Gratuity
(excerpt from a work-in-progress)
by Trista Hurley-Waxali
Only when I stand from the table do I feel the second bottle of wine. The yellow glow of lamplight is kept along Rue des Cordeliers. Each bulb acts more as a breadcrumb to other places that I am to avoid. Amanda watches me from the corner of her eye as Sandi and her have a cigarette in front of the soap store. Sandi tells her about the time we bought a soap pump by accident because we thought it was for olive oil.
“I saw the threads on the side of the top and told Dad, this is for soap,” Sandi says. “Dad said that he was told kitchen supplies. I reminded him that people wash their hands in the sink.”
She rolls her eyes and that’s when I notice there’s nothing left to teach her.
I take out one of my own cigarettes and duck into the alleyway. I know if I follow this path, I could find someone under the tree who will sell me drugs. It takes the 5th pull on the tobacco to turn back to Sandi. Amanda knows she will win in the end and starts to walk towards a closed store. She points to a couple dresses in the window. I follow them. Sandi eyes up the variety of nuts at the Middle Eastern grocery store. A couple of the employees are taking advantage of the cool night to unload some items from the truck. They see her with pity, the girl who will be left alone.
“Sandi, what do you think of these meditation bowls?” Amanda calls to her after she spots the guy from the truck. She doesn’t want me to remember this part. “I’m thinking of building a practice when I go back.”
“Yeah I have a couple somewhere,” Sandi says as she walks over to the window of novelty items from places people don’t set foot in, the ones too exotic to acclimate to, even for a day. “I’d love to visit Thailand, maybe ride an elephant.” There’s a scarf with an embroidered elephant along the back wall. If I knew these were the items she liked, I would have picked them up for her. I put out my cigarette.
“Honey, when you come to America, we’ll fly together,” I say. Sandi turns back. “I heard the mosquitoes are big there, so get ready for that.” I put my two hands together like I’m cupping a bird and make a buzzing sound and skip over to Sandi. She laughs and is clearly embarrassed, while the men on the truck start to ignore us. I reach around her shoulders with the cup and poke her neck.
“Dad!” Sandi says, “you’re so annoying.” She smiles. “I’m going to miss that.” She rests her head on my shoulder like she did as a little girl. We walk for a couple blocks like this until we reach the City Hall. It’s the noise coming from the square that forces her to sit up. Amanda is taking a couple photos for home.
“What do you say, one more drink for our last night,” I say to Sandi. We ignore Amanda for a moment because we know she wants to get a long sleep for the flight.
“I could do a spritz,” Sandi says.
“A campari,” I echo. “For you my lady?” I joke to Amanda. She smiles and all is forgiven.
“A spritz,” she spots a table near the tower. There is a group of English people at the high table the brasserie sets up for the summer. “Does this work?” She pulls out a chair from a nearby table. The tree doesn’t look so good, I’m guessing they’ll remove it. I wonder if Sandi will keep an eye on this part of the square when I’m gone.
When the drinks arrive, I hear Sandi asking for more ice. The server asks her if Amanda would like some too, she nods in a motion to suggest, possibly. I let the ice cubes take shape against the orange slice in my drink. Amanda is watching my face for signs that I’m going to look for drugs tonight. I meet her eyes and wave my hand. Not tonight. She smiles.
“Let’s cheers!” Amanda takes out her phone and this time Sandi matches up. I sit properly in my seat. “Ready?” Sandi nods. We all move our drinks closer together and then apart, but only I bring it to my mouth. They lean into their straws and focus on the phone.
“It looks great,” Sandi says. “Thanks Amanda.” The server comes with the ice. She offers to add some to Amanda’s drink. She takes the offer in kind.
“Your grandmother loved her spritz,” I say to Sandi in French. The memory is from so long ago that it’s the only language I know to describe her. “There was never a wrong time of day for one, were her words.” I tell Sandi of one of the rare times Mom came to visit.
Sandi wasn’t even two when Mom arrived. She moved out with my sister the summer before her high school enrollment. Mom wasn’t nervous about her daughter going to a new area for high school because anywhere away from here was better. After Dad left, Mom found my sister’s father leaving his wife. I watched from the alleyway under the large tree as he yelled at Mom for keeping the baby. I kept myself in the sun so he could see that I was watching them. He waved with disgust in my direction before leaving my sister. Mom said that it would be easier for him to marry her, if she didn’t have an illegitimate son too. I promised her that I’d be out after graduation, she rolled her eyes. She knew there wasn’t a chance I’d walk the stage for my sister’s sake. I’d come home from school and Mom wouldn’t think twice about running out to meet friends at the cafe.
“Only one spritz, then I’ll be back. Dinner is in the freezer.” Pepperoni pizza. I’d wave before seeing my sister sleeping in the crib. Mom built it out in the living room when it became apparent her father wasn’t moving into this place. She believed that he’d find a place after the divorce was final, that his studio wouldn’t be big enough for the three of them.
“She has Judi’s smile,” I said to Mom when she finally laid eyes on her. I never called Mom for help after I came home alone with Sandi. The pressure of having to grieve in front of a pragmatic mother was too much at the time. And then I had a routine with Sandi and didn’t need that kind of support. I began to prove to Mom that it’s possible to do it on your own. That’s when she decided to visit. The moment I no longer needed her help.
“Her mother must have also been such an easy baby,” Mom said as Sandi didn’t wail from the motorcycles zooming by someone’s lunch to deliver. “You got lucky.” She faced me to read what I felt. I placed my hand on her shoulder and thanked her for coming to see us.
“She had slept in your room and left a couple days later. She bought you a communion dress that still hangs in my closet. Didn’t think you needed any blessings outside of coming home from the hospital.” Sandi’s eyes start to pool water, Amanda puts down her spritz. She doesn’t lean into her as support, but rather tenses up by my French. “I know Mom would have loved you,” I say to Amanda. “You both have that same strength. The kind of woman who can go through anything with grace.”
“I think the booze is getting to you,” Amanda says. She’s right but I don’t like how she said it, as if I should be ashamed of getting sentimental on my last night. The drink tastes sour. The rind of the orange is on the ice. Sandi finishes her spritz along with Amanda.
“It’s a little nicer at night,” Sandi says, “like I’m a hummingbird.”
Her laugh is loud enough to make Amanda smile. I know that smile. It’s time to go to her home.
***
(Featured image by Ivan Herman; used under CC BY-ND 4.0)