“Mustn’t keep you. Just thought you might like the brownies.”
Jane followed him, thanking him, but he was gone.
Jane and her daughter were finishing a late dinner. Mike hadn’t returned and Jane was wondering wildly if Mike and Kipsy had eloped. He was usually very good at letting his mother know where he was. Well... he was that way when he was in high school. A year of college had apparently put this courtesy out of his mind.
Ursula had called and said she was on the way with more food, and Jane said she was already putting her dinner on the table, and Ursula believed it even though it was only four-thirty when she called.
Katie was still speaking with a fake French accent, and Jane pretended not to notice. “The French, they would never use a plastic bag to cook meat. They use fine parchment paper,“ Katie commented.
“All of them?“ Jane said sarcastically. “Katie, you were only in Paris with rich friends. And I doubt you got to go in the kitchen of the restaurants.“
“But we did. “ Katie reverted momentarily to plain English. “Jenny’s dad had gone to culinary school when he was young, and he always asked to see the kitchen before we ordered.”
Jane was appalled. “Jenny’s dad is a banker. Culinary was twenty years in his past, and I remember him telling me it made him gain weight and he quit after the first year and took business courses. And what’s more, ‘nice’ people from America don’t insist on seeing the kitchens of restaurants. It’s a wonder you weren’t all thrown out.”
The argument was put on hold when Mel rang the front doorbell. Katie flounced to the hall and let him in, saying in bored tones, “She’s in the kitchen criticizing my friends. “ She continued the flounce clear upstairs where she turned her radio on full blast.
Mel came in the kitchen smiling. “Who are you raking over the coals now?“
“No one you know,“ Jane said with a grin. “Sit down. There are tons of leftovers. I’ll bet you haven’t had dinner.“
“Or lunch for that matter. Thanks.”
Jane had learned early on that you didn’t try to talk to Mel when he was hungry. If he answered at all, it was merely “uh-huh“ or “no. “ But she was anxious to pick his mind about Julie Jackson. She sat patiently as he ate four slices of the roast, and two helpings of potatoes and gravy, and passed on the broccoli au gratin.
While he was making inroads on the leftovers, she told him about Shelley renting plants. “It wasn’t fair. Our yards are on the same day and it would make me look like a piker.“
“But you’ve got more sense than to do a silly thing like that,“ he managed to say between bites.
“Not exactly...“ Jane said softly. “Mine are coming tomorrow afternoon. And I even got a water feature to one-up her. It’s only a little birdbath waterfall that I wanted anyway and actually bought outright.“
“Is it the broken foot that’s making you so competitive? Or something else?“ Mel asked, setting down his silverware at last and really looking at J an e.
She looked at him for a long time. “It’s more. And stupider. See, I’ve never broken any bone. It makes me feel as if I’m suddenly vulnerable and—well, getting older.“
“But you might as well have broken your foot when you were eight or nine and you wouldn’t have felt that way. I broke my arm about that age, and I thought it was sort of neat and made me stand out in the crowd, as I remember. Everybody breaks something, sometime. You’ve just been lucky.“
“Yes, but there’s a difference between eight and forty-something. And it reminds me, too, that I’m older than you.”
Mel looked genuinely stunned. “When has that ever mattered? It’s only a couple of years and you’ve aged far better than I have.”
Jane got teary and reached across the table, put ting her hands to his cheeks. “I sometimes forget what a good man you are.”
Mel took one of her hands and kissed the palm,
Jane followed him, thanking him, but he was gone.
Jane and her daughter were finishing a late dinner. Mike hadn’t returned and Jane was wondering wildly if Mike and Kipsy had eloped. He was usually very good at letting his mother know where he was. Well... he was that way when he was in high school. A year of college had apparently put this courtesy out of his mind.
Ursula had called and said she was on the way with more food, and Jane said she was already putting her dinner on the table, and Ursula believed it even though it was only four-thirty when she called.
Katie was still speaking with a fake French accent, and Jane pretended not to notice. “The French, they would never use a plastic bag to cook meat. They use fine parchment paper,“ Katie commented.
“All of them?“ Jane said sarcastically. “Katie, you were only in Paris with rich friends. And I doubt you got to go in the kitchen of the restaurants.“
“But we did. “ Katie reverted momentarily to plain English. “Jenny’s dad had gone to culinary school when he was young, and he always asked to see the kitchen before we ordered.”
Jane was appalled. “Jenny’s dad is a banker. Culinary was twenty years in his past, and I remember him telling me it made him gain weight and he quit after the first year and took business courses. And what’s more, ‘nice’ people from America don’t insist on seeing the kitchens of restaurants. It’s a wonder you weren’t all thrown out.”
The argument was put on hold when Mel rang the front doorbell. Katie flounced to the hall and let him in, saying in bored tones, “She’s in the kitchen criticizing my friends. “ She continued the flounce clear upstairs where she turned her radio on full blast.
Mel came in the kitchen smiling. “Who are you raking over the coals now?“
“No one you know,“ Jane said with a grin. “Sit down. There are tons of leftovers. I’ll bet you haven’t had dinner.“
“Or lunch for that matter. Thanks.”
Jane had learned early on that you didn’t try to talk to Mel when he was hungry. If he answered at all, it was merely “uh-huh“ or “no. “ But she was anxious to pick his mind about Julie Jackson. She sat patiently as he ate four slices of the roast, and two helpings of potatoes and gravy, and passed on the broccoli au gratin.
While he was making inroads on the leftovers, she told him about Shelley renting plants. “It wasn’t fair. Our yards are on the same day and it would make me look like a piker.“
“But you’ve got more sense than to do a silly thing like that,“ he managed to say between bites.
“Not exactly...“ Jane said softly. “Mine are coming tomorrow afternoon. And I even got a water feature to one-up her. It’s only a little birdbath waterfall that I wanted anyway and actually bought outright.“
“Is it the broken foot that’s making you so competitive? Or something else?“ Mel asked, setting down his silverware at last and really looking at J an e.
She looked at him for a long time. “It’s more. And stupider. See, I’ve never broken any bone. It makes me feel as if I’m suddenly vulnerable and—well, getting older.“
“But you might as well have broken your foot when you were eight or nine and you wouldn’t have felt that way. I broke my arm about that age, and I thought it was sort of neat and made me stand out in the crowd, as I remember. Everybody breaks something, sometime. You’ve just been lucky.“
“Yes, but there’s a difference between eight and forty-something. And it reminds me, too, that I’m older than you.”
Mel looked genuinely stunned. “When has that ever mattered? It’s only a couple of years and you’ve aged far better than I have.”
Jane got teary and reached across the table, put ting her hands to his cheeks. “I sometimes forget what a good man you are.”
Mel took one of her hands and kissed the palm,
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