CHAPTER EIGHT
Once the kids were out for the day—Tabitha hadn’t bothered to walk them to school in a week now—she literally didn’t know what to do with herself. She knew she should be looking harder for a job—that’s what her plan was for the morning—but she couldn’t stand the thought of sitting down at the computer. She needed to keep moving, to talk about yesterday, confess her sins, but to whom? And then she knew. It was crazy, but she didn’t even care. She got dressed and walked toward the huge apartment building on JFK Boulevard. This time she didn’t bother to stop at the desk, and nobody questioned her. She took the elevator to the second floor and knocked. No answer. She waited a few seconds, then knocked again, wondering if she could get into trouble for this. Was it trespassing? Soliciting? No, it was neither of those things. She ran through the worst-case scenarios in her mind. Maybe Nora was inside, sitting on the floor in her bad, altered state. Or maybe another aide was there. What would Tabitha say then? She considered leaving, just going back home, but something tugged at her. She was so desperate to talk to someone, to confess the cinnamon sugar.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door, which she was counting on being unlocked.
“Hello?” she called. “Nora?”
No answer. She was reluctant to walk deeper into the apartment without permission. It just didn’t feel right.
“Nora?”
“Boo!” Nora said, coming around the corner.
Tabitha jumped back, clutching her chest and breathing hard. It took her a second to recover. Nora just stood there, smiling wide.
“It’s you!” Nora finally said, and Tabitha wondered if she really remembered; she seemed to.
“Yes, it’s me,” Tabitha said, trying to mimic Nora’s cheerfulness.
“Well, it is perfect timing,” Nora said. “My son just left, and he doesn’t like me to be alone.”
“Oh, okay,” Tabitha said, wondering what the plan was then. Was someone else coming? “Why doesn’t he want you to be alone?”
“I don’t know,” she said coyly. “I think he worries I’m gonna have a keg party.”
Tabitha laughed.
“Well, are you? Going to have a party?”
“No,” Nora said seriously. “I don’t like beer, and kegs are too heavy for me to carry these days. But I do have marijuana. Want some?”
Once again, Tabitha had that sensation that she was being watched or filmed. This couldn’t be for real, could it? At any second a television host would pop out with a microphone. Maybe they were permanently set up in Nora’s apartment, since she was so entertaining. Maybe her bedroom was the control room; Tabitha hadn’t seen her bedroom yet. It could be that show where one person is told to say crazy things through a small receiver in her ear. She looked at the side of Nora’s head, but didn’t see anything, not even a hearing aid. Besides, there was no way they could have known Tabitha was coming.
“Sure,” she said.
“Oh fun!” Nora said. “I hate to do marijuana by myself, and my son never wants to.”
“Why do you have it?” Tabitha asked, wondering if she was going to roll a joint or bring out a bong. She just couldn’t picture it.
“Medical purposes, dear,” Nora said. “Follow me.”
She followed Nora into the kitchen, where Nora grabbed an old-fashioned-looking tin off the counter. Tabitha looked closely, and there were two ice skaters on the lid, dressed in colorful sweaters, with Christmassy pine trees all around them. Nora lifted the lid to reveal a handful of caramel candies wrapped in wax paper. Oh, Tabitha thought, Nora probably thinks these caramels are edibles, even though they looked like normal caramels to Tabitha. She leaned in for a closer look. She hadn’t actually ever had an edible, and she hadn’t smoked pot in years, possibly a decade, though it was one of her favorite things to do in college. No, she told herself, these look like normal candies.
“Help yourself, dear,” Nora said, holding out the tin. “But I suggest only one, or maybe half of one to begin. They can be strong.”
“Thanks, Nora,” Tabitha said, reaching in to grab one. She could play along. “I’ll just take one and eat it slowly.”
“Good thinking,” Nora said, choosing one after Tabitha. She put her piece of candy on the counter and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bright-blue bowl covered in plastic wrap. She pulled off the wrap, then reached into a cabinet below the counter and pulled out a small, disposable muffin tin already lined with six bright-pink paper holders.
“Cranberry again, dear?” Nora asked. “I do know how you like cranberry. Today I can also offer you cherry, blueberry, butterscotch, or chocolate chip.”
Tabitha looked around. She chose to come here, but what were the chances that an entirely stocked muffin factory would just be waiting for her? It made no sense; there must be a catch. She thought of Fern, who would love chocolate-chip muffins more than anything.
“Chocolate chip?”
“Chocolate chip it is,” Nora said. “But first, let me take a bite of the candy. It can take some time to feel anything.”
Nora peeled back a small bit of the wax paper and took a bite of the caramel. She closed her eyes and chewed, then swallowed.
“I like to let it sink in,” she said, with her eyes still closed.
“Huh, okay,” Tabitha said, worrying that she was intruding. “You know what, Nora, you don’t have to make muffins for me. I just stopped by to see if there was anything I could do for you. Do you need anything?”
Nora opened her eyes and looked right at Tabitha.
“I need to feel busy and not old,” she said. “The muffins help. The marijuana helps. Company helps.”
