NOT What I Was Expecting by Tallulah Anne Scott

here?”
    “Madame,” Fry
corrected, “I may be cheap, but I am never free.”
    CeCe’s eyes rolled
heavenward.  I really do worry that they’re going to stick that way one of
these times, and she’ll spend the rest of her life looking at the inside of her
skull, which would be awkward.
    “Fry, are you
available this afternoon to help my mother?” she said through clenched teeth,
nodding her head up and down vehemently.  Fry’s head and mine involuntarily
began to nod up and down with her.
    “Why, yes I am,” he
agreed. 
    “Did you hear
that, Mother?” CeCe announced gleefully into the phone with her hands making
calm, soothing motions.  “Fry’s available to help, so just relax.  Everything’s
going to be fine.  Yes, he’ll be there soon.  Yes.  Okay.  Bye.”  She hung up
the phone and leaned weakly against the counter.
    “What’s going
on?”  I asked.
    “My mother’s in a
state because Mr. Trudeaux broke his leg,” CeCe said in exasperation and threw
her hands up in the air as if that explained everything.
    “Are they close?”
I asked, trying to make sense of what I’d heard so far.
    “No.” CeCe
responded.  “He was supposed to cook a huge pot of jambalaya for the Senior and
Single meeting tonight.”
    “Are we talking
about the bonbon meal?” I asked.
    “Exactly,” CeCe
replied.
    “He fell off a
ladder getting the big pot out of the attic and broke his leg.  Now he has
asked my mother to cook it in his place.  He even sent over the pot, the
ingredients, and his recipe.”
    “That shouldn’t be
a problem.  She’s a great cook.”  I said smiling, now that the problem was
solved.
    “That’s what I
said, but there is a problem.  His recipe is not doable for my mother.  His
instructions are along the lines of – add the bell peppers, onions, and pork,
then sauté for about two beers.  Then add the sausage and sauté for about one
beer and on like that.  You see the problem?” CeCe inquired.
    “Your mother
doesn’t drink except for a glass of wine now and again,” I said as I began to
grasp the situation.
    “Bingo,” CeCe
exhaled, relieved that I finally understood.  “That’s where Fry comes in.  She
needs him to, uh, assist her while she’s cooking so she can follow the
instructions to the letter.  She’s never attempted a big batch of jambalaya
like this one, so she feels she better stick to the recipe.  Mr. Trudeaux is
known for his awesome jambalaya, and everyone is looking forward to it.”  
    She turned to Fry,
“No pressure.”
    “None felt,”
confirmed Fry, with his this-will-be-fun grin.
    A few minutes
after Fry left, a pack of five teenage girls all dressed in cheerleader outfits
breezed into the shop.  CeCe and I have learned not to try to figure out the
customers but rather just wait and see.  They waved and smiled at us, so we
waved and smiled at them.  They walked in and out of the clothes’ racks, talking
a mile a minute to each other and giggling.
    After a few
minutes of this I looked at CeCe, “Time?”
    “Sure,” she
nodded.
    I walked over to
them smiling, “May I help you ladies?”
    “Oh, yes,” said
one girl.
    “We’ve got so much
to shop for,” said another girl.
    “She’s so lucky,”
said yet another.  “She married the captain of the football team, and she’s going to have a baby!”
    Then there was
another chorus of “she’s soooo lucky!”  It became obvious that it was the
pretty blonde in the middle that was the sooo lucky one.
    “Would you like me
to show you around the shop?” I asked her.  “Obviously you’re not showing yet,
but then when the time comes you’ll know what we have.”
    “That would be
super awesome,” the mom-to-be bubbled.
    “Okay then,” I
said cheerfully.  “Follow me.”
    First I took them
to the undergarments section.  “These may be some of the first things you’ll
need to buy.  Sometimes you can still fit in some of your clothes, but your
normal underwear