A Bouquet of Love

  I didn’t have time to give it much thought because two of the prettiest young women I’d ever seen entered the room, arguing with one another. Man. They reminded me of the kind of girls you’d see in the Miss America pageant—gorgeous.

  “I want you to meet my sisters Lily and Jasmine.” Alex lowered his voice. “But whatever you do, don’t mention the name Fred in their presence. Promise?”

  “Fred?”

  He put a finger to my lips. “Don’t. Go. There.”

  “O-okay.” I looked back and forth between the girls, intrigued by two things—their overwhelming beauty and the fact that they looked nothing alike. “I thought you said they were twins,” I whispered.

  “They are, but not identical. The one on the right is Lily. The one on the left is Jasmine.” He pointed as he spoke.

  Lily, much like the flower she’d been named after, was long and lean and had delicate ivory skin. Long auburn curls hung gracefully over her shoulders. Quite a contrast to Jasmine’s dark locks. She took several steps toward us, almost ballet-like in movement. Jasmine was a bit shorter and moved a lot faster. Her eyes sparkled with energy. I had a feeling we would be fast friends.

  Alex made the necessary introductions, and before long we were all engaged in a friendly conversation. After a few moments I tagged along on their heels as they walked outside to greet more incoming guests. Lily made polite conversation and then greeted the pastor and his wife, who arrived in a hearse.

  Really? A hearse?

  This didn’t stop Jasmine from socializing with me. Within minutes the vivacious brunette had shown me around the new house—what there was of it, anyway—shared her weight, and told me all about her love life. Apparently she’d stolen a fella from her twin sister. A fella named Fred. I kept my mouth shut, of course.

  “Guess we’d better get back to the party,” she said after spilling the beans about her sweetie. “Mama’s rolled out the red carpet.”

  Apparently rolling out the red carpet meant inviting the whole of Splendora over for an outdoor fry. Less than two hours after our arrival, the smell of frying grease filled the air. I watched, mesmerized, as Mrs. Rigas covered the catfish in cornmeal batter and passed it off to her husband, who started the frying process. I couldn’t help but think Mama would’ve loved this.

  Apparently everyone in Splendora loved it too. No sooner did the scent of fish hover over us than the cars started arriving one after another. They must’ve used the smoke as a signal, just as Mr. Rigas had suggested.

  I’d never seen so many people in one place in my life. I’d already met Pastor Higley and his wife, who’d brought a casserole dish with some sort of gelatinous mixture and cottage cheese in it. Now Earline Neeley, Bella’s mother-in-law, arrived with her husband. They rolled up on motorcycles wearing “Bikers for Jesus” vests. Interesting. More interesting still, they’d somehow managed to haul a tub of potato salad on one of the bikes. Crazy.

  Donny arrived with Willy a few minutes after six. She carried the most luscious-looking cheesecake I’d ever seen in my life. Now, I’d tasted some yummy Greek goodies—baklava making the top of the list—but I had never seen anything that made my jaw drop like this turtle cheesecake. Yum. My hunger returned with a vengeance, and just in time for the first round of catfish to emerge from the fryer.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to eat. Not yet, anyway. I found myself distracted as a large minivan pulled up and three of the most unusual-looking ladies climbed out. Nearly as round as they were tall, this trio exited the vehicle with so much fanfare you would’ve thought the paparazzi were waiting behind the bushes in the English garden.

  “Let the party begin!” one of them hollered out as she clasped her hands together at her overly buxom chest. “The Splendora Sisters are here!”

  “Splendora Sisters?” I glanced at Alex, more curious than ever as I took in the vivacious trio of women in their glittery blouses and spandex pants.

  “It’s my aunt Twila and her best friends,” Alex said. “Remember? I told you about them.”

  “Right, right.” I remembered the Aunt Twila part, anyway—she was a chrysanthemum. But I had no idea what to expect from the others. We hadn’t covered their flowers yet.

  He leaned down and whispered, “Consider yourself warned. And guard your cheeks, whatever you do.”

  “My cheeks?” I sure hoped he meant the ones on my face.

