Page 68 of Meet Cute Reboot
“I don’t like chemicals in my tea.”
“Yeah, but you’ll drink it thick as syrup.”
“That’s the way Allen liked it.”
I sighed, hugged her, and headed off to the store to purchase the “abomination.”
I could use a cold glass of tea right now. My wet shirt is no longer cooling me. It feels like a seal’s coat including the underlayer of blubber.
We retreat to the living room and Granny looks at us like we’re aliens.
“Why ya’ll comin’ in here?”
“Nana kicked us out,” I say as I settle on the couch next to Granny’s recliner. Madison and Harrison choose the couch next to me. Mom settles onto Great-grandpa Charles’s wooden rocking chair, probably the wisest choice with its built-in air vents.
“I’m watching my game,” Granny says.
“We won’t bug you Granny,” Mom says.
Granny mutters something. I hear the words “loud” and “youth.” Her mostly silent diatribe seems to satisfy her, and she refocuses on the television.
We talk about the morning church service, commenting on fellow congregants. Fran Pooley’s granddaughter’s teenage pregnancy is the main topic of discussion. We disagree about the time and date of the baby shower. I think it’s next Sunday at one. Madison corrects me and says it’s Sunday at four. Mom insists it’s in two Sundays at two o’clock. None of us bother to check the church calendar.
“Oh,” Mom interjects. “Fran said to buy gender-neutral baby clothes and accessories. That’s per her granddaughter’s request.”
We all look at each other and then lean back and think for a moment.
“Green frogs could work,” I say.
“Or yellow sunflowers,” says Harrison.
I nod. “Or brown monkeys holding yellow bananas.”
All this to the tune of Granny’s shushes and for-the-love-of-baby-Jesus-would-you-pipe-downs.
Meanwhile, Nana carts the food into the dining room and throws down a stack of paper plates and a couple of piles of Dollar Tree-issued silverware. “Come and eat.”
We choose our customary seats around the table, me and Madison on one side, Granny and Mom on the other, and Nana and Harrison at the two heads. After a quick prayer, we dig into the hot food. I drop a generous spoonful of coleslaw onto my plate, pick out a wing and a leg from the bowl, and pile my glass full of ice before filling it with Milo’s abominable sweet tea. Nana fills her glass with tea also. I don’t rub it in.
After much eating and typical Sunday afternoon banter, we’re ready to throw our plates in the trash and our silverware into the sink—no not the sink, Nana insists. She pulls a tub out of one of the lower cabinets and instructs us to drop our silverware into it.
“I’ll wash them out back.”
Madison scrunches her nose. “Maybe you should go buy Nana that faucet,” she says to Harrison.
“I will. After dessert though.”
“Dessert will be here when you get back.”
He clears his throat. “Julie?” he says, referring to my mom.
“Yes, of course,” Mom says.
Now Mom’s the one shooing us out of the kitchen.
“We can grab our own cupcakes,” I say.
Mom looks at me sternly. Something’s up. Okay, then. I head back to the dining room and take my seat. Everyone else does thesame except for Nana who opens the china cabinet and pulls out the special dessert plates.