Happily Ever After? by Debra Kent Page B

flashed
     a slick, solicitous smile.
    I pulled out my checkbook. I wrote out a check for $25,000, ripped it out, and handed it to her. “It’s my pleasure to help
     the hospital foundation,” I said. “You gals do wonderful work.”
    Did I just say “gals”?
    ’Til next time,
    V
July 8
    When I got back from the mall with Pete, I found a message on the machine from Michael. He wants to see me tonight. I’d like
     to see him, too. But Hunter is supposed to sleep here. I’d have to get a sitter. Or send them both to Lynette’s house. Then
     again, I think it’s a mistake to take every offer, especially one on such short notice. On the other hand, I’m too old to
     play games. I like him, he likes me, would it really hurt for me to see him tonight?
    ’Til next time,
    V
July 8, later
    Decided against going out with Michael tonight. He was disappointed but perfectly understanding. I rented
Toy Story 2
for the boys, made a giant bowl of popcorn, and snuggled with them in the family room. Michael called at 9 P.M. to say he was thinking of me and asked if we got to the part in the movie when Jessie the cowgirl sings that sweet, heartbreaking
     song about being outgrown by the girl who once played with her. Michael confessed that he had cried the first time he saw
     that scene, and I admitted that I’d sobbed so loudly I had to go sit in the bathroom until I could pull myself together. He
     said he was going to his parents’ next Sunday and asked if I wanted to join him (whoa!), but I told him that my sisters and
     I would be having a little reunion at my folks’ house, to relish whatever time we have left with my father. I’m thrilled Michael
     would consider introducing me to his family. I also wonder if he was fishing for an invitation to watch the movie with me
     and the boys, but I’m not about to introduce him to Pete—yet.
    ’Til next time,
    V
July 9
    My sister, Mother Teresa, insisted on cooking EVERYTHING for dinner, not because she’s an altruist, but a control freak who
     believes that she is the only one capable of cooking an edible meal. I’m sure that my other sister, Julia, would have been
     delighted to let Teresa handle all the cooking, and I probably would have acquiesced just to avoid a confrontation with my
     pig-headed big sister, but this time I insisted that we all pitch in. In fact, I volunteered to grill chicken, an offer I
     now regret because I hate standing over a flaming grill.
    So I’ve just killed the last two hours surfing the Web for new recipes. I wanted to dig up one recipe in particular, an absolutely
     sublime sweet potato dish I’d found online three years ago and, naturally, never filed. I was just about to give up when miraculously
     I found the site with the recipe for glazed maple sweet potatoes. The last time I made it, I regretted I hadn’t doubled the
     recipe because it was gone in a flash. Everyone was yum-yumming over the sweet potatoes, everyone except Teresa—who had three
     helpings, by the way. I think I’ll also make cooked cranberry sauce with toasted walnuts and mandarin oranges. Easy, delicious.
    As for the chicken, I’m not sure whether I want to go sweet or spicy. I’ve got a good recipe for lemon-oregano roasted chicken
     … but where the heck is it??? Mykitchen is a mess and I’ve come to realize that it probably doesn’t matter how rich I am, I will always be disorganized. The
     little telephone table off the kitchen is piled high with junk mail, bills, Pokémon cards, assorted nonfunctioning pens, Post-it
     notes, school notices (most of which have expired), a stray slice of American cheese and three cheese wrappers, a tiny Monopoly
     game key chain and unwanted Halloween candy (the kind even I won’t eat).
    All our plans are set for Medjugorje and I’m uncharacteristically calm about the flight. Normally I depend on a glass of wine
     to help me survive even the quick trip to Chicago. Now I’m flying across the world and I’m actually