  “Yep. These ladies are brutal. Think Texas tornadoes with pink lipstick and teased hair. They blow in like a gust of wind and leave a trail behind. They pinch a lot of cheeks and offer advice, especially when it’s not warranted. But most of all, they’ll hug you to death. Just . . . duck.”

  Duck?

  “Take my word for it,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

  “O-okay.”

  From the looks of things—the three ladies all now completely visible—he’d gotten the “pink lipstick and teased hair” part right. All three of them—Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue—were as skilled as Mama with the makeup brush. Maybe more so.

  Oh, wow. I’ve never seen eyeliner in that color before.

  When the ladies gathered me into their arms for a group hug—Really? Does everyone in Splendora hug total strangers?—I understood the “duck” comment. Getting swallowed up in Mrs. Rigas’s bosom had been rough enough, but I nearly stopped breathing when Twila, Jolene, and Bonnie Sue swept me into the fold. Er, folds.

  Twila proved to be the largest of the three women. Like the others, she carried most of her weight on the top half. And talk about glittery. I’d never seen sequins on a woman of that size. Not at a catfish supper, anyway. She took one look at me and her overly made-up face lit into the prettiest smile I’d ever seen.

  “You were right, Alex. She’s a rose, all right. No wonder you named the new line after her. I get it now.”

  Okay then. Looked like I was pretty famous round here. Just the idea got me tickled. A little giggle escaped as I thought about it. Alex must’ve given them quite the buildup about me. The very idea made me care about him even more.

  “She’s a Greek beauty, just like you said, sweet boy.” Jolene leaned over and ran her index finger over my right cheek. “And doesn’t she have the loveliest pores.”

  Lovely pores?

  “Your skin is like porcelain, honey,” Twila said, examining me so closely that I felt like I’d been shoved under a microscope. “You’ve discovered the benefits of great skin care, I see.”

  Actually, my only skin-care regimen was a bar of soap and a washcloth, but I wouldn’t tell her that.

  “She has youth on her side,” Bonnie Sue added.

  “True, true.” Twila nodded and then wiped the back of her neck. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but it’s so hot out here the trees are beggin’ for a dog.” She fanned herself, and I looked at Alex, unsure of how to respond.

  “Not as hot as yesterday. I’m pretty sure I saw the chickens laying omelets.” Bonnie Sue slapped herself on the knee. “Oh, that’s priceless.”

  “The temperature’s higher today, Bonnie Sue,” Twila argued. “But it’s nothing a big, tall glass of sweet tea won’t cure.”

  “C’mon inside, everyone!” Mrs. Rigas called out from the front porch of the manufactured home. “I’ve brewed up enough sweet tea to keep everyone cool and comfortable for hours to come.”

  “Sweet tea?” I looked at Alex and whispered the next part. “Do I have to?”

  “What? You don’t like sweet tea?” He looked as if he didn’t quite believe me. Still, how could I lie to the boy?

  “It’s not that,” I said. “I’ve just never had sweet tea before.”

  The silence that followed was deafening. Apparently the entire town of Splendora now knew that I’d never had their national beverage. Great. Just one more reason for all of these folks to consider me an outsider.

  15

  We Must Have Music

  You might be Greek if at least five of your cousins live on your street a
nd all five of those cousins are named after your grandfather.

  Thank goodness I was accustomed to being surrounded on every side by family members. But my parents and siblings had nothing on the town of Splendora. Mrs. Rigas poured a deep glass of liquid from a large pitcher, and all of her guests gathered around me while I attempted my first-ever glass of sweet tea. I took a little sip and almost choked. She hadn’t done the “sweet” part justice.

  “Wow,” I managed. Tasted like the time Mama accidentally put too much syrup in the soda machine.

  “She likes it!” Twila patted me on the back so hard I nearly spewed tea all over Alex’s mother. “You’re one of us now, girlie! Once you go sweet, it gets in your veins.”

  No doubt. I took another little sip, the flavor growing on me. Hopefully it wouldn’t throw me into a diabetic coma or anything.

  “Would you like a little tea to go with your sugar?” Twila giggled, then jabbed me with her elbow. “That’s the way we drink it down here.”

  “We call it glucose tea,” Mrs. Rigas explained. “I drink several glasses a day. That’s why I’m so sweet.”

