A Day of Celebration

"I don't think it's fair to say she's a bad person."

Delia poured a third heaping spoonful of sugar into her tea and ponderously nodded agreement with herself, as if checking to ensure she actually believed her own words. "No, she's not a bad person. Perhaps it's more accurate to say she's . . . she's . . .," Delia shrugged and let her words trail away as she stirred her tea. Cathy always made it a little stronger than Delia liked but rather than complain, she just used extra sugar.

"Eccentric? Is that the word you're looking for?"

"Eccentric! Yes, that's it. How is it you always know just the right word to use?" Delia smiled broadly, and patted her niece's hand. The girl was truly brilliant.

"Well, I'm not so sure it is the right word because, personally, I think she is a bad person, Auntie Del." Cathy sipped her own tea and gave a shrug of her shoulder. "You didn't have to live with her every day. I did. I know what kind of person she is."

Delia clucked her tongue and shook her head, not sure what to say. She gazed out the window, past the pale ruffled curtains with their teapot-print and watched as birds flit to and fro from the birdbath to the row of birdhouses perched on sticks along the back fence. She watched them but she didn't see them. Instead, she was seeing her youngest niece, Ella, in her mind's eye: the dark eyes and hair, the permanent tanned look of her skin, even in winter, the sparkling movie-star smile. She was so unlike the rest of the family. The girl had never truly fit in.

"Getting that phone call this morning was all the proof I needed," Cathy said as she took the heavy brown teapot from the warming pad. "She's self-centered and everything has to be about her."

Steam danced in puffs and swirls as she poured some of the boiling brew into her teacup. Delia watched the stream of the tea as it filled the cup and wondered what Ella was doing at this moment. Delia supposed in New York people like Ella didn't sit around the kitchen table on a Saturday morning just enjoying one another's company; sipping strong tea, planning the day, and discussing the world or the weather.

"Yes, I suppose you're right." Delia nodded absently. She let her mind wander to her existing wardrobe, and wondered if any of it would be suitable for wearing to a red carpet event.

"Oh Auntie," Cathy stared at Delia in shocked horror. "Don't tell me you're seriously considering going. Is that what this is about? This business of she's not a bad person and all?"

Delia shook her head adamantly but the blush that came to her cheeks belied her words. "No, no! Of course not."

Silence ensued for a few minutes and Delia heard the birds chirping even through the panes of glass. No, she thought, New York isn't a good place. They may have all those fancy sort of people there but do they pause to listen to the birdsong? All she knew of New York she'd seen on television, or in magazines and movies. The letters she got from Ella every two weeks painted a lovely picture, but one far too rich for Delia's blood.

"Well," Cathy said and sipped her tea. "Auntie, I'm going to be straight up with you. I don't like her." She pushed her sleep-tousled hair back from her eyes and nodded her conviction. Her blue eyes, nearly the same light shade as Delia's, met her aunt's and held.

"She's your sister." Delia tried to take a sip of tea but her hand shook and she had to set the cup back in the saucer. Some of the sweet liquid spilled in droplets on the white Formica. "Family is family, Catherine Delia." She said, using Cathy's proper and middle name. She pushed back from the table and pattered in her slippered feet to the kitchen sink.

"Well I'm sorry Auntie, but someone had to say it. None of us likes her. Not even you, if you'd only admit it." Cathy pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair. "Unlike you and my mother," Cathy continued, "some siblings just can't be close. We're too different."

Delia wasn't sure if now would be the time for confessions. They'd never talked about Delia's relationship with her own sister, Alison, Cathy's mother. Delia had let her neice believe that discussing it was just too painful. They never talked about Delia's relationship with Cathy's sister, Ella, either. Would Cathy be able to understand just how much Delia had come to depend on her other niece? She'd never told a soul that the letters from Ella usually contained checks—rather large ones. She used a little of it for herself, but her intent was to one day offer the bulk of it to her grandchildren, her brother's grandchildren, and Cathy's little girl, Trish, for college tuition. That was a long way off since the eldest of the brood was only ten, but that was all the better really. Delia could save even more. There would probably be enough to give to Cathy so she could move out of Delia's and get her own house. Cathy was adamant that she had no intention of marrying again, and there was no possible way she could afford a house by herself on her small salary and tips from the restaurant.

