Alice Bliss - Laura Harrington [36]
“Nope.”
“’Cause it’s really making me mad.”
The washer spins to a stop. They both turn to look at it. No leaking.
“Let’s load her up.”
They both start tossing darks into the washer.
“Uncle Eddie . . .”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not that I hate her. . . .”
“I know.”
“I just don’t love her right now.”
“That’s all I’m trying to tell you, Alice. Right now doesn’t go on forever.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Hey—that’s a good piece of advice.”
“From me? Hell, no.” He grins.
Upstairs Angie has put on a silky dress and red high heels and dangly earrings and lipstick. Uncle Eddie gives Alice a little nudge.
“You look nice, Mom.”
Her mom actually smiles, after she gets over the shocked surprise.
“Thanks, honey.”
“Your mom’s a party girl. I bet she never told you that.”
“Eddie!”
“Perfume, too. Wow!”
“Are you going like that?” Angie asks.
“How’d you pack so much disapproval into five little words?”
“Thanks for fixing the washer.”
“I’ve got a clean shirt—Ralph Lauren—whoo hoo—and a sports jacket in the car.”
“Always ready for a good time.”
“That’s me. Life is short. Let’s go.”
Alice watches them walk to the car, their heads close together, laughing at something she can’t hear, and she thinks she doesn’t really know anything about her mother. She never thinks of her mother as being a sister and that she had this whole other life in her own family, until she sees her link her arm through Eddie’s arm and lean into him. Why didn’t she ever see this before? She sees that her mom loves Uncle Eddie even though all she ever does is give him a hard time and complain about him. And she’s happy to be going out. Putting on some high heels and going out.
“What’s for dinner?” Ellie shouts.
“Come into the kitchen and help me figure it out,” Alice shouts back at her.
Ellie stomps in.
“I bet there’s nothing good,” Ellie says.
“You’re not helping.”
“We could call Gram. She’d come over. She might even take us out.”
“We’ve gotta finish all that laundry.”
Alice opens the fridge. Why is she bothering to do this? She knows she’s not going to find some yummy leftover casserole, or even fresh sandwich fixings. She slams the door.
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do: Backwards dinner. In front of a movie.”
She takes inventory: one tired banana, some ice cream; she knows how to make fudge sauce. She tests the whipped cream canister; it’s not full, but it’s promising.
“I’ll make chocolate sauce.”
“Can we make it peppermint?” Ellie asks.
“Yeah. You peel the banana and get it into bowls.”
“Can I scoop the ice cream?”
“Sure.”
“Make it really chocolaty, Alice.”
“Okay.”
“Make lots.”
“I will.”
So Alice melts chocolate chips and stirs in half-and-half while Ellie stands on a chair to scoop ice cream onto banana halves.
“I wish we had a cherry for the top.”
“How about walnuts?”
“That’s what Daddy likes!”
“I know.”
“Okay! Do it like Daddy does.”
They sit down in front of Clueless for the five hundredth time and eat banana splits and talk back to the movie and say all the lines they know by heart. They pause the movie so Alice can go downstairs and put one load of laundry into the dryer and start the next load.
She gets back upstairs to find Ellie standing on tiptoe on a kitchen chair with the longest wooden spoon in her hand, trying to reach the popcorn maker, and finally managing to pull it toward her by the cord. Alice waits and is rewarded by the sight of Ellie, popcorn maker clutched to her chest, grinning from ear to ear.
She hands the popcorn maker to Alice and says, “I love backwards dinner.”
“Me, too.”
“Will you make mac and cheese later?”
“If you’re still hungry.”
“Lots of butter for the popcorn, okay? Not the skinny way Mom does it.”
“Okay. You do the butter.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll show you.”
They manage to fold two loads of laundry in front of the movie before Ellie falls asleep. Ellie was so proud of herself for having given up the baby habit of sucking her thumb in kindergarten, but there’s that thumb now, while she’s sleeping. Alice brushes the hair off Ellie’s sweaty forehead. Ellie is wearing her favorite plaid skirt