Christmas Cakes and Kisses Read online

  “I know it will be but, you have to admit, it still needs a lot of work.”

  “I admit that it’s come a long way.” Izzy sounded defensive.

  Aslyn held up a hand. “I really don’t want to fight with you tonight. We don’t get much time, just for us, and all.”

  Izzy sighed and gave in like she always did. “Not to change the subject but are we still on for tomorrow night? I mean, Dad’s coming over with the piece of counter top after we get off tomorrow. We’re going to set that in place, right quick, but didn’t you have that meeting thingy you were going to after work anyway?”

  “Thingy? For the march, you mean? I thought you’d come to the meeting with me and then we could go out afterward.”

  “But...well, my Dad.” Iz rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “I suppose I could call him and tell him we could do it another time.” Her voice was flat, dejected. “That way he doesn’t load up the counter top tonight and haul it all around with him all day tomorrow...”

  Aslyn picked up on her tone. “It’s okay baby. Just go ahead and do that. You need to get your kitchen done.”

  “Our kitchen...someday.”

  Aslyn nodded. “Yes, someday.”

  “Promise?”

  “Absolutely. I promise.”

  FOR THE REST OF THE story with Aslyn and Izzy in Birmingham and to get purchase links to all of the other Loving Blue in Red States stories, please click here.

  An excerpt from

  MARY’S ANGEL

  by EA Kafkalas

  “I hate endings. Just detest them. Beginnings are definitely the most exciting, middles are perplexing and endings are a disaster. ...The temptation towards resolution, towards wrapping up the package, seems to me a terrible trap. Why not be more honest with the moment? The most authentic endings are the ones which are already revolving toward another beginning.”

  —Sam Shepard, The Paris Review

  One of the drawbacks of diabetes was finding a place to give yourself the daily insulin shot when you weren’t at home. Fortunately, Mary’s aunt introduced her to her dear friend Gillian Hudson when she moved to New York, and the two had become fast friends. The party that night for the toast of the town Angel Hunter and her triumphant turn as Viola in Twelfth Night at Lincoln Center, was in Gillian’s upper West Side apartment, which meant Mary had a place to get away.

  She had no idea that Angel Hunter would be seated at the window in Gillian’s bedroom taking in the view. On a good day, the Manhattan skyline was gorgeous, but with Angel Hunter sitting in front of it, it was beyond breathtaking.

  “Do you mind? I’d like to be alone.” Angel didn’t even bother to turn around to see who it was.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I just–“

  “Is there a problem?”

  “It’s just ...” Mary looked at her watch. It was a bit beyond the time she needed to take her evening dose of insulin, but it was clear that Angel was upset.

  “I thought I made it perfectly clear to Gillian I wasn’t signing any autographs tonight.”

  Mary had read the articles about Gillian being curt at times, but being on the receiving end of that wasn’t helping right now. “It’s not that, it’s just that ... well, it’s not a very big apartment, and the line for the bathroom appears to be endless.” Mary held up her messenger bag. “I just need a quiet place to give myself a shot. I won’t be long.”

  “Gillian has a terrace. Why don’t you go get high out there?”

  “I’m not getting high!” Mary took a breath and tried to explain more calmly, “It’s insulin.”

  Angel wiped her eyes and turned around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. Please do what you need to do.”

  “Do you want to stay in here while I do this?”

  “I’m not ready to be out there.”

  “Okay.” Mary was used to giving herself the shot without an audience. “Do you mind if I lock the door for a minute?”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I don’t want anyone to make the same assumption you just did.”

  “They don’t care.”

  “But I do.”

  “Fine. Lock the door.”

  “Thanks.” She locked the door and then sat on the bed with her back to Angel. “This won’t take long and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “Take as much time as you need.”

  “Okay.” Mary pulled her kit out of the bag and took it into Gillian’s master bath.

  “May I watch?”

  The articles never said anything about her being weird. “Why?”

  “In case I play a diabetic character.”

  The evening shots were in the abdomen since she was usually at home or at least could find a bathroom stall when she was out. The thought of lifting her top to pinch her fat stomach in front of someone as fit as Angel Hunter unsettled her.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. Why would you let a total stranger follow you into the bathroom?”

  Exactly! Angel did seem nicer when she was trying to be gentle, and Mary wanted Angel to like her. Who wouldn’t? The word tumbled off her lips before she could censor it. “Okay.”

  She turned on the tap and washed her hands.

  Angel leaned against the doorframe, keeping some distance. “How long have you been diabetic?”

  “Since I was a kid. Runs in the family.” She was warming the bottle, hoping that Angel would just watch and not ask a ton of questions.

  “Has it been hard?”

  “When I was a kid, it was rough. But now, I’m used to it.” She set the bottle on the counter, threw the alcohol wipe she had used to clean it in the trash, and got the needle out.

  “But you had to give up sweets, right?”

  “You do what you have to do to survive. And sometimes I cheat. You know, on holidays.” She pushed the needle into the insulin bottle.

  “How about learning to do that? I hate needles.”

  “Then why are you watching?” Once she withdrew the dosage she needed, she tapped the syringe.

  “I mean I don’t think I could do that to myself.”

