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Reese“Your ribbons are very pretty, young lady.” Aunt Bette leaned over the table where the ribbons and medals from the last two cooking competitions sat, a prim smile on her mouth. And zero recognition on her face. The young lady part of her comment was a knife straight through my heart.
“Thank you, Aunt Bette.”
She frowned and I flashed an apologetic smile, remembering that the staff had said not to upset her when she was confused. “Your family must be proud.”
“Of course,” I said, because what else could I say? It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t remember me, just as it wasn’t her fault that she was my only living family, in any way that mattered. “I’m sure they are.”
“I used to love to cook, but I don’t do it much anymore. I wonder why that is,” she mused with a smile, turned toward the window where birds played around a feeder. That was it—Aunt Bette was gone completely.
Not that she’d remembered anything of me or her life during the visit, she hadn’t. The only saving grace was that she wasn’t frightened or angry over her lack of memory today. It was, according to the staff, a good day.
She didn’t remember me, but it was a good day.
That didn’t hurt to hear. Not at all.
“How was the visit?”
I shrugged at one of the friendly nurses. “She didn’t remember me, but she wasn’t bothered by it, so good. I guess.”
“I know it’s hard,” she offered, along with a soothing hand to my back. “But just remember, for her, that’s a good day.”
“I know.” I did, and that was what made it all so sad, because I was powerless over all of it. Powerless to do anything about the pain I felt over her memory. It wasn’t her fault, I knew Bette would remember me if she could. Which made my pain selfish and immature. And that made me angry.
So, I headed home where I could get lost for hours, burying my sorrow in the kitchen. It was my favorite form of therapy, and right now I needed an hours-long session.
Three hours later, I felt better. Not good, but thanks to a half-finished pitcher of Bloody Marys, I felt better about things. Two sauces simmered on the stove and my meatballs cooked in the pressure cooker on the other side of the kitchen, while the oven worked hard to help my slider buns rise. The kitchen was steamy and my hair was a frizzy mess, and it was all okay because I was alone.
“Totally and completely alone. All alone.” The more I said it aloud, the more it became like a game to see how many different ways a person could be alone.
“Orphaned.” I snorted, I’d been that for most of my life. “Spinster.” Well, that was an in progress kind of thing that only bothered me once in a while. “Solitary. On my own.”
Another bitter laugh escaped and I buried it behind another sip of my drink. There was nothing I could do about Aunt Bette’s situation, because there was nothing modern medicine could do. I could accept it, which I was trying to do, but it was hard. It was like losing a mother all over again.
“And on that thought, I’m done thinking.” I cranked up the music until it drowned out my thoughts. Completely. I moved around the kitchen, my focus on the different pots simmering—and my drink, of course. And the lyrics. Cannot forget the lyrics.
“It’s too bad you’re not selling tickets to this show. We could make a killing.”
Although it registered immediately that it was Jackson’s voice behind me, my fear impulse took over and I screamed—loudly—and spun while tossing a barbecue sauce covered wooden spoon at my would-be but would-be-not attacker. “Crap. Sorry but you did scare me.”
Jackson looked down at the blue button-up shirt that was almost like his uniform, rolled and pushed up his forearms just to tease the fairer sex. Then, his gaze slid to mine and a lazy half-smile kicked up one side of his face. “You got barbecue sauce on me.”
I shrugged. “You know what they say, if you can’t stand flying sauce, don’t sneak up on the chef.”
“No one has ever said that.” He reached across the counter and turned down the volume. “Who pissed you off?”
“No one.”
Jackson laughed. “That would’ve been more believable if you hadn’t crossed your arms all defensively like that.”
“I’m just doing kitchen stuff and rocking out. Is that all right?”
“Fine by me. Want some company?”
“Sure. What are you doing here, anyway?” We didn’t have plans to see each other and since I was following his lead, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
The smile that spread across his face was irresistible. And contagious. “I found the weirdest thing over at Bo’s and I wanted to share it with you.” He stood there looking as charming as the devil, but it was that hint of vulnerability and uncertainty that had me unconsciously leaning in.
