Free Getting to Happy by Terry McMillan

the delivery boy’s shoulder. She smiled at the boat parked in the driveway. As soon as Marvin had left this morning, she called Tarik to drive it on over. He had hidden it in his backyard for two days. The small Mexican boy didn’t look a day over fifteen and couldn’t be an inch over five feet. There was a hint of black peach fuzz below his nose and he was the one driving that van, so what did she know? “You are Gloria Matthews?”
    “I am, indeed.”
    “ Bueno. These flowers for you.” He handed the tall vase to her but it was obvious it was too heavy. “I take in for you?” he asked, first with his eyes.
    Gloria stepped aside. “Thank you.”
    “Happy birthday to you,” he said, as if he’d memorized it.
    “Oh, it’s not my birthday. Anniversary!”
    “ Si! Concrashulations!” he said proudly.
    “Muchas gracias!” She ushered him across the room to the nook, where he set the vase in the center of the white table. The tissue paper around the base was wet but she didn’t care. “Muchas gracias,” she said to the boy again, and signed the delivery receipt. As he turned to leave, Gloria reached into what she called her everything drawer and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Wait! Tip for you!” she yelled as if he were deaf.
    The young man looked shocked when he saw it was a ten. He took a step forward as if he wanted to hug her but knew it was inappropriate. This woman had made his day. And night. He knew he had made hers, too.
    After he’d gone, Gloria remembered she’d forgotten to take her blood pressure medication again. She took her daily aspirin before she went to bed. She’d had a heart attack back in ’89, right after she met Marvin. This was when he became her personal trainer and nutritionist. He saw to it Gloria walked almost daily and ate wisely. The only time she cheated was during holidays and their anniversary. She was looking forward to having a little gravy this evening.
    As she lifted the top off the oxtails, Gloria knew it would still be a couple of hours before she could add the carrots, tomatoes and butter beans. Butter beans? She didn’t see any of those cans on the counter because she hadn’t taken any out of the cabinet. Shoot. She called Marvin.
    “What’s going on, baby?” he said, singing it like Marvin Gaye.
    “Yes, Mr. Gaye, would you mind picking up a few cans of butter beans on your way home?”
    “I thought you were my butter beans?”
    “I am, but I’m not in a can. How soon before you think you’ll be finished?”
    “Are you rushing me, woman?” he asked, trying to sound harsh, which was almost impossible. “I’ll be there when I get there!”
    Gloria tried to hold back her laughter. “You know Tarik and Nickida are planning to stop by for a hot minute in about an hour or so with the kids. They made us something.”
    “I hope she didn’t have to cook it.”
    Nickida doesn’t have any cooking skills. Gloria and Marvin haven’t been able to figure out how they’re all still alive. She refuses to follow a recipe, and Gloria has tried to teach her the basics since her own mama apparently forgot. Nickida still can’t make a decent tuna sandwich. Even eggs give her problems.
    “The kids made it,” she said while stirring. “Something out of clay. Again.”
    “Then make some room on the shelf by the fireplace. It’s funny how these masterpieces never seem to break, huh, baby?”
    “I’m telling you the truth, but they’re our grandbabies and our house is their museum. So there you go.”
    “Didn’t you hide that volcano that looked like a perforated green penis?”
    “I sure did,” Gloria said, and started laughing. “I have to find it. It was too hard explaining to folks. I keep forgetting to pull it out when they come over. But they don’t seem to notice. Anyway, that beige eruption that sat on the tip of it fell off and broke into so many pieces I cut my toe on it. I cannot for the life of me remember where I hid it. Anyway, baby, are