  Mary placed the cap back on the needle and put the insulin back in the case, getting another alcohol wipe out. “When I was a kid my parents did it. It was rough for them at first. My father couldn’t bring himself to do it because I would cry, so my mother stepped up.” She lifted her top, exposing the least amount of flesh she could, then pinched the requisite amount, wiped it, and popped the top of the syringe. “It’s actually much easier to do it yourself. Then no one gets freaked out having to do it for you.” Drawing a deep breath, she inserted the needle, pushing the insulin in quickly. Early on, she had adapted a quick method akin to ripping a Band-Aid off.

  “Wow! Okay, I know I couldn’t do that to myself.” Gillian looked a bit green.

  Mary was hoping she wasn’t going to hurl. “You could if you had to.” She broke the needle and wrapped it up.

  “Why do you do that?”

  “So no one can find it and use it again.” She threw the needle into the garbage. “I usually don’t just throw them out anywhere, but Gillian said I could. Well ... thank you ... and I’ll be out of your way now.”

  “I’m sorry if I was bitchy before.”

  “It’s okay. Gillian didn’t mention you were in here. At the risk of sounding cliché, I really enjoyed your performance tonight. I know you probably hear that ad nauseam.”

  “And yet, it never gets old. Thank you.”

  “Now, see, I think hitting those same emotional notes every night would be incredibly tough and rough on you.”

  “It’s draining sometimes, but in a way, it’s energizing.”

  “I imagine it would be draining. Is that why you were crying when I came in?”

  “What makes you think I was crying?”

  “Well, for one thing, your eyeliner is running.”

  “Oh, my God. I must look awful.” Angel pushed her out of the
way to examine her reflection.

  Mary reached for a tissue and handed it to her. “I doubt that would be possible.”

  “That’s sweet.” Angel wiped her eyes.

  “Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not unless you know how to raise people from the dead.”

  “I’m sorry. Resurrection really isn’t one of my specialties.”

  “I didn’t mean to say ...” Angel sat on the bed.

  “Don’t apologize. It’s obvious you’re upset.”

  “It’s just this actor friend of mine. I mean, we haven’t seen each other for years. We worked together as children, but when you hear they died ...”

  “I know, you remember everything. I felt that way about the guy I worked with at Macy’s. I didn’t know him that well, but it really kind of hit home somehow.”

  “Exactly.”

  Mary took a chance and sat beside her. “Was it AIDS?”

  “Worse.”

  “What’s worse than AIDS?”

  “Drugs.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “I find it plain stupid. AIDS you can try to prevent, and besides, it’s a disease. But drugs? It gets me so angry. I mean, it’s not like he didn’t have money or a loving family. He had a wife and two daughters that adore him ... adored him.”

  “I don’t understand the whole drug thing. I guess it’s like you said, ‘It’s hard enough to give myself a shot that I need.’ I can’t imagine doing it for recreation.”

  “It just makes me so angry.”

  “Look, if you’re that upset, why don’t you go back to your hotel room?”

  “That would make a lot of people angry.”

  “Why? You got some bad news. It happens.”

  “Everyone out there came to see me. They won’t be happy if I just cut out early. So, I guess I should pull myself together.”

  “In that case, you actually still have some,” she pointed to just under the eye on her own face, “mascara that ...”

  Angel wiped her face. “Did I get it?”

  “May I?” Mary grabbed a tissue.

  “As long as you don’t spit on that.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. What is it with mother’s spit anyway?” She took Angel’s face in her hand and wiped the mascara away. “I mean, if it is so wonderful as a cleaner, why don’t they bottle it?”

  “Might be tough to market a product called ‘Mother’s Spit’.”

  “How about ‘Mother’s Love Juice’?”

  Angel let loose a boisterous laugh that was contagious. “Think about what you just said.”

  When they had ceased laughing, Mary said, “There you go. All better.”

  “I look presentable.”

  “You look radiant.”

  “Are you flirting with me?”

  Mary felt the warmth in her cheeks. “What? No. I would never ...”

  “Flirt with me? Hmmm. Too bad.” Angel stood and straightened her outfit.

  “What?”

  “I was just thinking you have incredible eyes.”

  “I ... do?”

  “Surely your husband must have told you that.”

  “Husband?”

  Angel pointed. “The ring on your finger.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m not married ...”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I mean I am ... I’m just not ... not to a man.”

  “So, your wife has never told you that you have incredible eyes?”

  Mary tried to keep her voice as level as she could, “Not in a very long time.”

  “Then she’s an idiot. Is she the tall blonde you were with earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “Twelve years.”

  “That’s a long time. My longest relationship was–”

  “Three years.”

  “So, you’re a fan?”

  “Since ‘Castaway Capers’.”

  “Careful, you’re going to make me feel old.” She sat back on the bed.

  “How?”

  “How old were you when you saw that relic?”

  Mary turned to face her. “Same age you were when you made it. That’s what was so cool. I’ve seen everything you’ve done. That’s why I know you’d be perfect for–” She stopped herself.

  “Perfect for what?”

  “Nothing.” Mary had to get out of this room before she said too much. “I should probably go now.”

  THANKS FOR READING! There are two ways to read the end of the story. 1) Sign up for EA’s email list and get apprised of her new goings ons, and special offers at eakafkalas.com, and get the book for free, or 2) purchase it using links available at EA’s site, above.

  ABOUT EA KAFKALAS

  Novelist and playwright, EA Kafkalas is the author of the novels The Second Heart, Soul Mistakes, Out of Grief, and Frankie & Petra, and the plays Lopsided and Pandora’s Golden Box. A true Renaissance woman, she has worked in the theatre as an actor, director, and producer. In addition, EA is a mixed media artist working with clay and acrylics.

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