  That might also account for her girth, but I’d never say such a thing. I could only imagine the calories in a glass of tea this sweet.

  “Cassia’s parents own a Greek restaurant,” Alex said. “And I’m pretty sure there’s no sweet tea on the menu.”

  “Well, that’s a shame,” Twila said. “I just can’t imagine drinking it without the sugar. The sweetness is the fun part.” Her nose wrinkled as she took a sip of her own tea. “Guess it takes foreigners some time to get used to our ways.”

  “She’s not exactly a foreigner, Twila,” Mrs. Rigas said. “She’s just from California, not another country.”

  “I went to California once.” Twila rolled her eyes, which drew my attention to a smudge of mascara just below her left eye. “Seemed like a foreign country to me.”

  I couldn’t really argue that point. I took another little sip, then looked at Alex’s mother. “This is growing on me. I’m sure I’ll end up falling in love with it. I’ve always been a fan of tea. In fact, I’ll have to give you my mother’s recipe for the Louisa. If you like lemon verbena, I mean.”

  Mrs. Rigas shook her head. “Sorry, but you lost me at Louisa. What’s that?”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a Greek herbal tea. I . . . well, I thought you were Greek.” Not that she looked it, but one could never judge by appearances.

  “Heavens no,” she said with a wave of her hand. “My hubby’s got Greek blood, but not me. I grew up little Eula May Skinner.” She gestured at the largest of the Splendora trio. “Twila’s my big sister.”

  “Big being the key word.” Twila gave a wink as she swallowed down a hefty bite of Willy’s cheesecake. “Ain’t sayin’ I enjoy being plus-size all the time—say, when I’m havin’ to weigh in at the doctor’s office—but I’m a big girl and proud of it.”

  “Twila, I wasn’t referring to your size.” Mrs. Rigas rolled her eyes. “I just meant you were my older sister.”

  “Heck, I’d rather be called big than old.” Twila shrugged. “But never mind all that. I still have to get to know this beauty queen.” She leaned forward and ran an index finger over my cheek. “I see you’ve discovered the benefits of a good moisturizer.”

  “E-excuse me?” I pulled away.

  “I just can’t get over your pores. They’re lovely. Must be the sea air.”

  “All those years of living on the coast in California,” Mrs. Rigas added.

  “Ah. Surprised your pores aren’t filled with fruits and nuts then.” Twila giggled.

  I offered a polite chuckle and glanced over at Pastor Higley’s plate of catfish. Yum. How could I get these ladies to stop talking long enough to fill a plate with some of that luscious goodness?

  Twila didn’t hear my stomach rumbling, apparently. She started telling a story about how her beauty secrets had garnered national acclaim after appearing in an article in the paper.

  “National acclaim, my eye.” Bonnie Sue rolled her eyes. “Just because you got a little write-up in the Splendora Gazette doesn’t mean you’ve made the national news, Twila.”

  “I was referring to the Houston Chronicle, but since you brought up the Gazette, you might as well know that I don’t read that rag anymore.”

  “Rag?” Jolene put her hands on her ample hips. “I’ll have you know my cousin Rosalie works for the Gazette.”

  “All the more reason not to read it,” Twila said. “That old gossip rag is just an exposé of who’s bickerin’ with who and what’s on sale at the Piggly Wiggly.”

  “Speaking of the Gazette, y’all read about poor old Nancy Jane?” Bonnie Sue fanned herself. “She gave up the ghost on Tuesday. I read it in the obits.”

  Man. I always hated to hear of someone passing away, but this news really seemed to shake them.

  “Always loved Nancy.” Twila brushed a tear from her eye. “Visited her every time I went to the Cut ’n’ Strut. ’Course, the woman couldn’t cut hair in a straight line to save her life, but she always brought a smile to my face.”

  “Cain’t believe she’s gone,” Jolene commented. “Who’s going to trim my hair next time?” A little sniffle followed her words.

  Somehow this conversation morphed into one about Nancy Jane’s poor husband, which somehow reminded Twila of a funny story about the time he brought deer sausage to a church social, which then morphed into a conversation about deer hunting.

