Ten for Ten

Black Horse & the Cherry Tree

“Looks like nobody’s home,” Tom whispered.  “Are you sure they’re expecting us today?  I don’t want to impose.” 

The lights and television were off.  Star was either out or upstairs.  Her father, she knew, wouldn’t be home until the afternoon.  A blessing in disguise.  If Star were around she’d want to help.  Which made everything take twice as long, since her stepmother couldn’t boil an egg the other 364 days of the year.

“Why are you whispering?  It’s fine.  See,” Antonia said, pointing at the kitchen table, “my father bought fixings.  They know we’re coming.  We always invite friends to Thanksgiving dinner.” 

This year she’d invited Tom.  Not only was he possibly her best friend, he was also the object of a major crush.  Oftentimes she thought he liked her back.  Self-consciousness kept her cowardly.  Antonia could never stomach making the first move and being rejected.  Maybe Tom felt the same.

“Why don’t I go show you your room, and you can drop your stuff off?”

The sheets had been changed and turned down in the guest room.  Regardless of her reassurances that they were expected, it wouldn’t have surprised her if Star had forgotten.  “Is this ok?” she gestured, encompassing the room.  “It’s a little out of the way, but you don’t get sun in the morning.”

“It’s great.”  Tom yawned sheepishly.  “Sorry.”

“Why don’t you lie down?  Travelling always makes me tired.”

“Only if you promise to wake me in thirty minutes.  I want to help.” 

“The rule in my kitchen is that guests don’t help.”

“But I thought you said I was like one of the family,” he teased, grinning at her softly.  So of course she mumbled incoherently and ran out of the room, face aflame.  Maybe wine with dinner would make her braver.  She went downstairs and started cooking. 

“How about a hug for your old man?” 

“Hi daddy.” 

Absorbed by the arepas, which weren’t frying up the way she wanted, she hadn’t heard the door.  Taking the earbuds out, she embraced him.  It had been almost three months since she’d last seen him.  Breathing in his Calvin Klein cologne, she realized that was about two months too long.  Although he was smiling, her father looked more haggard than usual.  “Everything ok?” 

To change the subject, he took a bite of her test arepita.  “You need to leave it in the oil longer.”  Whatever it was, he didn’t want to talk about it.  She’d corner him later.  “Did I tell you that Matt Arnold and his sons are coming?  His wife went to Portland to visit her family.”

“That’s wonderful!”  She had a soft spot for Mr. Arnold, who’d taught her the finer points of automotive repair the two years she kept the books at his garage.  “But I’ll have to make more food.  Is it too late to get a second turkey?”  Her father chuckled.  “Go,” she ordered, wearing her sternest expression, “get some rest.” 

He kissed her on the forehead.  “Is Star home?” he asked.

“I don’t know.  The door to your room was closed.” 

“And your boyfriend?” 

She threw some masa at him.  “He’s just a friend.  Don’t be embarrassing.”

“Me?”  In response to her quelling look he threw his hands up.  “I promise.  Won’t even show him baby pictures.  But where is he?”

“Napping, like you should be.  Go,” she admonished, wiping her hands and making shooing motions with the dishtowel. 

The next time Antonia looked up it was 4:30.  They were eating in two hours and she hadn’t even showered yet.  Unless she hurried, the pies wouldn’t be ready by dinnertime.  But the pies could always bake and cool while she served dinner.  That decided her: it was time for a break. 

Except she had to get everybody up first. 

She went upstairs and knocked on the guest room door.  “Tom?  Are you decent?”  Muffled swearing and some fumbling from the other side were her answer.

“Um, give me a minute ok?  I’ll be right downstairs.” 

“Sure, no problem.  See you in a bit.”  She laughed silently.  Tom was one of those people that took ages to get up.  If he wasn’t out in ten minutes, she’d go in there and get him.

A furtive movement caught her eye as she turned towards her father’s room.  She looked back to see Star slipping out of the guest room, wearing nothing but a towel.  The shock immobilized her.

“Hi sugar.  You looking for me?”  To give her stepmother credit, her composure never wavered.  “I just got up.  Figured I’d shower and then come help you.”

“Your husband is home.  Has been for the last three hours.  I would suggest, sugar,” putting nasty emphasis on the endearment, “that you go take that shower before he realizes how you’ve been entertaining my guest.”  Mouth agape, Star sashayed down to the bathroom, not even bothering to deny it.  How infuriating that she looked lovely doing it.

Only after she heard running water did Antonia break down.  How could she?  How could he?  And in her father’s house.  Angrily, she swiped at the tears coursing down her cheeks, mortified beyond belief.  “And why I am embarrassed,” she muttered.  “It’s not like I’m the one sleeping with my stepdaughter’s boyfriend.”

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” her father said, bleary eyes shot with pain.  Leaning against the bedroom door, he’d obviously heard their conversation.  He opened his arms and Antonia sobbed into his chest.  It seemed she hadn’t gotten any better at judging character since high school.  “I’m sorry about your young man though. 

“Me?” she squealed.  “We’re not even dating.  She married you!”

“It’s been a long year.”  He sighed, rubbing his face tiredly.  “But I’ve got tons to be grateful for.  My daughter is home, safe and sound, and making dinner.  Which smells divine.”  His stomach rumbled.  They laughed at that, not without some bitterness.  “It’ll be fine.  But don’t expect me to be nice to him.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”