Hello everyone! I hope you are all having a wonderful June. Today’s short story was inspired by the prompt, “Repeat the same line of dialogue, from the same character, three separate times.”
The story is called “Gloria”. Enjoy! 🙌
“This is ridiculous,” Gloria said, staring at the cherry Jell-O box I had placed on the countertop with distaste.
Gloria was my outspoken, independent grandmother. According to family legend, she had once faced down a black bear fearlessly over a four layer wedding cake she had made for her sister and won.
Gloria loved to cook, but not because she was expected to, though she was, as she was growing up to be a housewife shortly before the Vietnam War. She loved it because she said she loved making people happy through her food.
So as it might be expected of a cook with 50 years of experience, she frowned upon all foods that could be made through ingredients in a box. This included cheese/gelatin/gravy/potato, etc. powders, instant noodles, and Pop-Tarts. For some reason, Gloria had a strong aversion to Pop-Tarts.
“But Melody loves Jell-O.” I protested, crossing my arms.
Sometimes you just had to argue with her, despite the societal expectations where you were supposed to treat your grandparents with the utmost respect. Either she just gave in or made an argument so convincing you couldn’t even remember why you hadn’t agreed with her in the first place.
So here I was advocating for my younger cousin. At the ripe old age of fifteen, I was the oldest of all the cousins in my family, therefore I had the most pull.
It was Melody’s birthday the following day, and we were smack in the middle of our annual summer two-week family gathering, held at Gloria’s massive lake house. The house was teeming with the eight kids (including me), who ran wild on the lake shore and in the surrounding forest, plus three sets of parents, who drank lemonade (sometimes spiked) and talked.
Gloria rolled her eyes. “It’s just jellied water. I could make her homemade Jell-O that’s much better.”
“As much as we all love your cooking, I promised her I would do my best to convince you to make Jell-O out of the box. She insisted on having you make anything else homemade you would like for her birthday celebration. Including, but not limited to, mac & cheese bites, pigs in a blanket, chocolate cake, potato salad, and fried chicken.” I said, recalling Melody’s exact words. She was a witty thing, smart for her age. She was turning ten.
Gloria put two casseroles in the oven, one of which was tuna and the other was a cheeseburger casserole. She began washing the dishes as I prepared my next argument.
This would be a hard battle to win. One who is unlearned in the Gloria Gathering procedures might argue that I could simply make the Jell-O myself, but that would be like a cat trying to enter a mouse society. It just doesn’t happen. Gloria had full reign of the kitchen. In fact, you were lucky if you were able to grab a can of Sprite on your own. No, if this Jell-O was to be made, it would have to be by Gloria’s hands. “Listen, Gloria, Melody wants this so bad. It’s her tenth birthday.”
Gloria scrubbed at a bowl silently. She appeared to be waiting for me to continue. I wasn’t sure whether this was a good sign.
“And she loves whipped cream with it.” I said. This was my final stand towards winning the argument.
Gloria looked at me, a smile playing on her lips. “Hmmm…I suppose we could make this boxed stuff together for her. But I can also make homemade whipped cream.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, and embraced my grandmother. “Thank you so much! She’s going to be really happy.”
Once we pulled away, Gloria inspected the red box. She squinted, attempting to read the tiny writing on the side. It was only at times like these that I remembered she wasn’t a young woman anymore, despite how spry she appeared to be. “Can you read this out for me?” she asked, and I knew it pained her to do so. Gloria hated asking for help.
“Of course.” I said, taking the box from her. I read out the directions.
She boiled the water and dissolved the powder in it, pouring the liquid into a large glass dish and placing it in the fridge to be eaten the following day. Sometimes I was just a hint jealous that the cousins who had summer birthdays were able to celebrate with family and Gloria’s delicious food, while I had to have my cake day in early December.
As Gloria made the Jell-O and whipped cream (whenever she said the two of you would be cooking together, she really meant that you would be allowed to talk to her while she made the food, instead of actually helping her), she told me about her escapades on a trip to Berlin in 1992. Gloria told stories in a passionate tone, keeping you on the edge of your seat.
