No Sugar, Thank You

Audrey Polichnia                                                                                                                         2700 words

Lar-aud135@hotmail.com

N8279 Ferg Rd.

Manawa, WI 54949

NO SUGAR, THANK YOU

By Audrey Polichnia

“Honey, I thought you’d be here by now. You did put us on your calendar, didn’t you?” Mom sounded more strained than usual. “Grandma is coming this morning and I told her the yard would be done first thing.”

“You’re my first stop this morning, Mom.” Jason restrained a smile as he approached her front door. Potted tea roses, new since last week’s visit, offered their light aroma. He pushed the doorbell.  

“Just a second, Dear. Someone’s at the front door.”

He heard her footsteps cross the patio brick, the rear door slide open and close. “I just don’t have time for visitors this morning. There’s too much to get done.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth when she opened the door. “Oh, you teaser! I didn’t see you pull in. Where’s your equipment?”

“Across the street. And I can’t stay; a new contractor wants to review my estimates.” He held out an empty travel mug. “But I will take a second cup of coffee while I work.”

               She filled the cup and because of her non-response about the business and obvious signs of the kitchen in deep-clean process, Jason pondered the nature of Grandma’s visit. The living room carpet had been steam-cleaned, the coffee table replaced and window treatments updated. But with no time to spare, he set about giving the yard a quick mow. Fortunately, the rose bushes and boxwoods did not need to be trimmed and the new Japanese maple appeared content in its new home. While he watered the begonia baskets hanging from the covered patio, his mother approached.

               “Everything’s done, Mom, except edging the patio and the front sidewalk. I’ll get that next week.”

               “Can’t you do it now? Or tomorrow morning?”

“Dad can get it; he has an edger.”

“He faked having to go somewhere.”

“Then there’s no hurry, is there?”

“But I’m getting ready for tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow? Besides Sunday.”

She feigned disbelief by sighing and rolling her eyes. “Neighborhood friends are coming. I’ve been talking about this party for a month.”

“Why? Why are you and Grandma turning the house upside down for friends coming?” Jason looked sideways at her; she wasn’t giving full disclosure and she certainly hadn’t been talking about any party for a month.

“It’s families who’ve moved away. Kids you played with, went to school with, dated. We thought—”

“This is trouble, I just sense it. Don’t expect me to come.  I’m busy and there’s no one from my childhood I lay awake at night wondering what’s become of him.” He finished coiling the water hose.

 Mom showed no surprise; instead, she raised her chin. “Well, you should come! Sierra Branchard is coming. So is Marcia Engle.  And Joe what’s-his-name? Poppe? His sister was on the swim team. And Cam was invited, too.”

“Is Dad grilling? I don’t see anything brought out of the shed.”

“He said he might. Towards evening.”

She backed away a half step, a sign not lost on her son, thus he remained non-committal. He kissed her goodbye and waved at Grandma as she turned into the driveway. He did not see her box of elegant floral tea cups and saucers. He did not see her matching gilt teapots-- nor did she wish him to! She’d driven three times around the block waiting for him to leave.

On Sunday morning Dad could no longer endure the bakery and catering deliveries, the arranging of table cloths this way and that and then removed for a runner and finally, a discussion of using doilies instead. When asked if a third sandwich should be offered, he announced he was leaving for a golf game.

“And if you think Jason will show up here for anything less than a fire, you’ll hear things from him you’d rather not! It won’t matter how many women you have tottering about with tea cups. He’s quite capable of finding a woman when he’s good and ready!”

               Grandma huffed as her son passed to the door. He returned a scowl but she continued arranging lemon bars on the desert stand’s second tier.

               Sierra arrived ten minutes early—a sure indicator she desired to see Jason alone before others arrived. Mom was duly impressed she’d maintained a slim figure and still tanned perfectly. Her luxurious blonde hair was in an up-do that allowed tendrils to bounce near her cheeks.  After cordial greetings and air kisses, Sierra inquired about Jason.

               “He’s quite busy with his landscaping business but did say he’d drop in for a bit.” Not ready yet to engage with someone very engaging, Mom nodded toward Grandma. “And you remember Jason’s grandmother. Would you mind helping her set out the last petit fours while I slice lemons for water?”

               An alluring fragrance lingered as Sierra crossed the living room to the dining table set with a spring floral arrangement, antique cups, saucers, matching teapots, highly polished tea spoons, tiered dessert stands and crystal platters. Finger foods abounded.

               Marcia Engle, the first to arrive fashionably late, offered cheery greetings to Jason’s mother and Sierra but breezed directly to Grandma who responded in obvious delight.

               “Oh, you look lovely as ever, Marcia. Thank you for coming! Now come sit and let’s chat before etiquette requires we mingle.”

               So the two talked about flower gardens, cats and their current needle work projects. And no, Marcia was not yet married or even serious with anyone. She was contentedly employed as an art instructor in a public school district.