"It isn't that I don't like her. I just . . . don't understand her all the time." Delia wiped up the tea spill and settled her ample bottom back into the worn grooves of the chrome and mock-leather chair. She shifted uncomfortably, though it wasn't the seat but the conversation that bothered her. Seeing her own relationship with her sister played out in the next generation was a little more reality than a relaxed Saturday morning deserved.

Delia had never liked her sister either. Alison. Free-spirited Alison did as she pleased and didn't care one whit what others thought. It had led to her death in Delia's opinion, yet Alison's passing had been the very thing that had made Delia wonder if she'd perhaps been too hard on her sister, as Cathy might be now be too critical of Ella. Delia had resumed some of the earlier hatred when she'd had to pick up the pieces for the now-motherless daughters Alison had left behind. They were grown women by then, so there was no raising to do, but it was wrong all the same in Delia's opinion. Ella had only just moved to New York then, and Cathy was dating the man who would eventually propel her into the life of a struggling single mother. They may have been starting into adult lives of their own, but they were still so young. Too young to lose a mother who was too busy "living life to the fullest" as she'd put it, to be there for her girls. A boating accident off the coast of some Caribbean island had changed all of their lives forever. But even if she'd been angry about her sister's lifestyle, Delia was surprised to discover early on after her sister's death, that she actually missed Alison.

"I understand her perfectly." Cathy shook her head in anger. "I can't believe Ella would even have the gaul to call us and try to bribe us into liking her. I'm not falling for it. A big movie premiere. Please! She's an insignificant little actress with no business putting on this big show for the world as if she's actually a moral and decent person. Golden girl my ass." She slurped her tea quickly and burnt her tongue. "Damn it," she cried and carefully dabbed the tip of her tongue with her fingertips.

"You think that's what it is?" Delia asked.

"Absolutely! She sent me a check once, and I just sent it right back and told her I couldn't be bought." Cathy pounded the table with a white-knuckled fist, her eyes blazing with fury. "No amount of money can make Ella's desertion acceptable." She took a deep breath to calm herself before continuing. "After a while she stopped sending letters too. I didn't even open them. Just wrote 'Return to Sender' on the envelopes and dropped them in the mail."

Delia nodded and wondered at the smug look on Cathy's face. Is that what she herself had been like with Alison?

"Cathy," Delia sighed. "I have a question."

Cathy nodded. That phrase, no matter who uttered it, usually meant a rather delicate subject was about to be broached.

"What did you want to do with your life?"

Cathy looked at her aunt without blinking. She appeared to not understand the question. Delia tapped her finger against her chin, and bit her lower lip. "What I mean is—"

"I understand what you mean," Cathy snapped. "I'm just surprised you would ask it. I'm living the life I wanted to live. Life is about family, and values. It's about working hard and being there for one another. What we have here—this is real life. What she's doing in New York, Miss Fancy Pants actress, is not real life."

"I wanted to be a dancer," Delia said leaning her elbow on the table, and resting her cheek on her hand. She laughed. "Can you imagine me a dancer?"

Cathy laughed. "Are you serious?" She took a careful sip of her tea and then laughed again. "I'm just picturing you dancing across a stage, bumping into the young girls, making them all fall flat on their faces, and there's you, center stage, knee-high stockings, support shoes and all, waving at the crowd."

"Well not now," Delia said feeling a little hurt. "I meant when I was a young girl. I was quite good. I won two competitions. Local and county—but I didn't win state. I tried out in another competition and even though I was in the top four, I didn't win it either, and that's when I stopped dancing. I sometimes wonder if I should have kept on with it."

"No, Auntie Del! You did the right thing." Cathy patted her aunt's hand. "You came home and made a good life right here. You married a good man and you were there to take care of him when the bronchitis took hold of him. Both your boys have good jobs and pretty wives. Your daughter and her husband are making a good living with teaching, and you are a wonderful grandmother to all of your children's children, and mine. You have a good life Auntie."

Delia sighed. Yes, it was a nice life and she wasn't complaining but she couldn't help wondering if it might have been different.

"Dreams are for children, Auntie. I hope you're not having any regrets."

"No, not regrets. Just . . . wonderings really."

Cathy frowned. "My sister always wanted to be an actress, all her life. She could never accept that big lives like that weren't meant for people like us and that's what soured her. Ella became a very self-centered girl and stopped caring about family." Cathy drained her cooled tea and poured another cup, topping up her aunt's as well. "You remember how she missed my twenty-first birthday party because she just had to run off to some audition with her girlfriends? She didn't even get the part, but she missed a momentous occasion in her own sister's life."

