Carving a pumpkin is a daunting task. Sure, it looks simple on TV or in those decoration magazines, but the truth is you need strength to be able to cut through that thick skin! I have been at it for an hour now. Why did I let her choose the design? A haunted house? Really? Why did I agree to this? This digging into a pumpkin business does not live up to the hype. My apron is full of pumpkin gut and juice, I keep wiping beads of sweat from my brow, and my assistant is of little help. Sitting on a small stool right next to me, wearing a mini version of my apron, Natalie is staring down at the design in the magazine and looking back up at our work with a furrowed, incredulous brow. Or rather, my work now because Little Miss Muffet got grossed out the second she felt the pumpkin pulp on her hand. From that moment on, she has been like one of those judges in one of those reality shows. Skeptical of my talent as a pumpkin carver.
It is the first Halloween Natalie offered to help carve the pumpkin, and it looks like it will be the last. Carving out the last bat on the pumpkin’s skin, I step back and admire my handiwork. With a triumphant smile, I turn to my daughter, who is scowling. I sigh.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” I ask her.
“It doesn’t look like in the picture,” she tells me, pointing to the neatly cut pumpkin in the magazine.
It is true. The house is crooked, and the bats are unrecognizable. I shrug my shoulders.
“It will look better once we put the candle in, you’ll see,” I tell her.
She looks up at me incredulous. The familiar melody of the doorbell echoes through the house. Saved by the bell!
I tousle my daughter’s dark curls, make a funny face at her, and head to answer the door. Natalie closes the magazine and jumps off the stool, and tags along. Peeking through our living room window, my daughter’s squeal of joy resonates in the hallway. Julie, our next-door neighbour, is standing on our front porch. She waves at us through the window, and Natalie rushes to the front door.
I open the door and greet our long-time neighbour. My daughter jumps on her, and Julie grabs her, picks her up, and gives her a big bear hug. She makes a kissing noise right beside Natalie’s ear.
“What are you up to, baby girl?” Julie asks Natalie, putting her back down on the floor.
My daughter melts at that pet name and swings from side to side while answering her question.
“We’re cutting a pumpkin with momma, but it doesn’t look like the picture!” she tells her, half disappointed, half smiling.
Julie laughs.
“Well, good! You don’t want your pumpkin to look all pretty and nice, do you? You want it to look weird and scary! It’s Halloween! Ouuuuu!” she says.
Julie is a lifesaver! She tickles Natalie, and she giggles. She then notices Julie’s bracelet and turns it around her thin, delicate wrist, admiring every trinket attached to it. Julie then turns to me.
“I would give you a proper hug, honey, but I’m all covered in pumpkin gut. I’m afraid,” I tell her lifting my apron to show her the evidence.
Julie is a college sophomore and Natalie’s occasional babysitter. She is a beautiful girl with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, and Natalie loves her. Michael and I are very fond of her as well. Her parents are good friends, and she grew up in the neighbourhood, and I consider them family.
She laughs at my comment and hugs me anyway.
“That's ok, Mrs. Arnold. I'm pretty dirty myself, what with all the preparations and all! I came to tell you that I'm organizing a Halloween party tomorrow night with some friends. We might get a little bit loud, but we won't stay up too late. Probably until midnight tops," she informs me.
"And do Rob and Martha know about this party? Or are they in for a surprise?” I joke, giving her a mischievous smile.
“Oh no! I wouldn’t dare! Of course, they are aware! They are out of town for the weekend visiting grandma. I opted out this time. It’s starting to get hard to visit her,” she shares, her playful smile fading a little.
“Still not recognizing you, huh?” I ask her.
Her eyes glisten, but her smile remains.
“She thinks I’m my mom and that mom is her sister. Dad’s identity changes; sometimes he’s her husband, sometimes he’s her son, sometimes he’s a nice stranger,” she explains, clearing her throat.
“Oh hun, I’m so sorry,” I tell her.
Even though my situation is not far from her own, I lack the words to express myself to bring her any sort of comfort. I have not found them for myself yet. How can I possibly have the right words for someone else? Instead, I reach out and rub her shoulder.
“Well, don’t you worry about the noise. Natalie sleeps like a log, and I won't be getting much sleep this weekend anyway. Michael also left town for a business trip this morning, and he won't be back until Sunday," I say, controlling the apprehension in my voice.
Maybe she will not notice. But she does. Apart from my husband, Natalie and now Dr. Andrews, Julie is the only one who knows about my fear of the dark. I had to tell her right off the bat the first week she babysat for us. She kept turning off all the lights around the house in unoccupied rooms. So, we would come home, and the house would be almost submerged in total darkness apart from the living room or kitchen. It made me anxious and apprehensive about going back home from a date with Michael or a night out with friends. She never judged me or blabbered about it to her parents or any of the neighbours, which was surprising to me. Teenage girls like to talk and gossip about the parents that hire them.
But Julie was never your typical teenager. And for that, I was grateful and always repaid her with a generous tip she was embarrassed to take with the excuse that Natalie was an easy child.
"Do you need me to watch the baby for a few hours during the day? Like that, you can get things done around the house, get a few hours to yourself," she proposes in a casual tone, but I discern a hint of concern in her voice.
Natalie lights up at the sound of those words.
"Nah. You have enough to worry about with that party of yours. But thanks anyway, honey," I answer a bit too fast.
The understood but unspoken is always an awkward subject to approach. Natalie sighs and goes back to playing with Julie's jewelry.
"Are you sure?" Julie asks again.
This time she does not bother hiding her concern. It is on full display, eyes locked into mine, no smile in sight, her body leaning towards mine like she is ready to jump into action at any moment. I just want to hug her all over again.
"Yes, sweetie! I'm sure! But if ever I need you, I'll let you know," I tell her in the most reassuring voice I can muster.
"Ok, then. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me,” Julie offers.
“I sure do,” I tell her, nodding my head.
“Well, have a nice evening, and Happy Halloween!" she tells us, back to her cheerful self.
The unspoken has left the room, and I can breathe again. Julie leans back in and hugs me. She then crouches down to Natalie's level and hugs her again.
"Goodbye, baby girl! See you later, alligator," she says with a playful tone.
My daughter gives her a big embrace.
"In a while, crocodile," she replies, giggling.
Julie skips down our front steps, and I cannot help but smile at the fact that she still calls Natalie 'the baby' even though she is four years old. Having remained quiet for most of the conversation, Natalie did not miss one bit of it.
"Why doesn't she invite us to her party, momma?" she asks.
I run my fingers through her unruly curls and smile down at her.
"Well, baby, probably because I'm too old, and you're too young!" I answer with a wink.
She giggles.
"You're not old, momma! Old people are wrinkly, like grandpa!" she informs me.
More giggles.
At my dad's mention, my conversation with Dr. Andrews comes flashing back into my mind. I remember the homework he left for me to do. I think I am going to take Julie up on her offer after all.