“Keep her and, yes, that’s the plan.” Libbie opened the cabinet for a glass and filled it with water. She felt thirsty, as though she’d been outside inhaling dusty air all day.
“We didn’t agree to a cat. You should’ve asked me first.”
Libbie swallowed a mouthful of water. “I didn’t exactly plan for my friend to die and leave me a cat in her will.” She noticed a dirty pan on the stove and realized that he’d eaten dinner without her. “Would it have killed you to cook enough for me so that I don’t have to make something?”
Chris looked startled by the question. “I guess I didn’t think about it.”
“I always cook enough for you. Why wouldn’t it occur to you to do the same for me?”
His mouth opened and closed, like a fish on a hook. “What’s gotten into you? Are you upset about your friend? I know it’s not your period.”
Libbie glared at him. “Of course, I’m upset about my friend, but that’s not what this is about.” Libbie listened for a moment to make sure her daughter wasn’t within earshot. “I think you take me for granted. I think it would be nice if you made me breakfast on occasion, or any meal for that matter. I think it would’ve made sense for you to get a job this summer, even if it was part-time. We’re not destitute, but we’re not exactly growing money on trees, either.”
Chris narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk?”
Libbie resisted the urge to grab the dirty pan from the stovetop and hit him over the head with it. “No, Chris. I’m not drunk. I’m communicating my feelings, something I should’ve been doing long before now.”
Chris pushed back his chair and stood. “I’m not in the mood for this.”
“You’ve had a three-year grace period, and that’s on me, but I’d like to discuss it now.” She leaned her back against the counter, the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. “This doesn’t have to be one-sided. If there’s any issue you’d like to raise, I’ll listen.”
He swaggered toward her. “The only issue I’d like to raise is when did you become such a nagging bitch?” He didn’t await a reply. He simply turned and stomped out of the house.
“That’s it?” she called after him. “I voice my opinion once in three years and you’re opting out of the conversation?”
Was their relationship really that fragile that the second she asserted herself, he was gone? She continued to stand there, rooted to the floor, until she felt a tickling sensation on her ankle. She glanced down to see Eliza weaving between her feet.
The cat looked up at her. “Meow.”
“Meow, indeed.”
Eliza jumped onto the counter and knocked into the blank book Libbie had received from Inga.
“That’s a good idea, Eliza. If I can’t communicate my feelings, I can write about them.” Libbie opened the journal, intending to write her first entry. To her surprise, the first page was no longer blank. She blinked rapidly, wondering if she’d somehow skipped over this page when she’d first received the book.
Eliza dipped her head to examine the page, and Libbie gently shifted her aside for a better view. “A cocktail recipe?” It seemed appropriate, although there was no title, and she didn’t recognize what the result would be from the ingredients.
She checked the cabinets to see if she had all the necessary items. Then she remembered the box with her share of Inga’s liquor cabinet and went in the garage to investigate. She was pleased to find a bottle of light rum as well as dark rum. Another ingredient she recognized—only because it grew in her garden—was Osmunda regalis, the Latin name for Royal Fern or Flowering Fern. Libbie wouldn’t have thought to add a plant like that to a cocktail, but, she knew that if Inga had anything to do with the recipe, then it would be a masterpiece. She snipped off a frond from the fern flowering in the garden, added it to the simple syrup recipe, and let it steep for twenty minutes after boiling. Two teaspoons of lime juice would round off the recipe.
“What are you making for dinner?” Courtney asked. She sniffed the air as she drew closer to the stove. “It smells sweet.”
“This isn’t dinner, honey. It’s a recipe that Inga left for me. I thought I would honor her by making it now.”
Courtney smiled. “I think she’d like that.”
“I’m sorry it’s so late. Let me see what I can whip up.”
“What about Chris?”
Libbie realized that she’d been so intent on the recipe that she’d forgotten all about her uncomfortable confrontation with Chris. “He already ate.”
“Should we wait for Josh?”
“He won’t be home until late. He was going over to Hugo’s after work.”
Courtney gripped her mother’s arm. “Can we have breakfast dinner? Please?”
Libbie glanced at the pan of simple syrup that was now cooling. “Sure, why not?” She made a cheese omelette (that seemed more cheese than omelette) and sausages, Courtney’s favorite. She watched as Courtney heaped ketchup all over the food. She’d never seen anyone as enamored of ketchup as her daughter. She pictured her as a grown woman, squeezing two teaspoons of ketchup into her cocktails. She’d probably love a Bloody Mary, although Libbie wasn’t a fan.
After dinner, Libbie removed the fern leaves from the syrup, combined the ingredients in a shaker, and strained them into a small rocks glass over ice. She settled on the patio and took her first sip as a setting sun filtered ribbons of brilliant pink and orange through the trees. She sat there until she was bathed in darkness and marveled at the diamonds fixed in the sky. Hercules sprawled at her feet and, at some point, Eliza appeared and curled up in her lap. Josh poked his head outside to say he was home and going to bed. Libbie said good night, her empty glass still clutched in her hand. Her mind was elsewhere, a place she didn’t recognize but was content to dwell there for the evening. By the time she reentered the house, it was clear that Chris wasn’t coming home tonight. It occurred to Libbie as she changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth that she didn’t really care.
Libbie woke up the next morning feeling more energized than she had in years. She felt good. There was, of course, the empty space in the bed beside her. She didn’t think to check her phone until she was downstairs eating breakfast. There was one text from Chris.
Is this a mood swing?
Libbie deleted the message without responding. She’d deal with him later. She stuck to her routine, taking the kayak around one leaf of the lake, and returned to shower and dress for work.
“You’re in a good mood,” Josh said. He’d caught her whistling as she enjoyed a second cup of coffee.
“I had a good night’s sleep,” she said. In fact, she had. No insomnia. No bad dreams. Just blissful slumber.
“I didn’t,” Courtney said. “I could hear all the crickets.”
“Then sleep with your window closed,” Josh chided her.
“I like the breeze when it’s not humid.”
“Then don’t complain about the crickets.”
Libbie was barely conscious of their bickering. She felt alive and very much in her own skin. She didn’t know how to explain it any better than that.