Delia nodded. She had forgotten about that but didn't want to hurt her niece by admitting it.

"What was your childhood dream?" Delia asked.

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" Cathy shrugged. "Fine then. I was going to be a writer. A script writer in fact." A sardonic smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Ella and I would make all these big plans about our futures. She would live in a big New York penthouse, and I would live in a monstrous house in Hollywood. I would write movies, and she would fly out and stay with me while she acted in them."

Delia smiled. "It sounds lovely."

"It sounds make believe!" Cathy said with a harsh scowl. "Dreams don't pay bills."

Delia didn't point out that it appeared Ella's dreams were doing just that, and then some. "What made you stop writing?"

Cathy stretched and looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh, Auntie, we need to get dressed." She rose from the table, tightened the belt of her housecoat and began cleaning up the tea and toast dishes. "We've been tripping down memory lane long enough. I need to check the marinated steaks I started last night and make sure they'll be set to go for the barbeque this afternoon. And the aspic should be set by now too I'm guessing."

"We have a little time."

"Not really. A town doesn't celebrate its centennial every day. This is a big celebration and people are counting on us to be there."

Delia smiled and patted the vacated chair.

"You just won't let this go." Cathy slumped back in her seat. "I wish she'd never called. She ruined my day."

Delia said nothing but folded her hands in her lap and waited wordlessly for Cathy to speak.

"I stopped writing after two rejection letters."

Delia threw her head back as she laughed.

"What's so funny? I was smart enough to stop when I realized I couldn't make it and set my sights on making a real life for myself. You should understand that!"

"Oh I do," Delia said. "Two was your magic number as well, just like me. Oh we are alike we two."

"Thank you," Cathy said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed Delia's cheek. "I adore you Auntie and I'm honored you would say that."

"Oh Cathy, I'm an old fool and you're a young one. But we are definitely fools."

Cathy sat up stiffly, her lips pursed. Without speaking, she rose and resumed her task of cleaning up.

"Let me help," Delia offered and started to rise. Cathy pushed down on her aunt's shoulders and shook her head.

"No, no. Don't trouble yourself. Leave this menial work to the young fool—you old fool."

"Oh Cathy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just that all this wondering has my mind working in a different way this morning."

"Well, I don't like it."

"Do you still have any of your old scripts lying around?"

"No." Cathy stated. "And I don't have skipping ropes or doll carriages hanging around either. All that childhood garbage is long gone."

Dishes rattled in the sink where Cathy was filling the old basin with sudsy water. They didn't make kitchen sinks like this one anymore. The porcelain was faded off in spots so the black showed through, but it was sturdy and wide. It didn't require special treatment like the "stainless" steel sinks that needed the right cleanser to keep them stain-free. Some things were just better left alone.

"Do you have any new scripts then?"

Cathy spun around, eyes wide with shock, mouth agape. She stared at her aunt as if the older woman had morphed into Ella. "New scripts? I can't believe you'd even ask that! I . . . you . . ." She clamped her lips shut and turned to the task at hand. "Go get dressed Auntie. We have to go pick up my daughter from her father's in about an hour and head over to the fairgrounds. My aspic won't win any ribbons sitting in the fridge all day."

Delia nodded and pattered out of the room. Cathy shook her head. "Me, a fool. How dare she." A few minutes later, music floated through the house and Cathy turned her head toward the door leading to the living room. She dried her hands on the dishtowel and followed the sound. She found her aunt dancing in the middle of the living room. Delia, mid-spin, smiled broadly at her niece.

"I can't do the splits any longer, but watch this." She kicked her right leg out, did a little jump, landed on her right foot and went into a three-point spin, ending her little dance on one knee, her arms spread wide. "Ta-dum!"

"Auntie, you're too old for that." Cathy strode to the old stereo cabinet and took the arm off the scratchy record. She shut the stereo off and turned back toward the kitchen. "We don't have time for these distractions. The clock's ticking."

"I still love to dance, Cathy. I dance when nobody's home. My secret's out, so now it's your turn. Tell me about your scripts." Delia sat back on her heels, right in the middle of the living room, smoothed the worn flannel of her pink nightie and laced her fingers together in her lap. She watched Cathy's shoulders heave, and waited for Cathy to turn around, to speak.

