Heppermann Christine - Jesss Story

For MomC. H.

For my mothergone but not

forgottenR. K.

For all the students at

Field and Price Elementary

who called me Ms. MD. M.

J ess drummed on the underside of the table.

Taptaptap. Tap-tap-tap. Taptaptap.

SOSthe Morse code distress signal. Not that there was a chance her best friends, Sadie and Maya, would burst through the double doors of the banquet hall, past the row of waiters in their short red jackets, to rescue her. But her only other option was to die of boredom or starvation or both, soooooo...

Taptaptap. Tap-tap-tap. Taptaptap.

The very tall woman seated to her right sniffed. To her left, her mother stopped chatting with a red-faced man and gave Jess a look. A look that said, You remember what we talked about, dont you?

Jess nodded and picked up the menu.

Beneath A Celebration of Chefs, printed in swooping gold cursive, came the list: first, crab cakes. Then eels. Baby eels. In garlic sauce.

She may have made the teensiest, tiniest gagging sound.

This time her mothers look had a lot more capital letters: You Remember What We Talked About, Dont You?

Mom, are they going to announce the awards soon? So we can get out of here and go home.

Be patient.

I am being patient. Im just asking.

Your daughter is trs charmant, said the red-faced man.

Shes trs something, replied her mother. Then in a brighter tone, Jess, I was telling Chef Rnard that I used to test my recipes on you when you were a baby. Her mother turned toward the red-faced man and smiled. She ate everything I put in front of her. Quinoa with Parmesan and dill. Lemon prune whip.

Such a sophisticated palate for a little one, murmured Chef Rnard.

You whipped a prune. Jess grimaced. And made me eat it?

You banged on your high chair tray when I didnt spoon it in fast enough. Her mother and Chef Rnard laughed together. Jess ignored them and studied the centerpiece. She identified a pineapple and... was that an artichoke? She was so hungry, she could almost eat them. Well, maybe just the pineapple.

Good thing shed broughtas Maya would sayprovisions.

So, her mother continued. I named my catering business after my first and most important client. J. B. Catering. The J. B. stands for Jessica Blair.

Before her mother could launch into another thrilling story from her pastfirst diaper rash? first tooth?Jess asked, May I go to the bathroom?

She wound her way through the maze of banquet tables, each one full of chattering chefs. Some were young. Some werent. Some had tattoos twining out from under their shirt sleeves or climbing up from their collars. She caught bits of conversationfood, food, blah, blah, blah, blah, food.

At one table a boy her age or a little older sat looking down and smiling, and not because he was enchanted by his swan-shaped napkin. Shed give anything to be playing Cookie Smoosh or Pirate Party right now, but no way would her mother hand over her precious phone.

Jess returned just as the names were being called. Her mothers was first! The other chefs at the table shook her mothers hand, but limply, like they didnt mean it. Like the losing team after a soccer game.

Her mother and the rest of the winnersthree women, two menstood on a low platform, beaming. Jess joined in the applause and wished her dad were there, too. She could imagine him whistling and shouting Way to go! But his baseball teams season was only half over, so he was still on the road.

Back at the table, her mother, grinning, handed Jess a long envelope. Inside was a certificate: One Week in Chef Pauls Kitchen.

And this is good, right?

Chef Paul is famous, honey. Its a privilege to have an opportunity to work beside him. Ill learn a lot.

By cutting up his vegetables?

Lets talk about this later.

Jess poked the edge of the tablecloth, which was as white as milk. Maybe whiter. She lifted the heavy silver fork. A waiter tried to set a plate of crab cakes in front of her. Cakes. Made out of crab. That was just so... wrong. Could I maybe have a salad instead? she asked.

Of course, said the waiter.

Her mother tilted her head in concentration as she tasted the crab cakes and then said to her neighbor, Maybe a tad too much mustard.

He made a humming sound as he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Hmmm. Or not enough. The balance is certainly off.

The waiter set down Jesss salad. She took a bite of lettuce. Looked thoughtful. Looked at the ceiling. Hmmm. Either too much of something or not enough of something else.

Her mother used the Warning Voice. Jess.

Jess picked at her salad, moving little strange things to one side of her plate where they could all be strange together. In a room full of copycats, all sitting very straight, tasting deliberately, rolling their eyes in unison, she thought of her friends. If only she were with them right now. Maya spelling words twice as long as grown-up eels. Sadie identifying every bird in the neighborhood.

Away went the salad and the crab cake plates. Waiters moved fast. Jess moved fast, too, especially on soccer fields and tennis courts. A natural athlete, her father said. And he should know. But shed never want to be a waiter. That would mean, well, waiting. And it was indoors.

As the waiter served the lamb, Jess shook her head politely. He bent toward her and whispered, What if I bring you something vegetarian?

Im not really a vegetarian, but that would be great. Thanks.

The very tall woman said, You dont like lamb, dear?

I just remembered that its fleece was white as snow, she replied. Once.

The woman smiled in that annoying way grown-ups do. Jess vowed never to smile like that. Ever. She knew the word for that smile, thanks to Maya. It was condescending. To look down on. There was descend right in the middle.

Jess, how are you getting along?

Im fine, Mom. The waiter is bringing me something that didnt run around with its friends and go Baaa.

Her mothers eyes narrowed just as the waiter leaned in and presented Jess with a bowl of soup. Or she hoped it was soup. It looked like a small pond covered with scum.