“Well,” Tabitha said, wishing she’d been able to think of another place to go to confess her sins, “chocolate-chip muffins would be so nice. My daughter would love them.”
“You have a daughter?” Nora asked, wide eyed. She looked like a little kid. “I always wanted a daughter. I have a granddaughter, which is lovely, but it isn’t the same as raising a daughter.”
Tabitha’s mind flashed to the last time she took her mother out to dinner, though of course, they didn’t know it would be the last time. How do you ever know it’s going to be the last time? Tabitha cringed. Her mother had always been a little obsessed with “last times”—the last time Tabitha nursed each baby, the last time Tabitha carried them, the last time her mother had carried her as a child. There always had to be a last time. Tabitha hated that, but now she let herself think about it for a second while she nibbled at her candy and Nora mixed chocolate chips into the batter. That dinner had been so, so hard and really the last thing in the world she wanted to do. There was not one tiny ounce of her that wanted to be eating out with her mother. She wanted to be home with the kids and Stuart. She wanted to be reading in bed, or binge-watching Friday Night Lights. She did not want to basically carry her frail, wrinkled mother into Sang Kee, the best Chinese restaurant near her mother’s apartment in Wynnewood. Of course, the table was up a few steps, so everyone came running to take an arm and carry the walker up, while Tabitha stood behind her mother with her arms outstretched, just in case. Her mother had been wearing a light-blue sweater, with a scarf neatly tied around her neck, and those strange black pants that Tabitha always suspected were really pajama bottoms, even though her mother insisted they were not. They finally were seated at the table, her mother smiling, so happy to be there, and Tabitha being curt, rushed. But her mother had pretended not to notice. She ordered her favorite—moo shu chicken—and she had a drink, a scotch. Had that been her last scotch? The last one of thousands she’d had in her lifetime?
“Can you open the oven for me, dear?” Nora asked, the filled cupcake tin in hand. Tabitha noticed that she had sprinkled sugar on top and made smiley faces with the chocolate chips: two eyes, a nose, and a happy mouth.
“Wow,” Tabitha said, leaning in to get the door. She pulled it down and waited for Nora to slide the tin in, then she shut it a little harder than she meant to. She reached for her candy and took a sizeable bite.
“Oh dear, that’s a lot,” Nora said seriously. “You aren’t driving home, are you?”
“No, I walked here.” Tabitha continued to play along. “But thank you for your concern.”
“Those will be ready in about twenty or twenty-five minutes,” Nora said. “Can you keep track of the time?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s retire to the living room,” Nora said, grabbing her piece of candy.
They sat down, and Nora turned her full attention to the caramel, pulling tiny bits off and placing them in her mouth, then closing her eyes. Tabitha watched, taking another nibble of her candy and wondering if thinking and believing something had special powers was enough to give it special powers. Nora seemed completely uninterested in conversation, and Tabitha didn’t mind. She was just thinking that the muffins must be close to being ready when she started to feel a little light-headed, and then she was filled with this great feeling, like everything was going to be okay. She put her head back, smiled. Oh my god, she thought, I’m high!
“Oh good, dear, it must be working,” Nora said, surprising her. Maybe Tabitha hadn’t thought that. Maybe she had actually said it.
Tabitha wanted to say something nice, like she was sorry she had doubted Nora in the first place. Also, how stupid of her. Of course, she knew edibles were a real thing, she just hadn’t had the chance to try any. How hilarious was it that an old lady introduced her to them? She wanted to talk about all of this, but she couldn’t find the words. Where were her words? She’d find them eventually. What was important now was to take another small bite of her candy.
Tabitha could sit here all day. There was something magical about this apartment with its funny-candy tin and muffin-making oven. Suddenly, she didn’t feel like she had to confess anything. So what if she took a few stuffed peppers? Nobody was eating them anyway. And as for the cinnamon sugar, she’d replace it as soon as she could. It was totally worth it to see Fern’s face that morning when she presented the cinnamon toast—sure the bread was old, but once it was toasted you could barely tell. Really, she was doing her best; she didn’t have anything to own up to. Everything was great, perfect even.
Tabitha wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but she smelled something. She sniffed and looked around. Nora appeared to be asleep. Tabitha forced herself up and tried to follow the smell, which eventually reminded her of the muffins. She scrambled to find oven mitts and pulled them out just in time. Another few minutes and they would have been all-out burned. But they looked good, like the best muffins she had ever seen. Fern was going to love them. She put them on the top of the stove, turned off the oven. She saw the candy tin, which was still open. She took a caramel and put it in her pocket, for later. She helped herself to a muffin, which was quite hot, but she couldn’t get it down fast enough. She looked at her watch. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet. She was planning to call the pediatrician today about Fern’s leg. She thought she could hear her moaning a little during the night, and putting it off didn’t seem right, but now that she thought about it, it seemed a little better this morning. Didn’t it? And Fern hadn’t complained about it at all that morning. In fact, Tabitha was pretty sure it was going to be completely back to normal soon, if it wasn’t already. You know what, she said in her head, or at least she thought it was in her head, I’ll wait and see how it is today, and then I’ll call. Or maybe she wouldn’t have to call at all. That was a very likely scenario. Everything was going to work itself out. Wow, she felt good. Why did she ever stop smoking pot? It was like she was free. What was she worrying about earlier?