               The swim team’s champion. Anne Poppe, arrived next and as always, seemed uncomfortable in a dress—even today’s soft colored sundress and wedge sandals. Though pleasantly-- well…. simple in hair and makeup, she was genuinely friendly. Anne had played every softball game Jason invited her into but why the two never dated still remained baffling. Athleticism didn’t indicate a lack of femininity.

               When Mom’s dear friend Donna arrived with her aged mother, aid was given to lift the wheel-chair over the landing. Dad’s recliner was pushed to the wall and Ellen wheeled into position where she could easily be included in conversation. Four other women arrived. Upon discovering Denise was an obstetric nurse—obvious since she hadn’t time to change from her blue scrubs-- talk gravitated toward common ailments and childbirth.

               The desserts and light fare diminished, lighthearted memories were shared and Grandma and Marcia served the tea. Then amidst the laughter and exchanging of phone numbers, the group heard a frustrated cry from the kitchen.

               “This is not. A good time. To have plumbing problems!”

               Marcia and Grandma rounded the kitchen island in time to see Mom rising from under the sink then force a small plunger into the overflowing water. Her dress absorbed the splashes.

               “Is your disposal backed up?”

               “I don’t have a disposal. Not yet anyway. Can you hand me a clean dish towel, please? Top drawer on the right.”

               Marcia obliged. “Do you have Drano or something else to pour in? If it’s just a clog that would solve the problem in a few minutes.”

               “I tried that already,” Mom lied.

               Now Donna joined them. “I’ll get your mop, Jen.”

               “Just leave it for now. I’m sure it’ll get worse before this is resolved.”

               “Who’s your plumber?”

               “You mean where’s my plumber. He’s golfing and didn’t answer my text.”

               Grandma announced she would call Jason. “Where did I put my phone?” She scanned those laying on the counter.

               “That one’s mine,” Anne said.

               “And that’s mine,” Marcia said.

               “How do you always lose your phone, Mom? Just use mine—the one that’s upside down. No, the blue one.”

               While Grandma waited for Jason to answer, Sierra advised filling and plunging the empty sink; pressure from another angle might loosen the clog. Donna volunteered. The only result was another wet dress and a bigger puddle.

               Grandma shushed everyone. “Jason, we have a problem in the kitchen. You need to come now right away…. Your mother did but he didn’t answer. This can’t wait.”

               “Tell Jason to bring his tools. I don’t think Dad has the right wrenches.”

               “Did you hear-- …. Twenty minutes? That’s your best? …..  Twenty minutes then.” Showing deep disappointment, Grandma laid the phone down then instructed Mom to bring a mop bucket. “And I’m going to find a big wrench.”

               No one noticed their winks.

               A half hour later Jason parked truck and loaded trailer nearly a block from his mother’s filled driveway. Minus any tools, he reached the front door as it opened for an elderly woman in a wheelchair. He took charge of transporting her from the narrow porch into a car. As Donna adjusted her mother’s seatbelt, she asked Jason to request the owner of the black SUV move it curbside.

               Not one fiber in Jason’s body wanted to enter the house; the crisis had either been contrived or already resolved. He did not wish to become the centerpiece in any party—especially not one whose guests dangled charms from car mirrors and displayed dancing daisies on the dashboard.

               Sierra Branchard held open the door and in her unchanged fashion, lowered her brown eyes and crossed her ankles. Jason spoke her name in passing. In a raised voice he requested the owner of the black SUV please move it from the driveway.

               Heads turned his direction. His temperature rose. His skin itched. He did not meet the eyes of anyone except his mother’s who, in exaggerated exhaustion, leaned against the kitchen doorframe. His blue eyes flashed, his lips flattened and Mom forced herself upright. Before she could direct him to the sloppy mess he spoke one word-- “Outside.”

               She bit her lip and followed him onto the back patio.

               “I knew you were brewing up something ridiculous! But a fake reunion and a fake crisis to lure me into a group of women? The” His hands raised with his voice. “Do you have any idea who—Do you know anything about them? No, you don’t. You don’t know a single— .” He looked to the sky while spinning around, while searching for strong words that would not harm.

He let his arms drop. His voice softened. “Mom, I’m not your lonely woeful son who’s illiterate around women. I just want you to leave me alone. And have Dad fix whatever emotional problem you’re taking out on the kitchen sink.”

               He left via the side gate.

               Just after six o’clock Jason’s phone chirped but he ignored it. He plummeted into a heavy achy tiredness soon after leaving his mother. That she likely cried with guest still present added further guilt. He rubbed his temples as if that could unscramble his mother’s complications. Three pain killers and a hot shower should relieve his aches and subdue the itching left over from the invisible cologne cloud.

               The phone rang but he ignored it again.

               Minutes later and wearing a fresh t shirt and loose-fitting shorts, he answered Dad’s second call. An apology for losing his temper, an explanation that he was tired and sore and needed a long night’s sleep would calm his father. 

