20
Griff
The lenja pita smells like a holiday; I can almost picture myself on the cobblestone streets of Belgrade. I never thought
I’d have the chance to try any new cuisine in here; though I suppose the meat pie with a squirt of black vegemite and white
mayonnaise, served one despicable day when the Magpies were in the preliminary football finals, was something new.
Gladys’s room is chock full of noisy relatives, including her granddaughters, who zip about like they’ve just had new batteries
put in.
I knock softly on the ajar door. The sea of family parts to reveal Gladys and a stout balding man with hearing aids I assume
to be Herb.
Gladys takes Herb’s face and gently feels the contours of his cheeks. It’s how she sees people now.
A memory of holding Beau’s face in the dark resurfaces, the one time I agreed to go camping. Okay, well, it may have technically
been glamping, but there was no way I was digging a toilet. My fingers tingle as if they can still feel his stubbled face,
his dancing eyebrows. Gladys is right: memories lie in the fingertips too.
“Who are you?” A young girl with long blond pigtails and a snotty nose pulls on my shirt.
“What have you got in the box? Is it a present? Is it for me?” says another identical girl.
I squint. Twins.
“No, silly, I was born before you! That means I get the present!” the first says in a tone that only ambulance sirens should use.
“No way! You just got that breathing koala toy to help you sleep because you’re a baby!”
“I’m not a baby! I told Mum I don’t want the stupid thing,” she shouts, flinging a gray stuffed animal into Gladys’s laundry hamper.
“I’d rather the present.”
“Hello!” A blond middle-aged woman, who must be Gladys’s daughter and the mum of the brats, steps forward. “Are you lost?”
“No . . . I’m a tart. I mean, I’m bringing Herb a tart.”
Her eyes narrow, and she puts a protective arm over the twins.
Maybe I should have donned the chef whites again, but I didn’t want to risk being caught in them.
Gladys pipes up from her chair. “Griff! Tina, love, it’s okay. He’s delivering the cake for Herb’s birthday.”
I open the box just enough to clarify that I’ve brought the apple tart and not one from the red-light district. Her shoulders
relax as she takes the cake and places it in front of Herb. The four blue eyes of the twins widen at the sight, their grubby
little fingers scrunching in and out in anticipation.
“Now, Tina, you can take that Costco mud cake back home, thank you very much! I told you I’d take care of it,” Gladys chides.
Tina’s face colors as she shoves a plastic bag to the side.
Herb, who has the unfortunate appearance of a constipated pug dog, transforms as he opens the lid. He now looks like . . .
well, still a pug dog, but one that’s had a generous snort of cocaine. “Gladdy!” he yells in excitement. “It’s not . . . how . . .
where did you get this from?”
A smug smile creeps onto the old woman’s face. “Yes, Herb. It’s lenja pita!”
“Where on earth did you find a Serbian baker?”
Gladys points to herself with both thumbs, pride radiating from her crinkled skin.
“What, you made it?” Tina and Herb cry in unison.
“Yep. I had a chef help me.” She shoots a wink in my direction, quite amazing given her lack of sight.
“They let her use the kitchen?” Tina asks.
“Something like that,” I mumble.
“It’s a new cooking activity, isn’t it, Griff? I plan to go every week, as long as the new chef sticks around.”
“The staff turnaround rates here are shocking, Mum. I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Nah. I have a feeling this one wants to stay. It was the highlight of my year, you know, cooking with him.”
My eyes sting. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be needed, wanted even.
“Well, it looks delicious, Mum! I’m impressed.” Tina sticks some gold candles in and lights them. She glances up at the smoke
detector. “Technically I don’t think we are supposed to light these, but you only get to be eighty-two once, right?”
Or not at all. Beau didn’t even live to see his sixties. Odd that we fear aging, forgetting how lucky we are to even get the
chance.
Everyone joins in a round of “Happy Birthday,” and I take in the happy sight. Gladys has lost so much, yet here she is as
happy as a clam.
After three deafening cheers of “Hip Hip Hooray!” Herb plunges a plastic knife into the cake and wiggles it in unison with
his bottom. “Gotta make sure it comes out dirty so I can give the nearest girl a kiss.” He grins, his eyes disappearing under
a sea of wrinkles.
Sure enough, it emerges coated in thick meringue. He cups Gladys’s face in his hands and gives her a long, loud smooch reminiscent
of the sound of water draining from a bath. She claps her hands together. “C’mon, Herbie! Taste it!”
He carves off a generous slice, takes one bite and stops dead, staring at Gladys for such a length of time I start wondering
if he’s croaked or having an absent seizure. Then, just like that, he bursts into tears.
“Oh!” says Gladys, her lip now wobbling like the perfect panna cotta. “It’s not bad, is it, Herbie?”
He sniffs. “No, love, it’s glorious. I . . .” He gasps between sobs. “I . . . I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed your cooking.
How much I’ve missed you!” He places her fingers on the corner of his mouth. “Can you feel how much I’m smiling, darl?”
Her fingertips read his lips then wipe away his tears.
I get a bit of dust in my eye and rub it away.
“This was my favorite thing you ever made, Gladdy.”
“I know,” she says, patting the remaining tuft of hair on his head. “Well, that and pork crackling. We both loved that, didn’t
we? Never get it in here.” She sighs, reaching for my hand. “Griff? Thank you. This has meant the world to us. Tina, cut Griff
a big slice, won’t you, hon?”
“What about us?!” the twins scream.
“Guests first, girls,” their mother maintains, passing me a piece.
I take a small bite. Bloody oath, it’s good. What’s more, it’s something I’ve never tasted before, and the joy of it snatches
my breath.
“Well?”
“It’s gorgeous, Gladys.”
“What’s going on in here?”
My shoulders slump as I clock Allison at the door.
“Oh, happy birthday, Glenda! Lovely party.” Her screechy voice makes me envious of Herb; I wish I had hearing aids I could
turn off. I try to slink away, but she spots me. “Oh dear, seems we have an uninvited guest. I’m sorry, has he been bothering
you?”
“Not at all, in fact, he—”
Allison doesn’t wait to listen but loops her arm through mine and marches me back to my room. “God, I hope I don’t look like
her when I’m that age,” she says, pulling at her crow’s feet.
I tread on Allison’s toe. Gladys’s beauty will never fade because it comes from the inside.
“Ow! Be careful. You’re not supposed to be wandering into other residents’ rooms.” The woman speaks to me as one would a naughty
child. She has the audacity to take my piece of cake too.
Not cool, Allison. Not cool.
But there’s no point in arguing. Soon I won’t have to see her or anyone else, ever again.
She scowls once more before disappearing down the hall. She’s just another motivation to leave. My life has been empty for
so long, with reasons to live trickling out of it daily.
Yet suddenly it’s being filled again, with Gladys and Serbian apple cake and Rob and tastebuds that have come out of hibernation. I place a hand on the urn but don’t take a sleeping tablet; there’s enough strength in me for one more thing.
I haven’t felt this alive since the day I got the three hats—when triumph and terror arrived within the same breath.