She went back to the living room and sat down, laughing a little, or was she laughing a lot? She wasn’t sure. Nora opened her eyes and laughed too. Her face looked so much like Tabitha’s mother’s, didn’t it? Those strong cheekbones that were now hard and prominent, no longer padded and soft, making her look a little stern. All those wrinkles around her eyes. But it was really the neck, or the lack of it. Why did people seem to lose their necks when they got older? They looked like their heads were placed right on their shoulders.
“I have to go now, Nora,” Tabitha said. She had to pull herself together.
“Don’t forget the muffins, dear,” Nora said, her eyes closed again.
“I won’t, thank you,” Tabitha said. “I’ll come back soon.”
“Please do, dear,” Nora said. “Nobody else will do the marijuana with me, and I don’t like doing it by myself.”
“Well, I like doing it with you,” Tabitha said, feeling only slightly guilty about the extra candy in her pocket.
She went back to the kitchen, found a ziplock bag in a drawer, and piled all the muffins in. Then she grabbed one back out and ate it quickly. It was still warm and gooey and everything she could ever possibly want a muffin to be. She wanted another—would that be her third? But she also wanted to save them for Fern. She zipped the bag shut firmly, went back to the living room.
“I’m leaving now,” she said. “Can I tell you something before I go?”
“Sure, dear, anything,” Nora said sleepily.
“I’m worried that I might be responsible for the death of two people.” There, she said it. It was nagging at her, bringing her down. It was so easy to say things when she was high!
Nora opened her eyes. She didn’t look worried or even concerned. She looked amused—no, that wasn’t right—she looked interested.
“Oh, dear, I doubt that’s the case,” she said nicely, barely lifting her head. “But if you come back again, we can talk more about it. I’d like that. I can make more muffins. And maybe we can play some Monopoly.”
Tabitha’s business had been running for a solid five months when it happened. She was already thinking about what she could do to celebrate the six-month anniversary. She was leaning toward a drawing to give away a free meal—the only caveat was that the customer couldn’t choose the menu. She would do something crazy, exotic. It would be so much fun.
That night she served Asian beef, and it was good. Her true talent was in the details and the packaging, both of which she knew were making it hard to actually make any money, not to mention stop losing it. They didn’t have much savings to begin with, only a little in an untouchable college fund. They had already pulled out the bulk of their savings, with a penalty, when Stuart started his own firm. When she said she felt it was only right that she have a chance to start her business with what was left, Stuart had surprised her and agreed. In the end, she had been so glad she had taken that chance. But she just couldn’t figure out how to skimp. Really, she didn’t want to skimp, and that night the meal was as high end and delicious as any. She made an amazing braised beef with soy, sesame, and ginger, which she served with a side of wonderful sushi rice, a tower of beautifully washed and crisp butter lettuce leaves, and tiny beef spring rolls, which she fried herself. She put the meal out on her app around four o’clock. The business wasn’t totally legal, since she was cooking in her own home and often for more people in a night than was okay without a professional space. Also, she was charging money, which added that other requirement for supervised sanitary conditions. But she wasn’t the only one doing it. Shepherd’s Pie, her biggest competitor, had been successfully doing it for over a year before she even started. At first, she had people pick up the orders from the lobby, but that was especially difficult and raised all sorts of questions. Once she surpassed ten customers a night, she had to change that, so she hired a delivery guy on a bike—another expense—and bought a big warming bag. She had always been a good baker, baking for local cafés here and there, but she found she loved this even more.
They were the last customers of the night. She’d always remember that. In fact, the order didn’t go through on the app—she’d cut off digital orders because she was out of food. But they had called. At first she said no, she was finished for the evening. But they said it was the man’s birthday, and this was exactly what he wanted. Also, they wanted to eat good food at home; he didn’t want to spend his birthday out at a restaurant. She said okay, she could put together one more order. She took their information, telling them it would be ready in about forty-five minutes, and got to work.
If they had gone the usual route, through the app, it would have prompted all the questions about food allergies and restrictions. She had thought about it so many times. Imagined saying: Just do it on the app, I’ll let it go through. Would that have made a difference in the end? She just wasn’t sure. She hadn’t listed the oil as one of the ingredients, somehow that hadn’t been done, a huge, unforgiveable mistake on her part, but maybe if they had seen it written out in the allergy section they would have said something. Maybe seeing it would have made her think to ask. What she really wanted, what she wished for more than anything, was to go back to the beginning of the call, and when they said, “The app isn’t working. It says you’re sold out, but we wanted to check just to make sure,” that she had said she was sorry, but it was true, there wasn’t any left. She wished she had said emphatically that she was finished for the night. If only she had said that, everything might be different now.