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Authors: Suzanne Supplee

BOOK: Artichoke's Heart
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“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.
chapter twenty-nine
Trust in Me
Rosie, you can’t keep drinking that nasty Pounds-Away!” said Kay-Kay. We were climbing the huge hill toward the courthouse, and Kay-Kay was chattering like a songbird. “You have got to readjust your body to real food. I don’t know how you’ve stood drinking that stuff this long, Rosie! And that’s why you had chewing gum and water for lunch every day?” I nodded. It felt good to finally tell someone the truth. Ever since the delicious birthday dinner, the old food fantasies were haunting me again, and I feared a relapse was imminent if I didn’t do something. Still, I was sick of Pounds-Away. There had to be another solution, and if anybody could figure it out, Kay-Kay could.
“So did you overeat at the birthday dinner?” she asked.
“No! That’s just it,” I panted. “I did great with everyone watching. I had small portions of everything. It was when I got home that it started hitting me again. Maybe one Snickers bar wouldn’t hurt. Maybe just one bag of cheese curls. Dear Lord, it’s hard to talk and run at the same time!”
“Well, one snack every now and then probably wouldn’t hurt you, as long as you didn’t eat too much,” said Kay-Kay, not even winded.
“No, you don’t understand. We’re talking Hollywood teen star fresh from rehab here, where the world is just one big night-club, except in my case, it’s a grocery store.” Kay-Kay laughed, but I shot her a look. I was serious.
Kay-Kay stopped suddenly, and I nearly did a face-plant on the sidewalk. “Look at me!” she ordered.
I stopped and gasped for air. Every single part of me hurt—my legs, my sides, my feet, my lungs. “What?” I managed.
“Look in my eyes right this minute.” I looked into Kay-Kay’s eyes and wondered what Logan Clark must’ve been smoking to trade Kay-Kay for Marta. For starters he probably never bothered to look above Kay-Kay’s chest. Her eyes were so blue they appeared almost hollow, as if a person could look into them and see all the way to China, or Hawaii at least. “
I
have confidence in you,” said Kay-Kay softly. “But what you really need is confidence in here,” she said, pounding her bony chest. “Please don’t waste your money on any more of that stuff. It’s not healthy, and you don’t need it. You can do this!”
“But what if I go off the deep end again?”
“If you get into trouble, you’ll call me!” said Kay-Kay.
“Great,” I joked, “and you’ll make me run ten miles instead of three.” Kay-Kay gave me a sadistic grin and sped up.
We finished the climb toward the courthouse, did a loop around the square, and passed by Reynold’s Drugstore, which was dark. I knew Charmaine wouldn’t show up until eight or so. All the way to the Episcopal church, I thought about what Kay-Kay had said. Maybe she was right. Maybe I just needed to trust in
me.
After a shower and my very last Pounds-Away (ever, supposedly) , I hopped in my car and headed toward Spring Hill High School. With tunes blasting, windows rolled down, and the sunroof popped open, I zipped into the school parking lot and took the last space in the back row. I shut off the engine, but left the radio playing. My all-time-forever-until-I’m-dead favorite song was on, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” the Diana Ross version. I sang along softly to the
ahahahah, ahahahah
part and checked my makeup in the rearview mirror.
Just as I was smearing on fresh lip gloss, I felt prying eyes. Casually, I glanced over, and sitting in the car right next to me, smoking cigarettes and gawking like pigeons, were Misty Winters and Tara Waters. For once, my whole body didn’t tense up into tiny nervous knots the way it always does when Bluebirds are around. Instead, I looked straight at the chain-smoking, future lung-cancer victims of America and felt an eerie sort of calm.
I took a deep breath, shut off the radio, gathered up my books, and headed toward the school building. I wasn’t even thinking about how big my butt looked from behind. When I was nearly to the sidewalk, I heard, “Hey Artichoke!” (it was Misty’s nails-on -chalkboard screech). I kept walking. “Hey, Artichoke!” she tried again. Still I didn’t turn around. “Hey, fat-
ass
, the bakery’s the other way!” she yelled loud enough for everyone in the whole entire parking lot to hear.
I kept walking.
I saw Kyle first thing in the hallway. I couldn’t tell for sure, but he seemed to be waiting for me. “Hi,” I said, looking up at him.
“Hey.” He grinned and grabbed my hand. He slipped a note into my palm and winked. “I’ve got a test first period, so I have to go,” he said reluctantly. The note was warm in my hand, and my heart twittered slightly as I watched him walk away. I glanced at the wad of paper:
Rosemary,
Will you go out with me Saturday night? Circle yes or no.
Kyle

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