Page 12 of The Matchmaker Club
3
Summer Nights
My grandmother’s laughter was heard coming from the dining room. We usually ate in the kitchen, but since Lucas was here, my grandmother must’ve set up in there.
I didn’t enter right away but instead watched them all talking and laughing. Lucas actually smiled but didn’t say much, only observed as Charlie, Grandma Hattie, and Lainey got up to their usual antics.
The table wasn’t very long, but there was enough room to seat eight people comfortably. It was a gift given to my great-grandmother, like most of the other furniture in this place. The gold-striped cream wallpaper was dulling and peeling in some spots, and the carved oak mantelpiece that framed the fireplace had a few chips and dings. We never used it, but it still looked pretty between the long windows overlooking the slightly overgrown vegetable garden.
We all did what we could for the yard and paid a landscaper once a summer when we scraped enough money together. Lainey always got us a great discount since one of the owners, Bill, had a thing for her. Sometimes we would get a surprise visit from someone coming to mow the lawn, pull up some weeds, or trim the hedges.
Bill was probably the only man in this town that was a good two inches taller than her.
My grandmother looked up and scanned my dress before the corners of her mouth spread upwards. She thought I was dressing up like this for Lucas. She’d have my hide if she knew who it was really for.
“Oh, good, you’re here. We were just about ready to start without you.”
Lucas looked my way, and his lips parted slightly as he took in my dress. He stood up, almost knocking his chair to the floor. “Excuse me.” He fixed the chair and nodded to me.
The sleeves of my aunt’s sweatshirt went about three inches above his wrist and clung to his biceps for dear life. My eyes traveled to the hem, where a tiny bit of his abs peeked through. He looked down and pulled the shirt lower.
Failing miserably at holding in a giggle, I took a seat across from Lucas and next to Charlie. Lucas sat down after me, not taking his eyes from me once.
He really needed to stop staring like that.
Lainey came back with a pot and ladle and began spooning soup into our bowls while my grandmother laid out a basket of warm rolls and whipped butter.
“Please tell me that’s your honey butter,” I said.
“Of course.”
My mouth salivated at the thought. My grandmother wasn’t the best cook, but there were three things she had mastered: banana bread, honey butter, and her rum-soaked cherries. Three of those suckers and you were feeling warm, toasty, and giggly on a cold winter’s night.
My aunt poured a ladle full of lemon chicken into my bowl, but I stopped her before she added the second helping. Hiding a smirk, she went over to Charlie, who gladly took every drop she offered.
The lemon and garlic smell was so overpowering that I tried not to breathe too deep.
Lucas didn’t even pick up his spoon until my aunt sat down and my grandmother took her first bite. I watched, waiting to see his reaction once he got a mouthful of sour lemon and bitter raw garlic. The lemon was for vitamin C, to keep our immune systems in shape, and the raw garlic became an added ingredient after she read somewhere that it lowered the risk of dementia and Alzheimer’s disease.
My grandmother didn’t have a lot of fears, but I knew losing her memory was one of them. I think she was afraid she would forget her mother or her daughter. She believed that it was our memories that kept them alive. Which was probably why she started ourReed Women Family Journal shortly after my mom was diagnosed. She wrote pages and pages about my mother—the songs she loved, the foods she liked to eat when she was sad or angry or happy or inspired.
Some days my mother’s favorite color was gold, others rusty orange. Some days, a deep electric blue. Her favorite flowers were sunflowers, and that never changed.
Lucas coughed as he forced down a bite of lemon, garlic, and chicken. He instantly reached for the water and gulped down almost half the glass.
Lainey looked my way with a hand covering her mouth. Charlie only grinned and forced down another bite. He had perfected a poker face when eating my grandmother’s soup.
“Alright, I get it.” My grandmother flopped back in her chair. “I know the soup is a little on the strong side.”
“A little?” I asked.
“Okay,a lot,but it’s good for you. I just want you all to eat healthier around here, especially with you working at that poison shack.”
“The rolls and butter balance it out nicely,” Lucas finally said.
“And you’ll feel ready to take on the world in the morning,” Charlie added. “I swear there’s magic in this soup. Makes me feel twenty years younger.”
“As long as you don’t breathe on anybody, I suppose it isn’t too lethal,” I said.
