Janet Evanovich - Love in a Nutshell

JUST BEFORE five that evening, Kate walked into the post office. She smiled at the sweeping stairway to nowhere, created when the building’s second floor had been roped off due to declining town population. Despite the passage of time, the interior of the ornate sandstone and yellow brick building was like a trip back to the early 1900s. Or maybe just to high school, considering the way Deena Bowen was giving K k wastoate the stink-eye as she approached.

Deena stepped away from the wall of brass and glass-fronted post office boxes.

“Hey,” she said.

Kate had never heard that one syllable delivered with more crankiness.

“I hear you’re going out with Matt,” Deena said.

Kate wasn’t going to get into the technical aspects of whether a family spaghetti dinner qualified as a date. She worked up what she hoped was a noncommittal shrug and moved on to her mailbox.

“He’ll dump you. Just wait and see,” Deena called after her.

Kate didn’t plan to get to the dating point, let alone the dumping point. She let the comment roll off and turned her attention to the accumulation of mail in The Nutshell’s box.

“Junk, bill… more junk,” she said as she pulled items from the tight space. “And… trouble.”

Her mother’s custom periwinkle linen stationery was unmistakable, as was her perfect cursive script-written with a black ink fountain pen, of course. So long as the letter wasn’t directed to her, Kate found it cool that her mom kept up the dying art of handwritten correspondence. But when Ms. Katherine Appleton appeared on the address line, the envelope was often stuffed with ego-crushers. Not that Kate thought her mom meant to do that, but the end result remained the same.

Kate closed the box and took her load to the counter behind her for sorting. She dropped the catalogues filled with goods she couldn’t afford into the recycling bin, tucked the electric bill into her purse, and opened her mom’s letter. In the past, many of Mom’s messages were like bikini waxes: best finished quickly.

The first few lines were about the weather and her mother’s golf game. Then Mom offered a little chitchat about Kate’s brother and sister and their respective brilliant toddler offspring, which led into the true purpose of the letter.

As I dream of Ivy League educations for my grandchildren, her mother wrote, I can’t help but feel a moment’s sorrow that you didn’t follow a more financially secure path. A business degree would have allowed for far more stability than a degree in the arts. It’s a different world than when I was your age, Kate.

“Doing what? Accounting?” Kate said to herself. She was fine with basic addition and subtracting, especially if she had a calculator. Start placing numbers in labeled columns, though, and she was a lost cause.

Kate had chosen the small liberal arts college her mom had attended, and it had been a good fit. She figured the love of history and art was something in her genes, something that she had inherited from her mother, but her mother might be right about changing times. Kate admitted to herself that she was struggling career-wise.

Ella joined Kate at the counter. “I’ve come kx20imes to offer you safe passage.” She hitched her thumb at Deena. “She seems to be lurking.”

“No biggie. I’m getting pretty good with the end run when it comes to Deena, but I’m still not so good with this stuff.”

Ella smiled and tapped the letter, which lay on the counter, just begging to be read to the very end. “Pretty handwriting, but I’m guessing it’s not from a great-aunt leaving you a fortune?”

“It’s from my mother, offering her perspective on where I went wrong. It seems I should have gotten a business degree in college.”

Ella shook her head. “But you hate numbers.”

“You know that, and I know that, but Mom considers it a trifle in the Appleton scheme for world domination.”

“And yet you read on.”

“Yes. Because my mom is probably right.”

Ella pulled the letter from the counter.

Kate made a grab for it. “Hey!”

Ella held the letter in the air above Kate’s shorter grasp.

“Seriously,” Ella said. “I’m taking custody of this. I’ve known you since we were kids. That means I also know how good you are at beating yourself up whenever your mother makes a comment, no matter how well intended. What constructive thing would come from finishing this letter right now?”

“I could learn something.”

Ella handed her the letter. “Learn something later. Put off reading the rest of the letter and come with me for loaded nachos at Bagger’s. It’ll be just like the old days. We can pig out, then go home and sleep.”

Kate stuck the letter in her purse. “So long as I get extra sour cream and guacamole, it’s a deal,” Kate said.

Matt wasn’t wholly anti-tradition. For example, he got a real kick out of Christmas, especially now that Maura had given him twin nieces to spoil and had another baby on the way. Thanksgiving was a winner, too, since his dad and he had a turkey hunting contest each year. Spaghetti Tuesdays, however, had to die.

The rite had started in junior high, and he’d always been on the losing side. Even when he was backed up by half the football team, they were no match for his sharp-witted sisters. Over the years, Matt had developed empathy for those poor, wild Thanksgiving birds looking down the barrel of a shotgun. It had been a while since he’d attended Spaghetti Tuesday, but he had no delusions. His sisters would cut him no slack. And heaven help Kate if she wasn’t on her toes. His sisters weren’t mean, but they were mercilessly honest.

“Let me know the second you start feeling tired, and I’ll get you out of here,” he said to Kate as they approached the house.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but we’re not even inside yet.”

“The offer still stands.”

She laughed. “Come on, Matt. How bad can it be?”

“It all depends on whether you’re the diner or the main course.”

They reached the porch, and Matt held the door open for Kate. The sounds of laughter and conversation rolled from the back of the house, along with the scents of garlic and spices from his mom’s amazing spaghetti sauce.

Kate ran a hand over the oak banister that had been scratched and worn by generations of tough Culhane kids. “This house is awesome,” Kate said.

“It is.” Matt ushered her past the entry, through the living room and into the dining room, where everyone always tended to gather.

All eyes turned their way. Matt could feel Kate hesitate. He didn’t blame her. His sisters were quite the crew.

“Everyone, this is Kate. Kate, this is… everyone.”

His mother laughed and approached them. “Matthew. Have you lost all your manners?”

Matt gave his mom a hug. “I just didn’t want Kate to feel like there’s a quiz at the end of the introductions.”

Matt’s mom smelled of the rich, flowery perfume she’d worn for as long as he could remember. She looked great, too. Her silver-threaded dark hair had been twisted into a knot, and while her khakis and blue sweater were standard mom-clothes, she wore them with flair.

She held out a hand to Kate. “I’m Matt’s mother, Mary, and you’re Kate Appleton. I remember you as a youngster. You were such a cute little thing with all those blond ringlets!”

Kate shook his mom’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Culhane.”

“Please, call me Mary.”

“Okay.” Kate handed Matt’s mom the shiny gift bag she’d been tightly gripping. “I brought a little something. It’s not much, but my mother taught me never to arrive with empty hands.”