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Everything was business as usual in my parents’ house. My dad was in his chair in front of the television. My mom and Grandma Mazur were in the kitchen.
“I got all the chicken soaking in the sauce,” Grandma said. “I got batter for biscuits, and we made some coleslaw.”
“I got Larry comin’ over as soon as he’s off his shift,”
Lula said. “He’s gonna show us how to do the grillin’. He should be here any minute.”
The doorbell chimed, and Grandma went to open the door.
“Well, lookit you,” I heard Grandma say. “You must be Larry. Come on in. We’re all in the kitchen waiting for you. And this here’s my son-in-law, Frank.”
“For the love of everything holy,” my father said. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”
“This is from my Julia Child collection,” Larry said. “I know she didn’t barbecue, but I just love the simplicity of her clothes and the complexity of her dishes.”
I stuck my head out the kitchen door and looked beyond the dining room into the living room. Larry was wearing a curly brown wig, a lavender-and-pink flower-print blouse, navy skirt, and navy pumps with very low heels. There actually was a frightening resemblance to Julia Child.
My father muttered something that might have sounded like flaming fruitcake and went back to reading his paper.
Larry followed Grandma into the kitchen, and Grandma introduced him to my mother.
“Very nice to meet you,” my mother said. And then she made the sign of the cross and reached for the liquor bottle in the cupboard next to the stove.
“We had a mishap with the grill a couple days ago,” Lula said to Larry. “But we got it put together again and we’re pretty sure it’ll work. It’s out back.”
“And here’s the chicken,” Grandma said. “We got it sitting in the sauce just like you told us.”
“Lookin’ good, ladies,” Larry said. “Let’s barbecue.”
Lula grabbed the tray with the chicken. My mother had her hand wrapped around a highball glass. And my grandmother had a broom.
“What’s the broom for?” Larry wanted to know.
“Dogs,” Grandma said.
We went outside, Larry approached the grill, and the rest of us hung back. Not that we didn’t trust Larry’s manly ability to ignite a grill; more that we suspected this was the grill from hell.
After a couple minutes of fiddling around, Larry got the grill up and running. He adjusted the flame just so, and he arranged the chicken.
“Good thing you got the night off from being Mister Clucky,” Grandma said.
“I never get the Sunday night shift,” Larry said. “Sunday night is dead. All the action takes place for the brunch and the early-dinner crowd. They always give those times to me because I’m the best Mister Clucky.”
“You’re a pretty good Julia Child, too,” Grandma said. “I bet you’re fun on Halloween.”
At six o’clock, my father took his seat at the table and we all hustled into the dining room with the food. We took our seats and I realized there was an extra plate set.
“You didn’t do what I think you did,” I said to my mother.
“He seemed like a nice young man,” my mother said. “I met him in the supermarket. He helped me pick out a grapefruit. And it turned out he’s related to Biddy Gurkin.”
The doorbell rang and Grandma jumped out of her chair. “I’ll get it. I like when we have a new man at the dinner table.”
“You have to stop doing this,” I said to my mother. “I don’t want a new man.”
“I’ll be dead someday,” my mother said. “And then what? You’ll wish you had someone.”
“I have a hamster.”
