“I’m OK. Things just got a little out of control, that’s all. Sorry.”
“It’s fine as long as you’re doing OK.”
“A few vases broke,” I told her.
“Oh, honey, that’s OK... those are just material things. Those can be replaced. I’m more concerned about you.” She got interrupted by someone in the background and began talking about different kinds of fabrics. She was working on some fashion projects, it seemed. She’d been gone for three weeks. Before that, she was gone for a month. Truthfully, I figuredshe’d rather be in Hawaii than near me. I didn’t blame her. I’d want to stay away from me, too.
When she came back to our call, she asked me if I needed her to come home.
I said no.
“OK, well, sweetheart, call me before you go to bed tonight, or whenever you need me. I’m here. I love you. Remember, I’m just one call away. I love you.”
“You too,” I said before hanging up.
After taking a shower, I got dressed and moved throughout the house, doing my best to straighten things up. I collected all the empty beer cans and vodka bottles and tossed them into garbage bags. Then I pulled out the mop and vacuum, following that up with scrubbing the disgusting toilets throughout the house.
High school kids were repulsive, especially when it wasn’t their own property they were trashing.
That was my least favorite part of having parties—the aftermath. Even though I knew Maria would’ve come and left the place spotless, she didn’t deserve that cleanup. Contrary to how I felt about Shay, I adored her grandmother. It was pretty hard not to love Maria. She was feisty and unapologetic about her strong, bold personality. I was certain that was where Shay got her fire from. I didn’t know why I hated those qualities in Shay but loved them in Maria. Maybe it had something to do with the nurturing side of Maria’s personality, the gentleness and care she gave me when I didn’t even deserve it. Or it was the fact that I never knew my grandmother and always wondered what it would have been like to have one.
She always showed up with food, though. The food certainly helped.
When Maria came over that Sunday afternoon, she smiledbright. She was always smiling, always humming some tune whenever she walked inside.
“You look like poop, Landon,” she stated, carrying a dish of food in her hands. “You need to sleep.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Liar.”
My eyes moved to the dish.
Please be lasagna, please be lasagna, please be—
“I made a lasagna for dinner,” she said.
Yes!
It was my favorite meal in the history of meals—besides Maria’s enchiladas. Maria’s food was the highlight of every single week. It was like she baked everything with pounds of her heart and soul, adding an extra touch.
“You’ve been sleeping this weekend?” she asked.
“Yeah, pretty good.”
“More lies. You have bigger bags under your eyes than I do, and I’m like four hundred years old.”
“Oh please, Maria. You don’t look a day over forty.”
She smiled. “I always liked you, you know that, right?” She handed the dish over to me and instructed me to put it in the refrigerator. “What did you do last night?”
“Just hung out with Greyson. Nothing major. Video games and stuff. Very low-key.”
“No party?”
I smiled. I couldn’t lie to her again, and she knew it, too.
“How’s your college search going, Landon Scott?”