W.O. #4 – Drew’s Custard

1280 words, but it just kept coming. I couldn’t help it!

Here was this past writing opportunity: It’s warming up! In 500 words, write about a couple’s or family’s last vacation together.

And here is my very over word limit piece. (I think I may nix the word limits from now on.)

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“Don’t kill it, but don’t be afraid to give that whisk some attitude!” Chef Gina hollered in jest. Bubbly giggles erupted at each cooking station.

“Does mine look right?” asked my brother, Drew, knowing he had a perfect vanilla-egg whirlpool.

“Super!” exclaimed Gina flipping her bright yellow highlighter mane down to get it into a tight bun.

Drew was moving across the county in forty two days, and a layer of my heart was peeling off with each day we got closer to his departure. He never planned on looking at schools out of state, but after Mom passed away over two years ago, he wondered about attending Mom’s alma mater.

And, of course, the idiot got in.

Dad enthusiastically started planning this road trip as soon as Drew walked off the stage at graduation. “Dreamin’ with Drew” he dubbed it. Dad gave him the chance to pick three activities of his choice in the closest city to us which is Missoula.

I’m serious.

We’ve been on a bit of a financial roller coaster since Mom died, so we should be lucky that we even made it here to roam the streets. Everything is going on the credit card which makes my stomach feel like those rotating slush machines at gas stations.

Dad reassures me that we’ll have an “Exploring with Emma” excursion before I go to college. Doubt it. This one will be far from paid off.

Drew meticulously scrapped every bit of the smooth blend into four ramekin cups as instructed. Four…always a reminder of our incomplete family.

“Nice job, Drew! Why didn’t we have you cook more?” Dad jested as he opened the door so Drew could put his culinary masterpiece inside the oven.

“Hey, with football, debate, and working at the car wash, I could only watch Food Network. Anyway, baking is a science, so half the battle is ahead,” Drew defended cheerfully.

The 40-45 minutes that the custards had to bake were filled with quirky tutorials about knife skills, ethnic seasonings, and endless plugs for Chef Gina’s e-cookbook.

This was Drew’s first wish–cooking school. Not what I would have picked, but burning my skin by Claire’s pool with her creep-o college boyfriend was my alternative. Also, Dad did not give me an option.

Honestly, it’s been a really nice vacation, but Dad is really going all-out. He insisted on staying at a resort with all-inclusive access to jet skis, zip lines, and five-star restaurants. After overindulging at the Rimrock Cafe last night, the slush machine switched on in my stomach…and it wasn’t because of the turtle cheesecake.

Dad needed this time.

He didn’t even know Drew applied to Mackay College until the acceptance letter came in. Aunt Colleen and I got a head start by accident when I borrowed Drew’s laptop to prove her wrong about Hilary Duff and Miley Cyrus being the same person.

I stopped myself from opening a new tab when I realized I was looking at Mackay’s online application…partially filled out.

“Didn’t Mom go to Mackay?” I asked already knowing that answer but ferociously scanning to the bottom of the page to find the address of the school.

Aunt Colleen came over slow and suspicious. “Yeeeees,” escaped her lips.

“Is Drew–” I muttered.

“Is Drew becoming a balloon artist for corporate team building events, writing a paper on how Uber can be the new United States Postal Service, or applying to Mackay?” Drew nonchalantly joked as he emerged from the bathroom.

Aunt Colleen and I just stared at him with zero amusement. No, that’s a lie; I never tire of his deadpan humor.

“Don’t worry–the right answer is becoming a balloon artist,” Drew insisted nodding his head with mocking assurance.

Aunt Colleen and I stared at each other with wide talk-to-him eyes and the smallest, hopefully far from noticeable “COME ON!” hand gestures until she matured and reluctantly took on the task.

“Babe, are you thinking about Mom’s school? It’s a great school–it just wasn’t for me. I was weird and artsy and two semesters was enough. Well, I’m still weird and artsy but in a good way–if I do say so myself. Right? They have that wildflower field by the student center that the administration always wanted to build on, but the students would always have protests against improving the land. What was it called? Started with an M…kind of hippie-ish…Mellow Meadow! That’s it! I wonder if it’s still there…”

She finally glanced at us and realized she was in her own world. She straightened her posture, put on her broad crazy-lady smile which was strangely comforting, squeezed next to Drew on the couch, and chimed, “Talk to us, sweetie.”

“There’s not much to say. I’m thinking about going into journalism and was curious about the area where you and Mom grew up. I knew Mackay was not too far from it. And they actually have a pretty decent program. So why not? Right?” he easily dictated.

“So…does Dad know?” I squeaked.

Drew cocked one eyebrow and gave me a side smirk which was code for What do you think?

He sighed, “I’ll tell him if I get in. They have like a 35% acceptance rate or something like that.”

“I am not allowed to hide anything from your dad—I need frozen yogurt now! Let’s go!” Aunt Colleen exasperated without waiting for an answer and starting the car at surprising speed.

Lucky for Aunt Colleen, she had an emergency at work the next morning, and Dad was fine with us being alone on that last day of his business trip. Now if she would have seen him face-to-face, it would have all come bubbling out. She nicknamed Dad “Super Dad Brad” to which he always rolled his eyes but enjoyed the compliment. It not only reminded him that he hadn’t let us down but also Mom’s family. They both shared the same birthday. (She was one year older.) They always teamed up for Pictionary because they were a drawing powerhouse. (She’s an art teacher. He’s an architect.) Five years ago, Dad drove four hours to help bury her deceased yet beloved Doberman Pincher, Couscous, because it was too unbearable to do herself. She was also still in her hoarding phase, so no one was allowed at her home. Mom had reached her limit and gave up with the interventions at that point. Good Ol’ Brad to the rescue.

Ding! Ring! Buzz!

Everyone’s timers were going off.

Clad in what looked like Easter oven mitts, Drew’s careful hands placed his four custards on the stove. He was soon lost in a raspberry and cream topping demonstration. Dad used this opportunity to check his phone on the opposite side of the half-wall behind our station which separated the kitchen space and the lobby.

My wide-eyed expression was supposed to get him to put his phone away, but he just matched my expression which made me laugh. But his eyes immediately strained as he brought his hands to his head dropping his phone.

“Dad…Da-ad…Da-AD,” I stammered in a loud whisper still thinking this was a joke. His legs immediately weakened as he started convulsing on the floor bringing clipboards and a flood of paper down with him.

I was frozen. This wasn’t happening. Why didn’t my legs move?

BREATHE AND MOVE, EMMA!!!

“Hold on, class!” Chef Gina sprinted to the back of the room and pushed me as she slid on the floor to check on Dad.

As she garbled the emergency into her phone, I was able to tilt my head towards Drew just in time to watch two of his ramekins crash to the floor in what became a sweet mess of comfort and brutality. It kept my attention much longer than I wanted.

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Oh, so many different directions to go! Does Drew still go to Mackay? How does Aunt Colleen help out? Does Dad die? (Well, you should know if you picked up on the two ramekins that Drew dropped. Four drops to two! Foreshadowing, people!) Where should the story go?

I am currently working on a short story submission and wrapping up the school year with the kiddos, so I am going on a short hiatus with the weekly writing opportunities over the next few weeks. I still plan on posting some brief updates, but I will be focusing on tweaking and refining my short story.

In the meantime, I hope this spring-summer transition brings calm, relief, and some healthy mischief!