               “Dad, I’m really sorry about today. I didn’t—"

               “Did you read my message?”

               “I was in the shower. What’s up?”

               “Nothing. I’ll see you in about a half hour.”

               Jason opened the message. “Never mind Mom. She’s mad at me, too. Grilling sirloin burgers. 6:30?”

               Sounds good and I’m sick of eating on the run. Think I’ll take the bike over.

               A slow motorcycle ride on tree-lined boulevards soothed him as only that could. He hung his helmet on a handle bar and entered the back yard through the gate. The grill hood was raised, smoke wafted toward the neighbor’s friendly birch trees, Dad set a plate of perfectly grilled and seared burgers on the patio table. Jason smiled for despite Mom’s ongoing objections, he continued pulling the table from the covered patio so he could sit and eat in the breeze.

               “Didn’t see you there, Son. Fix yourself up a plate. I’ll get the potato salad from the fridge. I picked up a tub on the way home today. Unless you want macaroni salad instead?” He paused at the door.

               “Potato salad is good.”

               “Cole slaw? Bought a fresh tub of that, too.”

               “Why not.”

               Soon the men were eating quietly, listening to the birds, a distant dog barking, kids riding by on bicycles. The sky dimmed. Streetlights flicked on.

               Dad broke the restful silence. “You know, I completely forgot bake beans. You want some?”

               “I’m good, thanks. Isn’t Mom going to eat?”

               Dad hmphed.

               “But she’s okay though?”

               “Oh sure. You?”

               “I’m good.”

               Vehicle slow as it approached the house, paused before turning in. Momentarily a door closed; the front door bell sounded.

               “Wonder who’s here,” Dad said.

               Soon Mom called from the patio door, “Art, someone’s here for you.”

               “Who?” He didn’t move from the cushioned spring rocker.

               “Shari. From the golf course.”

               “Who?” Dad’s face screwed into a question mark.

               “Shari!” Mom raised her voice. “From the—”

“I heard, I heard.” Yet he remained seated. “What’s she want?”

There was another pause then Mom called loudly, “She has your book thing.”

“My what? Oh, for Pete’s sake—send her out.”

Jason did not suppress a wide grin.

A slender woman in a blue polo and khaki shorts crossed the pavers. She carried a padded black notepad. “This might be yours. It was on a table in the hall. Your business card was inside.”

Dad rose and accepted the item. “Why thank you, Shari. I’m sure in the morning I’d realize it was missing but I still wouldn’t know where to look. You could have called and I’d have picked it up rather than you driving all the way out here.”

“I drive by here every day. If you weren’t home I’d have left a message.”

Jason noticed her shift to a lingering posture. He took the lead. “You work at the golf course? Grounds keeping?” He knew differently; her tan was too light and her hands arms and legs too smooth.

“Finances. I’m learning the business side of golfing.”

Dad noticed his son’s piqued interest. “So, Shari, have you eaten dinner after work yet? There’s some great burgers still hot. Potato salad. Cole slaw.”

She backstepped. Dad apologized for being too forward.

“Oh, no need to apologize.” She glanced at the remaining food, used paper plates and napkins, still open catsup bottled. She scratched the back of her neck; her dark pony tail bounced. “I just— well, I.” She sighed, shifted feet and grimaced.  “I have a dog in my car so I really can’t.”

“What kind of dog?” Jason asked.

“My parents’. I had to pick him up from the groomers since they were—they.” She stopped her fidgeting hands. “Couldn’t.”

Dad and Jason waited; their heads tilted for her to continue.

“Dad was at dialysis.”

Jason sensed her honesty and doubt and self-consciousness. “So is the dog big? Drooly?”

“No! Oh, gosh no! Pepper’s not like that. He’s very well trained. And smart? Yeah, he’s smart.”

“I like dogs,” Jason said. “Do you like burgers?”

She scratched the back of her neck again. “I like burgers.”

“Great,” Dad rubbed his hands. “Go get Pepper out and come back here for a burger.”

Still Shari paused.

“Go on,” Dad urged. “I want to meet Pepper. Jason, bring him through the side gate so Mom doesn’t get bent out of shape with a dog in the house. I’ll heat up the bake beans. Do you like baked beans, Shari?”

“Who doesn’t?”

Jason led her through the gate while Dad returned to the kitchen. He laid the notepad on the counter while his wife, with raised eyebrows studied him.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“Shari. From the golf course.” He set a can of beans under the can opener.

“And how did she get your notebook?”

“Seems I left it there. Can you get a pan out? Jason invited her to stay for a burger.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“Sure did. And she’s getting the dog out of the car, too. Pepper.” Dad hummed while emptying and stirring the beans. “A tea party, Jen. What were you thinking?”

Her mouth opened silently. She clamped it shut. Her hands landed on her hips. “You planted that notebook, didn’t you?”

But Dad just continued humming and stirring the beans.