny mutters something. I hear the words “loud” and “youth.” Her mostly silent diatribe seems to satisfy her, and she refocuses on the television.
We talk about the morning church service, commenting on fellow congregants. Fran Pooley’s granddaughter’s teenage pregnancy is the main topic of discussion. We disagree about the time and date of the baby shower. I think it’s next Sunday at one. Madison corrects me and says it’s Sunday at four. Mom insists it’s in two Sundays at two o’clock. None of us bother to check the church calendar.
“Oh,” Mom interjects. “Fran said to buy gender-neutral baby clothes and accessories. That’s per her granddaughter’s request.”
We all look at each other and then lean back and think for a moment.
“Green frogs could work,” I say.
“Or yellow sunflowers,” says Harrison.
I nod. “Or brown monkeys holding yellow bananas.”
All this to the tune of Granny’s shushes and for-the-love-of-baby-Jesus-would-you-pipe-downs.
Meanwhile, Nana carts the food into the dining room and throws down a stack of paper plates and a couple of piles of Dollar Tree-issued silverware. “Come and eat.”
We choose our customary seats around the table, me and Madison on one side, Granny and Mom on the other, and Nana and Harrison at the two heads. After a quick prayer, we dig into the hot food. I drop a generous spoonful of coleslaw onto my plate, pick out a wing and a leg from the bowl, and pile my glass full of ice before filling it with Milo’s abominable sweet tea. Nana fills her glass with tea also. I don’t rub it in.
After much eating and typical Sunday afternoon banter, we’re ready to throw our plates in the trash and our silverware into the sink—no not the sink, Nana insists. She pulls a tub out of one of the lower cabinets and instructs us to drop our silverware into it.
“I’ll wash them out back.”
Madison scrunches her nose. “Maybe you should go buy Nana that faucet,” she says to Harrison.
“I will. After dessert though.”
“Dessert will be here when you get back.”
He clears his throat. “Julie?” he says, referring to my mom.
“Yes, of course,” Mom says.
Now Mom’s the one shooing us out of the kitchen.
“We can grab our own cupcakes,” I say.
Mom looks at me sternly. Something’s up. Okay, then. I head back to the dining room and take my seat. Everyone else does the same except for Nana who opens the china cabinet and pulls out the special dessert plates.
“Aren’t those dusty?” Madison says.
“I washed them.” Nana sets them on the table.
“Oh.” Madison looks confused.
I glance at Harrison. He’s sweating. Of course. It’s ninety degrees in here. Is he sweating more than he was five minutes ago though? He’s more fidgety. Definitely.
Mom enters the room carrying a cake. Not a box cake with some packaged icing slathered on top. This is a legitimate cake, decorated with fondant by a professional. Perched on top are two figures, a male and a female, holding hands.
She sets the cake in front of Madison and gives her the knife. “Would you mind serving everyone?”
Madison giggles. “Um, sure.”
Her hands shake as she cuts the first slice, encountering resistance halfway down. She manages to cut a clean wedge regardless and carefully flips it onto Nana’s best china. An inedible red box sits in the center of the confetti cake.
Harrison slides it out, gets down on one knee, and opens the box. A diamond ring glitters in the chandelier light.
Madison licks her lips, presses them together, suppresses a smile.
“Maddie,” Harrison says, “this isn’t exactly how I expected things to go. I mean, I expected air conditioning. But everything else is perfect. You’re perfect. We’re perfect together. I love you more than I ever thought I could love. I want to love you through the ups and the downs, through youth and old age, through sickness and health.” He chokes up. Clears his throat. “Madison, will you marry me?”
Madison’s excitement explodes. She jumps up and down and squeals. “Yes. Yes, I will marry you!”
Harrison bursts to his feet and grabs Madison’s waist. She throws her arms around his neck, and they share a long kiss as the rest of us whoop and holler, Granny the loudest of us all. She taps her fork to her glass to add to the ruckus.
After Madison and Harrison pry themselves apart, I jump up and hug them both. I’m happy for them. So very happy. And yet...
We eat our cake, peeling off the fondant first. Madison admires her ring, the way the gold and the diamond pop against her skin. Her nails are immaculate. Like she expected this moment to come soon.
After cake, Granny retreats to her football game, Harrison runs to the hardware store for a faucet, and I help Nana clean up as best as I can without a working kitchen sink. She wants to wash the dishes with the hose. I tell her under no circumstances. She huffs. I chuckle. And yet...
During the drive home, I ponder the dullness in my chest. I ponder it while I eat my Wendy’s salad in my cool apartment, as I scratch behind Pudge’s ears, as I climb out onto the fire escape. The humidity is still heavy, the air only a few degrees cooler than its mid-afternoon apex. The shade and the breeze further reduce the heat, comforting me as I listen to the sounds of the city. A passing siren, the hush of cars rushing back and forth, faster than they should go on city streets. A cat meowing through the glass behind me.
Minus Nana’s broken AC and the stress of having to fix it sooner rather than later, today was perfect. A persnickety Granny and a determined Nana—I’d have them no other way. A wedding ring in a cake. My cousin gloriously happy.
And yet...
I take a deep breath and rub my eyes.
Michael never got on one knee. He asked me to marry him in the French Quarter. Romantic enough, standing amidst all that history. Michael knew me. But he never knew me. Not like Luke, who knows me now better than Michael ever did.
Luke only kneeled to plead with me to forgive him. A far cry from Madison’s idyllic moment. It’s all I have.
No. I have my businesses.
And Pudge.
Mostly my businesses.
It’s enough. I’ll find a man eventually. When my work slows down. When I have more time. When I’m past thirty. When I’m ready to slow down.
When...
Pudge continues to meow behind me. Her claws scratch against the glass as she tries to shred the obstacle between us. I peek at her and can’t help but laugh at the intensity of her effort and the desperation in her eyes.
“I feel you, Pudge. I feel you.”
I open the window, climb back inside, and gather Pudge into my arms. At least we have each other.
As I bury my face into her fur, my thoughts flit to Luke. The “new and improved” Luke. The one who pines about me, who told his mom I’m the one.
“I can’t believe I’m even considering him,” I say to Pudge. “Tell me I’m crazy.”
Pudge looks up at me and meows innocently.
“Yeah. I’d play dumb too.”
I sigh, fluff my hair, and stretch.
Time for bed. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.