Cathy slowly turned from the doorway and took a step toward her aunt. The anguish in her niece's eyes hurt Delia, but the phone call this morning had changed things somehow. Cathy's sister didn't just have a walk-on part this time, or yet another supporting role. She was the star. That was nothing to scoff at. It had jarred Delia out of complacency and filled her with curiosity and unacknowledged longing for the path not taken.

"I'm no good at it, Auntie Del." Cathy sat down on the edge of the couch, and dabbed at her tears. "I'm just no good. Two rejections from big studios. I mean big studios. I know I'm not good at it, but I can't help it. Sometimes, I still write them and it just kills me when I see a movie with one of my ideas in it and it's always better than mine. Okay, well not always. Some of mine are better. But it's all a fantasy. Another movie comes out . . . and I know this is just one more script for me to toss in the trash." She covered her face with her hands and cried. Delia walked on her knees over to where her niece sat and enfolded the woman-girl in her arms.

"Oh Cathy, honey. I didn't mean to make you cry."

Cathy pushed her aunt away and strode across the room, her back to Delia. "Why'd you do it, Auntie? Why'd you have to dredge up all this old garbage?" She turned to face her aunt again, tears wetting her cheeks. "Today is supposed to be a day of celebration and you've ruined it for me. You and Miss Priss. Why'd you have to do it?"
Using the couch to support her, Delia moved off the floor and slumped on the sofa. "I don't know." Cathy used the sleeve edge of her housecoat to dry her cheeks. Finally, shoulders slumped, she shuffled back to the couch and slowly sat down next to her aunt, staring listlessly at the floor. Both sat lost in thoughts of longing and regret, neither speaking.

"I miss your mother," Delia said, unfocused eyes on the braided throw rug where moments before she'd danced with abandon.

"Well of course you do. You two were very close."

"You know, I've always wondered where you got that idea." Delia asked.

"Well, from mom." Cathy dabbed at her still moist eyes. Dust danced in the block of sunlight she'd passed through a few moments before, and now she watched the dust motes slowly resume their gentle mid-air stirring.

Delia smiled and shook her head. "I hated your mother."

Cathy shook her head in bewilderment. "But you couldn't have. She always had good things to say about you. She talked as though you two were very close. She thought you were close."

"No she didn't. She knew I didn't like her. You know what one of the things was that I hated most about her? That she forgave me. She seemed to always have this condescending understanding of poor, poor Delia. While she was off writing about exotic locales for travel magazines, poor Delia was stuck in Small Town Nowhere-ville living a sad and pathetic little life."

"But there was nothing condescending about her." Cathy said.

"Oh, yes. I know that now. But I didn't always."

"She was a little too eccentric at times, but she never had a bad word to say about anyone, especially you, Auntie. Mama always talked about you as if you were this noble woman with strong principles. She raised me to have admiration for you. I got the impression she admired you too. She told us stories about the two of you, and how close you used to be."

"Before she went off and saw the world, you mean. That had always been her dream. I resented her for it. While I was here raising my family, struggling to make ends meet, she was traipsing through Europe and bringing back little gifts for all of us. I was so jealous." Delia shook her head. "You know, I only just realized that now. I was insanely jealous." She laughed until tears formed at the corners of her eyes. "Here I thought I was so angry at her because she was irresponsible. Once she was pregnant with you, I convinced her that she owed it to you to settle down and make a good life for you. 'Children need roots,' I said. And here you are. Rooted in this very spot."

"That's not fair, Auntie. I like my life."

"And I like mine. What's that got to do with it? I'm just wondering if we'd have liked our lives more if we'd had the courage your mother had. The courage your sister has."

"Oh, Auntie Del! She is not courageous. She's self-centered and foolish. She just—" Cathy paused. "Well, she's . . ."

"It takes a special kind of brave to stand up to your family and go after your dreams." They were quiet for a time, before Delia spoke again. "You know I get letters from her?"

Cathy nodded.

"Did you know Ella never has a bad word to say about you? She wishes you love in every letter."

"Oh she does not. You're just saying that to make me think—you're just . . . she only . . . well, why didn't you tell me?"

Delia shrugged and rose from the couch. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. You're more like me than you realize." She crossed the room, set the arm of the record player back on the record and hummed as Elvis Presley music filled the air. She turned it down so they could talk over the sound of it, but stood swaying to the beat of the music. "This was my favorite album when I was a girl."