  Really? Deer hunting? How did we get here?

  “You look pale, honey.” Jolene rested her hand on my arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh, it’s just that I . . . well, I never really went hunting before. The idea of shooting a sweet, innocent little deer just . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Oh, hon, you don’t have to shoot ’em.” Twila doubled over in laughter. “Leave that to the fellas. They live to use their huntin’ rifles.” She nudged me with her elbow again—Really? What’s with all the touching?—then leaned my way. “And besides, you just ain’t lived till you’ve spent quality time with your fella in a deer stand. Round here, the first day of deer huntin’ season is like a national holiday.”

  “What do you mean like a national holiday?” Jolene asked, her brow wrinkled. “It is a national holiday.”

  That started a lengthy dispute between the two that was interrupted by Mrs. Rigas. “Twila, don’t throw a hissy fit. It’s not becoming of a woman your age.”

  “True, true.” Twila’s scowl faded. “I think I’ll have another glass of sweet tea to brighten my disposition. Would you like some more, Cassia?”

  “Oh, no thank you,” I said. “I’m fine with what I’ve got.” I somehow managed to take another swallow. The sugar didn’t choke me this time, thank goodness. In fact, I found myself rather enjoying it.

  “All right, sweet pea. Well, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.” She took a couple of steps toward the food table, then turned back and looked at me. “Jeet?”

  “I’m sorry . . . what?”

  “Jeet?” the three ladies repeated in unison. Okay, so they were posing some sort of question, but I couldn’t make sense of it.

  Alex whispered in my ear, “Did. You. Eat?”

  “Oh!” I shook my head. “No, I haven’t eaten yet. But it smells divine and I’m starving.”

  “You have to try my hubby’s fried catfish.” Mrs. Rigas reached for a paper plate. “He uses a special recipe. Top secret.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “Between you and me, he double-fries them.”

  “Can’t wait. I hardly ever get to eat anything fried,” I said.

  This drew a wide-eyed stare from all three sisters.

  “Well, that’s a new one to me too. And I thought the sweet tea comment was odd.” Bonnie Sue fanned herself with the folded Splendora Gazette. “If you can’t go chicken-fried, what’re you gonna do with your okra?”

  “Kotopoulo me Bamies,” I responded. “Chicken with okra
stew. Mama makes it all the time. But it’s not fried.”

  “I just don’t know if I could eat it like that.” Twila continued to fan herself. “Guess I’ll have to try it sometime, though I doubt I could ever pronounce it.” She giggled.

  “I heard about a gal who ate her catfish blackened.” Jolene’s nose wrinkled. “Seems like a waste of a good piece of fish to me.” She patted me on the arm as if I somehow needed her empathy. “Skinny as you are, you should eat two or three pieces of that luscious fried catfish, hon. Can’t be bad for you. It’s the other white meat, after all.”

  This drew a confused look from Twila. “I thought pork was called the other white meat.”

  This led to an argument between the two. They ended their bickering when Jasmine and Lily approached.

  “Well, blessing on blessing!” Twila embraced one twin and then the other. “Always happy to see my darling duo.”

  I could see Lily cringing at this proclamation, but Jasmine slipped her arm around her aunt’s hefty waist—well, sort of—and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Auntie T.”

  Twila looked my way, her shoulders now squared. “Cassia, did you know my girl here is an award winner? She was voted Queen Bee at our last Honey-Do Festival.”

  “No, Aunt Twila.” Jasmine shook her head. “I was Empress at the annual Mosquito Festival, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right.” Twila clamped a hand over her mouth. “Silly me.” She grabbed Lily’s arm. “Our Lily here took the prize of Queen Bee.”

  “And she never lets me forget it,” Jasmine whispered in my ear.

  They’d lost me a couple of lines back in the conversation. “Mosquito Festival?” I asked, convinced I’d misunderstood.

  “Well, sure.” Jolene swatted the air. “You’re in the South now, honey. Every event is named after a fruit, vegetable, or animal.”

  “Or grain,” Alex said. “Remember the Sugar Cane Festival?”

  “Oh, I miss that one,” Jolene said. “Just hasn’t been the same since the big drought a couple of years back.”