“I figured that out the minute you started typing up those pictures of your man’s teeny weenie. And by man, I also mean your boss. I’m sure I should tell you as your supervisor to take those down, but seeing as how you no longer work here, I am no longer your supervisor and am no longer inclined to offer up such advice,” she shrugs. “But as your friend, I will tell you that you were always better than him and deserve so much more. So, go down the street, get yourself a pie to go for you and Mable and enjoy your evening with your aunt. Tell her I said hello and that we can all rejoice that you’re no longer seeing that Shit for Brains. Pardon my French.” With that she give me a big hug, hands me my purse out of the bottom drawer of my desk, snatches my security badge off my hip and shoves me out into the world.
“Oh shit,” I say when I stumble out into the cool spring air. “I have no job. Shit.” So, I do what any self-respecting woman would do. I do as I was told and I go buy Mable and I a mile high chocolate satin pie and head home to the brownstone I share with my aunt.
It takes me two trains and a bus, plus the walk from the bus station to home. And by the time I make it to the door, the weight of the day is heavy on my shoulders. I pull my keys out of my bag, but before I can ever reach the lock, the door is thrown open and my Aunt Mable is standing there in all of her glory. And she is glorious. At only fifty years young she is short and curvy, but not in a heavy way, in a Bette Grable pinup girl way. Her blonde curls, like mine, are artfully pinned up on top of her head and her gorgeous face has just enough makeup on it to be tasteful. Wearing her signature retired style, she is in jeans and a white poplin blouse. She is beautiful, but her face is scowling.
“Well, should we chop his dick off and cram it down his throat or rip his heart out and eat it?” She growls.
“I take it Marie called you?” I ask blandly.
“You know she did.” Mable says unrepentantly.
“One of the casualties of working in the hospital your favorite aunt used to rule with an iron fist.” I smile, lean in, and kiss her cheek. “I brought pie.” I hold up the bag.
“Yippee! Pie!” She claps. “And I’m your only aunt.” She laughs.
“Well, you can still be my favorite.” I wink at her. And already, I’m starting to feel better. Aunt Mable has always been there for me, since the day I was born to a mother who could care less for me, and then again when my mother married a string of rich husbands, and then divorced them. And then again when she died in a plane crash last year with her last husband on some romantic trip I didn’t even know they were taking.
“Well, I’ll just go get that bottle of scotch that idiot at the Winkler Studio sent me for the showing last month. I hear it pairs well with pie and betrayal.” Did I mention my aunt is awesome? And as part of being awesome, she’s also kind of a famous painter. I say kind of because she won’t admit to it. She says she likes what she likes, and she’ll keep doing it as long as she damn well pleases, and if people want to pay good money for it, which they do, who is she to argue with them.
Two hours later, Aunt Mable is draped over a chase lounge like Cleopatra, but the bottle of scotch dangling from her fingertips kind of ruins the image. About two seconds after Mable offered me a highball of scotch I burst into tears and told her the whole sordid tale. At that time, she sat me down and handed me a bottle of vodka. Then Mable cut the big pie in quarters, dumped one in a bowl and handed it to me.
Now, the pie is gone, so is most of the vodka and scotch, a third of a tube of chocolate cookie dough, and the widow maker pizza we ordered from Giuseppe’s down the block. Also, now, I feel like I’m going to puke.
“I feel like as nurses, we should have known better and eaten a vegetable.” I tell Mable.
“What are you talking about? The pie was dairy, the pizza had sauce and meat, and vodka is made from potatoes. You can’t ever go wrong with potatoes.” I just shrug because yeah, potatoes are delicious in all their forms. And I didn’t really want vegetables anyways.
“So, what do I do now?” I ask. Hoping my sweet, yet crazy aunt holds the secrets to life.
“Tall Pines.” She whispers.
“Huh?” I ask. I am way too full and too drunk to be deciphering her own secret code of crazy.
“Tall Pines.” She says louder.
“As in Texas?” I ask. We went back to my mom and aunt’s hometown to deliver my mom’s ashes last year. Otherwise, it’s not a place we would just go to hang out.
“Yes. Exactly. I was just talking to Gertie at the Cut ‘N Curl and she said Nurse Sarah died, so the school nurse job is open. You should take it.”
“I feel like we should be more concerned about the fact that someone died.” I tell her. I feel the shock on my face and can’t even begin to try and hide it.
“Oh, pish posh. She was one hundred and twenty if she was a day. She lived a full and loooong life. Now, let’s move to Texas.”
“I can’t just move to Texas.” I tell her.
“And why the hell not?” She whips back.
“Umm…” I start.
“You have no car,” She counts on one finger and I can’t help but agree there.
“Umm…” But still, I have to try.
“No house, this one is mine.” Shit. She’s got me there too. She lifts another finger.
“Umm...” I start again.
“No job.” She ticked off on her next finger.
