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“What about you, Logan?” Mrs. Ritz asks, demanding an answer.
“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” I say, grumpy.
“Have you gone to her house?” she wants to know.
I tense up my shoulders and look from one side to another, searching for something to say that won’t make me look like a slacker.
“I felt that would be too much,” I say without looking at her.
“Nothing is too much for love, boy!” Mrs. Ritz claps her hands once.
Feeling like a trained poodle, I straighten up my back and listen to what she has to say.
“Go to her house, make a big scene, plead on your knees, tell her that you love her, and if she truly loves you, she will forgive you. Understand?”
Jane smiles. Anna looks up at me, not understanding a single word, but cheering for me and Joyce anyway.
Mrs. Ritz’s eyes are urging me to go away and do something immediately, and I’m feeling pumped in this moment to do exactly that.
“I need to get the ring…” I stand and start to head out. “I need to get that ring and go talk to her!”
I’m almost at the foyer when I’m reminded of something I’m leaving behind.
“You two!” I say, looking over my shoulder and point to Jane and Anna. “Come with me!”
Jane rushes ahead, taking Anna by the hand, until they reach my side. Mrs. Ritz laughs and claps, adoring the scene.
If things go awry, I will blame her, but of course, anything that Mrs. Ritz says turns out to be right, or so I tell myself.
Chapter Thirty-Three
JOYCE
Idon’tknowwhosaid that ‘cooking is caring,’ but it is one of the biggest truths in my life.
These days, Gabby and I take turns making dinner, with Mom assisting with lighter tasks that she can do while seated.
Today it’s my turn. After Jane’s visit yesterday, it’s a nice change to immerse myself in something I truly enjoy, allowing myself to become completely absorbed and distracted.
“Joy, did you salt the rice?” mom asks, having a taste of the white grains.
“Um, I believe so!” I smile and get back to seasoning the chicken.
Mom shakes her head. “You didn’t. Taste it,” she says.
She offers me the spoon with just a tiny bit of rice, and I do as she says.
I wince as soon as I eat it. The rice is tasteless.
“Oh, let me fix it!” I take a big spoonful of white powder from the cannister next to me.
“That’s sugar!” Mom alerts me before I throw it into the rice. “Joy, where’s your head at?”
I don’t know where my head is, but I shake what’s left of it and look down at my feet.
Mom pulls out a chair to sit down again and holding my hands, continues speaking, “You need the father of your baby, Joyce!”
With a heavy sigh, I focus on the chicken breasts and taste the seasoning. I realize I put sugar in it while mom wasn’t there to keep me from doing it, and I wash them under the tap and start all over again.