Gloria measured out heavy whipping cream and powdered sugar, accidentally spilling some of the powdered sugar on the countertop. She sighed. “This is ridiculous. Why is the plastic so flimsy?” she questioned aimlessly, stopping abruptly in the middle of her story.
“I can clean it up for you, Gloria.” I offered, already just a few steps away from her.
“That’s alright, dear. Don’t worry.” Gloria reassured me, wiping away the mess with a wet rag. “Where was I? Oh yes, the bald man with the beagles.”
The next day dawned hot and breezy. Melody organized a high-scale game of capture the flag, where it was four vs. four, for the morning. Our team won narrowly, and by the end all of us were soaked from using water guns to make the game more intense.
None of the kids were younger than eight and required only my supervision, so we then went on what we called “patrol”, which was where we formed a small fleet of kayaks and paddled up and down the coastline near Gloria’s lake house.
It soon became an eventful afternoon, as one of the eleven year old twins flipped his brother’s kayak over, sending the unfortunate kid into the murky lake water. I tried to keep a stern face on, knowing I had to be the model of responsibility, but soon found myself laughing along with everyone else. Even the cousin who had been flipped into the lake was laughing.
It was late in the day, around four thirty, by the time we reached the shore directly behind Gloria’s house, which was on the top of a steep hill.
Melody was buzzing with excitement over her birthday celebration. All of my family, minus Gloria (who was still inside) and my mother (who was helping her bring out the food), claimed lawn chairs. I popped open a cold can of Dr. Pepper, taking a sip. My hair was damp and my cheeks covered in greasy residue from leftover sunscreen that hadn’t washed away, but everything at that moment was perfect.
Soon, Gloria and my mom emerged from the house, laden with dishes of food. Gloria was holding a large plate of fried chicken, and my mother had a bowl of buttermilk biscuits.
Gloria returned to the house and came back with a large bowl of salad adorned with blackberries. We ate, talked, and laughed, and Melody downed three cans of Coke. I had decided to keep the Jell-O a surprise, and had simply told her that Gloria was hard to convince.
At around eight, when the sky was beginning to darken, and we’d finished up the cornhole trounament, Gloria and my mother stepped back into the house. I watched through the window as the kitchen light came on and the two women grabbed things from the fridge.
They both reappeared, my mom holding a glass bowl of fresh, homemade whipped cream, a small BIC lighter, and a box of birthday candles. Gloria had the piece de resistance, the clear casserole dish of deep red cherry Jell-O. Melody smiled so broadly I thought her face might split. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she squealed, wrapping her thin arms around me.
“Of course!” I replied, basking in the phrase. “Cherry is your favorite, right?”
“Yeah!” The newly turned ten year old said excitedly, turning back to our approaching relatives.
Melody sat down in her small pink lawn chair, her bare feet just barely touching the grassy ground. Gloria set the Jell-O down on the foldout table, and my mother put her load down as well. Gloria began to cut up the Jell-O, serving Melody a large slice with a big scoop of whipped cream. My mother stuck a candle in the fluffy mound, and lit it.
We sang Melody ‘Happy Birthday’, and dug into our dessert, which was pretty good. Melody was ecstatic, eating two generous helpings. My youngest cousin came up with the idea of putting a dollop of whipped cream on the noses of all the kids as a testament to this perfect night, before Melody opened her gifts. The parents readied their cell phone cameras.
All the kids except me lined up, and I applied little mounds of whipped cream to each of my giggling cousin’s noses in turn. We posed and smiled, and the adults took our pictures. “This is ridiculous!” Gloria said, laughing.
Melody opened her gifts, and we told stories late into the night. The soft sound of the lake lulled me to sleep that night, and I thought, I’m lucky to have a Gloria.
Today’s quote is “The measure of love is to love without measure.” -Attributed to Saint Augustine
The Abby Report 