“Did we surprise you, Rosie?” Miss Bertha chimed in.
“Duh!” I laughed, watching as Aunt Mary slung her car into the driveway. “I got it!” she called, waving something in the air. “I got it!” she yelled again, stumbling slightly on a piece of broken sidewalk. Aunt Mary hugged Grandma Georgia and Miss Bertha and patted Mother’s shoulder. Just as my aunt was about to latch on to me, she stopped herself. “Rose Warren, you’ve lost more weight just since a couple of days ago, haven’t you?” It was more accusation than question.
“I’m
fine
!” Mother snapped. “And I wish everybody would stop commenting on my appearance! Do you know just how
many
times a day I hear how very shitty I look?” The whole family had been together less than five minutes, and already the air was thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” said Aunt Mary quickly. The moment should’ve been recorded in Spring Hill history books. Aunt Mary never apologizes for anything.
“Mary, go on and give it to her,” Grandma Georgia interrupted.
“Before dinner?” Aunt Mary asked.
“Now is good,” said Miss Bertha.
“Give who what?” I asked.
Dramatically, Aunt Mary cleared her throat. “Well, Rosie,” she said, “we
all
wanted to do something special for your sweet sixteen, so Mama, Miss Bertha, Rose Warren, and I . . . we all chipped in . . .” She handed me a rectangle loosely wrapped in red tissue paper.
“What’s this?” I asked. Miss Bertha broke into a full-face smile.
“Open it before I pop!” said Grandma Georgia. Quickly, I ripped open the package. Inside was a vanity plate, which read 4 ROSIE in raised black letters. Judging by the official-looking stickers, the car tag was authentic.
“Is that yours?” I asked Grandma Georgia, pointing toward the little red Volkswagen.
“Honey, I
flew
,” Grandma reminded me.
“It’s not mine,” Miss Bertha added.
I couldn’t speak. I
wanted
to speak. I
wanted
to put my lips together and get some words out.
Thank you
would’ve been a good start, but I couldn’t. Instead, I took off across the soggy yard like a crazed
Price Is Right
showcase winner and examined MY NEW CAR! Grandma Georgia, Miss Bertha, Aunt Mary, and Mother all watched and laughed while I squealed and ran around the vehicle and squealed some more.
“We all chipped in on it,” Aunt Mary explained. “It’s not new. Actually, it’s five years old, but the mileage is low. I’m the one who found it,” she said proudly.
“And I came up with the vanity plate idea,” said Grandma Georgia. “See, there are
four
of us,” she explained, counting off Mother, Aunt Mary, Miss Bertha, and herself, “and the car is
for
you, Rosie. Get it?
4 Rosie
.”
“Thank you all,” I said, passing out hugs. “Oh, thank you!”
Over dinner, fettuccine Alfredo, spinach salad with homemade dressing, big fat buttery rolls, and chocolate birthday cake, all of which I actually ate (in moderation), Grandma Georgia described her future plans, my third wonderful surprise of the evening.
“I knew the day I got down to Naples and started sweating my nipples off I’d made a huge mistake,” she said, plunking two ice cubes in her white zinfandel. “Keith loved it, mind you. Golf every morning. Early-bird specials every afternoon. Bingo on Saturday nights. For years I’ve stuck it out, then . . . well . . . when I first got Rose Warren’s news, something grabbed ahold of me and said,
Woman, you got girls in Tennessee.”
“So what are you saying, Mama? You and Keith are getting a divorce?” asked Aunt Mary.
“You always were so dramatic, Mary. Heavens no! We’re gonna split our
time
, not our holy union. We’ll rent some little rinky-dink place in Spring Hill and scale back our Florida living. We’ll stick around here till after Thanksgiving. If y’all want to see us Christmas, you’ll have to come down there. I just think family should be together,” said Grandma Georgia. “Don’t you, Rosie?”
“I would love to come down to Florida next Christmas!” I said.
“But that’s enough about me and my dumb old-lady plans,” said Grandma Georgia. “I wanna talk about Rosie here. Rosie, I’ve decided you need to be a debutante!”
“A
debutante
?” I laughed.
“Just so you can show off your
dergreykh
.” The word came shooting out of Grandma Georgia’s mouth like something she’d cleared from her throat.
“I don’t think I’ll be showing
that
in public,” I replied.
Grandma Georgia laughed. “
Dergreykh
means your accomplishment. I’m learning Yiddish,” she said proudly. “Anyway, Rosie, honey, you look so pretty I can hardly take my eyes off you. And how much weight have you lost exactly, if you don’t mind tellin’ it?”
“As of this morning, I’ve lost a total of thirty-eight pounds,” I said (I counted my 203 weight just to make the accomplishment even more impressive).
“That’s
wonderful
, sugar,” said Miss Bertha, squeezing my hand. I glanced at Aunt Mary. Her mouth was hanging open.
“You’ve lost thirty-eight pounds?” Aunt Mary asked. Judging by the incredulous look on her face, I thought she might cart me off to Miss Bertha’s bathroom and weigh me.
“Can’t you
tell
?” I snapped. Mother kicked my leg under the table. I took a deep breath. “Yes, that’s right,” I said nicely (irritating or not, the woman
had
just chipped in on my car).
After the congratulations and the we’re-proud-of-yous were over, the table grew quiet. Aunt Mary picked at her napkin. Mother leaned on both elbows and tugged at her cap. Miss Bertha scraped leftovers into a scrap heap. Grandma Georgia was the only one still enjoying herself. She’d topped off her wine and settled back in her chair. My stomach was rumbling and gurgling something awful (real food was throwing off my digestive tract). Just to cover up the embarrassing noises, I said the first thing that came to mind: “I’ve got a boyfriend!”
Mother and Aunt Mary looked up at the same time. Aunt Mary’s eyes were wide with
Are you kidding me?
Mother’s were wide with
Please don’t talk about this now!
I realized then that Mother hadn’t told Aunt Mary about Kyle.
“Well, slap the dog and spit in the fire!” said Grandma Georgia. She slammed her fists so hard on the table that two forks clattered to the floor, and an empty wineglass tipped over—its stem snapped right in two. “What’s he look like? Tell me every detail! I’ll bet he’s just crazy about you!”
“Personally, I think it’s time to get Rose Warren home,” Aunt Mary interrupted.
chapter twenty-eight
The Letter
Dear Mother,
I know you’ve succeeded in your life by being tough, by not showing your feelings, by never stopping or slowing down or giving up. I admire all those tough qualities about you, really I do. But, I just want you to know that I’m not a little girl anymore. I see what’s really going on even when you try to hide it. I wish you’d let me comfort you just a little. I wish you’d talk to me about how you feel— your fears, your worries, your hopes for your future. I think if you actually talked about these things, we’d both feel better. When you try to protect me by always saying everything’s “fine,” it only makes me worry more, because I KNOW things are not fine right now.
I also know that things are complicated with Aunt Mary. You two were sisters long before I came along. Since I don’t have a sister, I don’t know what that’s like, but I wish you’d try to see my side of things once in a while instead of always defending her.
Love,
Rosie
After I finished Mother’s letter, I sat gazing out my bedroom window. The trees were covered with fresh leaves; the grass was newly green. Flowers were blooming and the sun had that strong, vigorous feel to it. I read the letter over and over again, but I knew I’d never send it. If cancer couldn’t open Mother up,
I
certainly wasn’t going to, not with my one boring letter. Mrs. Wallace was right, though. It felt good just to get my feelings on paper. Liberating, somehow.