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Chapter Twenty
Lindsay
Shanda was right - practice did help, but this was my third attempt today at blowing this glass. I had given up trying to make a vase. At this point, I would be thrilled with anything that didn’t crack.
“Okay, easy does it. Slow down and don’t blow too hard,” Shanda guided. Then all of a sudden, she shouted, “Stop!” She took the blowtube from me and removed the still-hot glass with a pair of tongs. She pulled at it a few times, stretching and shaping it with some tools while it still had a bit of give. Now it actually looked like something usable.
“There. You made your first candy dish,” she smiled.
“Is that what it is?” I asked.
“That’s what we’re going to call it,” she said. “But you did great. No cracks at all.”
I chuckled. “I think ‘great’ might be an overstatement.”
“You might be right, but I like to encourage my students so they don’t give up.”
“Save that for your paying customers,” I joked.
“Oh, you’re paying. This homemade turkey chili smells amazing. I’ll trade lessons for food any day. I love to cook, but I run out of ideas.”
“The weather is finally warm and sunny like it should be for May. Why don’t we all get together and have a cookout?” I suggested.
Shanda beamed. “That would be awesome. Is it just the four of us, or should I get a pad and pen to start writing things down?”
I’d prefer to keep it small, since I really didn’t know everyone very well yet. But I didn’t want to admit that to Shanda. “Should we ask the guys what they think?” I asked.
Shaking her head, she replied, “We’ll be planning, cooking, and cleaning up. All they are going to do is eat.”
“My place is very small, but I could see if Phillip wouldn’t mind having it at his place.”
“Or we can call Marcy and see about doing it there?” Shanda suggested. “We always do brunch, maybe a cookout would change it up a bit. Who knows? Maybe we can even get the guys to play cornhole.”
I hadn’t gotten past the part of having it at Phillip’s parents’ house. Granted, things went better than I expected at brunch, but there was nothing about that home that said, “Let’s play cornhole.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I said. “Every blade of grass was better manicured than my fingernails. That wouldn’t quite be the cookout I imagined.”
“The family is changing, Lindsay. And believe it or not, the guys are a lot more laid back than they seem, or at least than they know. I think we should call her. And before we do, we need a game plan.”
“Just for a phone call?” I asked. For a simple cookout?
“We are talking about Marcy Heart. She is one of the key event coordinators in Boston. Not professionally, but trust me, she gets her opinion heard.”
“Another reason we shouldn’t do it there,” I stated firmly.
“You’re thinking about this all wrong. For years, she ran everything. Now the numbers are in our favor and we can show her the next generation is completely capable of doing it,” Shanda explained. “You’re not…afraid of Marcy, are you?”
I snickered. “No. My friend Samantha is very much like Marcy.” Just without the money or power to make things happen. Thank God, because the world couldn’t handle two of them.
“So you should have no problem doing the talking,” Shanda teased.
“You’re very funny, Shanda. But in your own words, it gets easier with practice. I’ve been dealing with Samantha for years.”
“Okay, how about we get Reanna and Anne on the line with us. And this way Marcy won’t be able to tell us no.”
It wasn’t as though Phillip and I were married. I was just an outsider. But I really felt honored that Shanda wanted me to be part of everything. I wish I knew how Phillip felt.
“You have my number. Just conference me in when you decide to call.”