"Then you ought to get it on one of those new things all the kids are into now. CDs. You really hated my mother?"

"Yes." Delia did a turn and a quick step-slide, resumed swaying, and hummed a few bars. "Despised her at times. And now, sometimes I miss her so much that it actually hurts. Like a physical ache. Right here." She pointed to her heart.

"Do you think . . .?" Cathy bit her lower lip.

Delia nodded. "Mm hmm. If you don't make up with your sister and if something happened to her, it would pain you for the rest of your life."

"I saw her last movie." Cathy said.

"Did you?" Delia stopped dancing and a smile spread across her face.

"I know, I know. I said I'd never do it, but . . . I've seen all her movies." Cathy plucked at a piece of lint on her housecoat. "She's a good actress," she muttered with a shrug.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you." Delia cupped her hand behind her ear and leaned forward.

"I said she's pretty good."

"Ah." Delia nodded and did a little rattle and roll routine, then took a bow at the end of the song.

Cathy smiled and shook her head. "You know, Auntie Del, I still can't get that image out of my mind about you knocking down a row of Vegas Show Girls. It would make a funny scene in a . . ."

"Oh Cathy, what have we done?" Delia sat down beside her niece and implored with her eyes. "What have we silly fools done?"

"Or not done?" Cathy added. They both leaned back on the sofa, exhaling loudly as they gazed at the ceiling.

"You're thinking what I'm thinking aren't you?" Delia asked after a moment.

"That the ceiling needs painting?"

"That too. But you're wondering what you're going to wear to your sister's movie premiere."

Cathy laughed in response.

"Did you know she sends me money?" Delia asked, still gazing at the ceiling.

"I guessed. I know Uncle didn't leave you much when he died."

"Much? Try nothing. We lived for payday and never did take out life insurance. We kept meaning to but just never did. Most of what your sister sends, I put away for the grandchildren and Trish. She's a beautiful little girl, Cathy."

Cathy smiled. "You know she wants to be an actress just like her famous auntie."

"The hated Auntie Ella?"

Cathy blushed. "Well, I've never told her I hate her. I just make sure I'm always too busy to take her to see her aunt's latest movie. I let her father do that."

"Little Trish, an actress. I can see that happening," Delia nodded thoughtfully, then her eyes narrowed as if she was pondering some important matter. "Actor. Actress. Is it actress? I thought they were all called actors now, men and women."

"Oh they are, but actress sounds so glamorous." Cathy laughed. "I liked thinking of Ella as glamorous and stuck-up so I could hate her more."

Delia smiled and lifted her head. "Well, I suppose I should get dressed. The fair waits for no one. I'll pick Trish up on my way and make sure she gets to go on every stomach turning ride on the grounds—as long as she understands I'll just watch from where my feet are planted on solid ground." Delia pulled herself up with a groan.

"What do you mean? I'll be there."

"And I'll make sure you get full credit for the aspic."

"You don't need to do any of that. I'll be there."

"With a script to write! You'll be so busy scratching out notes to include in your movie, there won't be time for you to stand around and watch judges taste aspic, or lose your lunch on the Tilt-a-Whirly thing."

Cathy blushed and nodded, feeling tears beginning to wet the edges of her lashes. "Thank you, Auntie."

Delia smiled and waved acknowledgement as she headed toward her bedroom.

"Auntie Del? You wouldn't happen to have a phone number for my glamorous, stuck-up sister would you?"

Delia nodded.

"Okay good. I want to ask her what people are wearing to premieres these days."

Delia paused at the door to her bedroom. "You mean screenwriters; what screenwriters are wearing."

"Oh Auntie, you're being silly."

"No I'm not," she said. "While you're at it, ask her what dance school instructors wear. I think I'll use some of that money she gave me to open a dance studio. Between the three of us, we'll earn enough to get your grandchildren's children through college. Or Juliard's!" Delia giggled. "Enough chatter! I better hurry and get dressed." She hurried to her room and closed the door.

Cathy sprang to her feet, and rushed down the short hall to where the bedrooms were. She rapped at Delia's door and called out, "Auntie, be sure to wear something spectacular. It's not every day our town celebrates such a momentous occasion."

She hummed an Elvis tune and did a little dance down the hall. She ended on one knee, arms spread-eagle, a wide grin on her face, and whispered, "Tadum!"