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That last one ended when her chainsaw mysteriously stopped working. She said it was the muse’s way of telling her to move on to candle-making, but I’ve always suspected that Marty had something to do with it.
“Yeah.” Mom shrugs modestly. “Kind of cool, huh?”
“Do you think you’ll do more?” I can’t keep a note of hope out of my voice. I’ve always kind of dreamed that my mother would one day find the art she’s truly meant to do and be a smashing success at it.
Mom shrugs again. “Meh. We’ll see. I think I’m moving on from encaustics. I might try my hand at stained glass.”
When I was younger, I used to fantasize that I’d been adopted or left on my mother’s doorstep or something when I was a baby. I wasn’t, of course. But I would tell myself that I didn’t really belong in this madhouse. That one day, I’d track down my real family and they’d be calm, studious, intellectual people who wore pastels and liked to read.
Then I’d go and spend a couple of weeks with my father, who couldn’t hack life with my free-spirited mother, and I’d be bored out of my mind. He’s a great guy and clearly where I get my level-headedness, but he’s every bit the stereotype of the accounting executive.
So I can’t live with them, and I can’t live without them. I guess that’s what makes them family.
Mom flips another waffle out of the waffle maker and onto a huge stack and shoves the plate at me. “Almost ready. Bring this out for me, please?”
The next several minutes are spent dodging nephews, carrying food, and pretending I don’t hear Shelly’s ongoing commentary about her new neighbors. Walden returns just as we sit down, triumphantly bearing a jug of maple syrup. We nod at each other but don’t have time to say anything before we’re all ushered into seats and begin to dig in.
I wind up sitting next to Janine, Walden at the far end of the table. “So what do you do?” she asks me as she helps herself to a slice of quiche that Shelly brought. When you’re the mayor’s wife, you have to go the extra mile. And Shelly is a good cook, so no complaints.
I swallow a bite of waffle. “I run the Welkins Ridge library,” I tell Janine.
“So, you’re like a librarian?”
I almost tell her that I’m not like a librarian, I am a librarian, but I remember to be nice. “Yes. Exactly.”
“Do you get to read a lot of books? I bet that’s fun. I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
I repress another snarky comment. “I love reading books, yeah, but I don’t actually get to read that much as part of the job.”
Joey cuts in with a chuckle. “Don’t believe a word she says. She loves reading. Can’t get her nose out of a book.”
Sigh. So many people, including my family, think my job is sitting around reading all day. The truth is I don’t read at the office and I end up bringing work home most evenings and weekends. I wish I had more time to read.
Marty suddenly realizes his younger son is still not wearing a shirt. “Joey, you animal! Go get some clothes on. We have a guest!”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Janine chimes in. “I love him without a shirt on.” She makes goo-goo eyes at Joey across the table.
“I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Joey protests to his dad. “I thought we were just coming for brunch.”
“Go grab one of mine,” Marty orders. “For crying out loud, no manners,” he mutters.
“Fine.” Joey gives his dad a good-natured eye roll and gets up from the table.
I clear my throat and turn back to Janine. “We actually do a lot of different things at the library. We have a tutoring program for school kids, for example, and a program that helps adults find jobs or figure out how to get started in a new career.” I speak louder than necessary, hoping Walden will pay attention.
“Oh, that’s cool!” Janine says.
Joey reappears wearing a Guns N Roses t-shirt and sits down at the table.
“Hey, be careful with that shirt,” Marty warns. “I got that at a concert thirty years ago. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Shirt on or shirt off, Dad?” Joey grabs the hem as if he’s about to pull it off.
“Just be careful, is what I’m saying,” Marty grumbles.
Joey keeps the shirt on and turns to me. “Janine and I are starting a car detailing business.”
“Yep. Can’t be a stripper forever,” Janine adds cheerfully.
