Free Simmer Down by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant Page A

parsnip, etc.), lg. chop

    1 lg. onion , rough chop

    Mixed frsh. herb, rough chop (oreg., thyme, etc.)

    Looking up from the list, I was at first ready to rough chop Hannah, who didn’t give a rat’s ass about good food. How could Josh be cooking for her? I refused to make a scene. The best thing to do when faced with bad behavior was to be a class act, right?
    “Wonderful!” I proclaimed, forcing a huge smile. “Let me help you gather all these items for your romantic dinner!” I reached next to me and started grabbing red bliss potatoes and hurling them into the cart without bothering to put them in a bag. I yanked the shopping cart from Hannah’s hands and pulled it ahead ten feet. “Look at these beautiful root vegetables! And butternut squash!” I tossed five in. “How about some rutabaga? Or parsnips?” I didn’t wait for an answer and added eight of each to the growing mountain of ingredients. At the rate I was going, there’d be enough to feed a battalion of old girlfriends. I added twelve gigantic onions to the mound and reached in to mix the whole mess up. “There. Are. Your. Mixed. Root. Vegetables!” I hollered, garnering stares from the shoppers around us. “Follow me! You’ll need fresh herbs! Lots of them!” I was just plain old shouting now.
    So much for my class act.
    Hannah at least had enough sense to keep her mouth shut during my tirade and said nothing when we got to the checkout, where she paid $86.29 for her supposed dinner for two. The four overpriced organic chickens I’d insisted on hadn’t helped with cost control.
    I leaned in to the checkout person and whispered con-spiratorially, “She’s having a romantic dinner with an old boyfriend. Keep your fingers crossed!”
    Hannah watched me like I’d completely lost it. Granted, I had lost it, but for good reason, and once the crazies had kicked in, there was no stopping them. For the sake of my mental health, Detective Hurley should’ve placed Hannah in solitary confinement for the duration of her miserable life.
    As we walked silently back to the car, with Hannah carrying all the bags, I tried to regroup. I was acting as badly as Hannah. I racked my brain to come up with a smooth social work way to handle this situation and heard snippets of class lectures whip through my mind. Victim, of trauma... resulting defense mechanisms put in place to protect the fragile ego... compassion for troubled client... Hannah’s controlling and obnoxious behavior could be the result of finding herself in an out-of-control situation. I needed to cut her some slack.
    Oh, yes. While making her feel guilty and ashamed.
    I drove to her apartment complex and planned my words.
    “Right here.” Hannah pointed to a posh four-story building surrounded by a wrought-iron gate. I put the car in park.
    “Look, Hannah,” I started, finally calm, “I know you had a horrible night, and I apologize for the way I acted. But how would you feel if your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend said the things that you’ve said to me? Probably not very good. I haven’t done anything to you that warrants this kind of treatment. It is unacceptable and needs to stop.” There. Simple and to the point. I had set my boundaries and made it clear that they were not to be crossed—just as Naomi had taught me to advise our sexual harassment hotline callers!
    Hannah stared at me, expressionless.
    “So,” I continued with a little less confidence, “I understand that there can be leftover emotions from past relationships, but, um...” Why was she staring at me like that? “You see... Josh... Josh has moved on from the past and is looking forward to the future, you know, with me, and...”
    “You have parsley in your hair,” announced Hannah, reaching out and plucking a green leaf off my head. “Tell Josh to call me.” She collected her bags and slammed the door before strutting up the walkway. ^
    I was beginning to doubt that running interference between Josh and his ex