The Palmer Pool

18 | Holy Water

When I got home I searched my mom's recipe box, threw on her Rosie the Riveter apron and went to work. Before long, the kitchen counters and floor were covered in a light dusting of flour.  After nearly giving up several times, I produced an acceptable pie crust and draped it over a pie pan. As I mixed blueberries, sugar and flour for the filling, Jason wandered into the kitchen.

His summer term had just ended and he came home to spend three weeks eating all the food in the house and doing laundry for free. He was bleary eyed behind his black frames and his thick brown hair was flattened on one side and poofy on the other.

"Did you just wake up?" I asked.

"Maybe," he yawned.

"Big night last night?"

"Huge night. There was a Godfather marathon on."

"How exciting."

"You've got that right. I stayed up and watched all three," he said, folding his hands together and cracking all his knuckles at once. "A major accomplishment, I know." He dramatically whipped off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and replaced them. "Are you baking?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like you've been possessed by the spirit of Betty Crocker. Should I call an exorcist? Father Carson lives right down the street, you know, and if he isn't experienced in exorcism, I bet he knows someone who is."

I rolled my eyes at him, but still ducked around the corner to check my reflection in the hall mirror. He was right.  I had an apron on over my green dress, flour on my face and streaked through my hair, and my lips were still stained red from the lipstick I'd gotten used to wearing. Tommy stood on her hind legs beside me, licking something off of my elbow. As Jason scrounged through the cupboards and refrigerator for food, he played air guitar and sang, "What a drag it is getting old..."

Later that evening, when the pie was baked and cooling with a sign next to it warning, "Touch this pie and Die", my mom, Chris, Jason and I ate dinner on the deck. Chris had grilled salmon and corn on the cob and sliced up a watermelon.

It always struck me as odd that Chris was absolutely nothing like my dad. Maybe since her first marriage didn't work out, my mom was interested in a man who was the complete opposite of my dad in hopes of a better chance the second time around. Chris wasn't very tall and he had light brown hair and wore glasses with plastic frames. While my dad enjoyed prepping for an apocalypse, carpentry and working on cars while blasting dated rock music, Chris preferred cooking, gardening and long-distance running.

I wasn't sure if my mom had hobbies or interests besides occasional Saturday baking. Maybe working, falling asleep on the couch with her iPad on her lap and worrying about Jason and I was all she ever did.

"Simone is coming tomorrow, so Vanessa- Vanessa!" my mom snapped her fingers to get my attention.  "You'll be sleeping on the couch for a few nights."

"I'll just go to Dad's then. I don't feel like listening to her tirades about the evils of corporate America, anyway."

"Can I come, too?" Chris deadpanned.

"Don't encourage her." She gave Chris "the look" with her narrowed eyes shooting daggers. "Be nice to Simone, she's a smart girl, you could learn something from her. And who knows, maybe she'll be your sister-in-law someday."

Jason ignored our conversation as he chewed away at his corn on the cob typewriter style, the steam from the hot corn fogging up his glasses.

"No, I'm pretty sure Simone mentioned last time she was here that she doesn't believe in marriage. Just like you. No wonder you like her so much."