Rock Bottom Girl(87)

“Don’t I know it, man,” Jake agreed.

I felt little wings of happiness at the praise. Cooking had been my way of coping with new places and jobs and so many new starts. Every few years, it was a complete reboot, and I ended up in a new city or a new town knowing no one. I’d spent more birthdays alone than I cared to admit.

Cooking had given me a hobby, an outlet. A way to create something. And I took pleasure in feeding the people who did enter my life.

“Jake’s here,” I said unnecessarily as I entered the room.

Mom was holding a wineglass and poking at the saucepan of gravy with a fork.

Dad guiltily closed the oven door. They were as fascinated by my prowess in the kitchen as I was baffled by their inexperience.

“Jake! Good to see you,” my dad squeaked, offering him his hand.

“Mr. Cicero,” Jake said, repeating the dudely handshake.

Mom gave me a very unsubtle wink as if she could smell the hormones that were pumping off me. “That sweater I lent you,” she began over the rim of her wineglass.

“Will never be returning to your closet. I have a replacement arriving on Tuesday,” I promised.

“Good girl,” she said to me before opening her arms for my boyfriend. “Jake, sweetheart. It’s so nice to have you here for dinner.”

“Jessica,” Jake said, miles of charm exploding out of his skin cells. “Thank you for having me. I brought you a little something.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Mom said as she ripped the bag open in her haste to get to the gift. Mom and I were like toddlers at Christmas jacked up on cookies and hot chocolate. Turn us loose on a pile of presents and watch us make the living room rain wrapping paper. Zinnia and Dad were much more dignified in their gift receiving.

“Dutch Blitz?” Mom said, pulling the card game out of its massacred bag.

“It’s pretty fast-paced. A good way to burn off calories after a big meal,” Jake said.

“Fast-paced, eh?” My dad hitched up his Dockers, rising to the challenge. I probably should have warned Jake about the Cicero Competitiveness. It bordered on unhealthy.

“You’re too sweet,” Mom told Jake. “I can’t wait to kick your ass after dinner.”

Dietrich snorted. He’d barely survived checkers with my dad two nights ago.

“Care for a beer, Jake? Dietrich?” Dad asked. Their tiny kitchen was overcrowded with bodies.

“Why don’t you menfolk go drink your beers in the living room,” I suggested. “Dinner will be ready in five.”





“Blitz! In your face, Jessica!” Jake threw his plow card down with a flourish, just beating my mother’s bucket card. He got up and performed a lewd victory dance with lots of thrusting.

“Nooooooo!” my dad howled, pounding his fist into the coffee table. “I hate this stupid game!”

“Damn you, Jake Weston!” Mom screeched. She reached across the table and shoved Jake’s stack of cards onto the carpet.

Dietrich and I were doubled over laughing so hard I worried that the oxygen would never return to my lungs. Tears streamed down my face as my mom and Jake started slapping each other’s hands as they waded into the piles of cards on the coffee table.

“I don’t care if you blitzed us. There’s way more buckets in here than stupid plows!”

“Care to bet on that?” Jake teased.

“Marley, your boyfriend is clearly a cheater,” Mom insisted, counting up her cards. “I bet he’s been stealing my buckets and hiding them in his sleeves so I don’t get credit for them.”

“Man! I didn’t even get two cards off my blitz pile,” Dad whined. He crossed his arms over his skinny chest and pouted.

“Mars, did you even count your cards so I can rub my victory in your face?” Jake asked, sitting back down next to me.

I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I think I’m going to declare the game over at this point before there’s any bloodshed.”

“I bruised my thumb,” Dietrich said, showing us his digit.

“Look at that. You guys injured your guest. This could affect his review.”

“Ha! I beat you!” Mom shouted, holding up one last bucket card in Jake’s face. “You’re a looooooser! A looooooooser!” Mom’s victory dance didn’t involve a lot of gyrating, but it did involve some disco moves.

“I demand a recount!” Jake grabbed Mom’s stack of cards and thumbed through them.

“Well?” she asked smugly.

“Shit.” Jake threw the cards onto the table and flopped over backward onto the carpet. We were all too old to be sitting on the floor, but the violence of the game made it too hard to play at the dining room table.

I unwound my legs and stretched out beside Jake, still laughing.

“Since I am the queen of Dutch Blitz, I suppose I can cut the coffee cake,” Mom said. “Come on, Ned.”

“I hate that stupid game,” Dad griped as he followed her into the kitchen.

“Well, I’ll just, ah…go do something that isn’t in this room,” Dietrich said, ambling out.

I grinned at Jake.

“I think I overdid it,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have ‘in your faced’ your mom at our official meet the parents dinner.”