"Mae, you still make the best apple pie ever!" my father said, rubbing his full stomach contently. There were hearty agreements from the rest of the adults sitting around the table. Mrs. Nolan's pie wasn't the only dessert out. Our neighborhood's annual block party was winding its way down and the table was covered with some of my favorites. Mrs. Franklin's triple chocolate brownies were amazing and Mrs. Collin's pumpkin -praline cheese cake was something else. Everyone had their specialty and today was the one day a year the neighborhood got together and shared.
"She gave me the recipe last year, but my apple pie just doesn't come out as good," my mother sighed. I loved my mother very much, but a cook she wasn't. I had to give her credit though. She never stopped trying.
"That's okay dear," my father grinned. "You're the best at other things." He said it in a way that left little doubt what he was talking about. I'm sure I was blushing as I shook my head. Pop was drunk. Mom always said he got flirty when he drank. My friend Ben called it something else, but I didn't like to think about it.
"Mae one of these days I have to come over while you're making it," my mother said, ignoring my father's innuendo.
"Any time," Mrs. Nolan smiled. "Bring your daughter Katie with you. That girl had a knack for baking."
Her house was three doors down from us, but despite how close we lived our family really didn't get to know her well until the last year or so. I guess it took so long because she didn't have any kids and kept to herself.
We probably wouldn't have known much about Mrs. Nolan even still, but pop got into a bad car accident last year and Mrs. Nolan was walking by when mom was desperate for a baby sitter. Not only did Mrs. Nolan volunteer so mom could go to the hospital once my mother explained, but she cooked dinner and did a great job keeping the kids distracted. Thankfully, as bad as my father was hurt, it was all fixable. Mrs. Nolan continued to help out with Katie and Francis while dad recuperated.
I was busy playing sports after school so I didn't really see her much during that time, but then again, it was different coming home to one of her home cooked meals sitting on the stove as opposed to mom's, not that I ever said that out loud. Mom was overly sensitive about her lack of cooking skills.
Mrs. Nolan generally dressed frumpily and didn't give much effort making herself look appealing. She seldom wore makeup and her hair was always up. Frankly, she always seemed a little sad to me. Mom said it was because of what happened with Mr. Nolan. He died of cancer almost a decade ago. I remember wondering out loud why she never remarried. Mom had smiled oddly and said that Mrs. Nolan was still very much in love with her husband despite him being gone and that she probably would never marry again. Some women were like that.
I felt bad for Mrs. Nolan. She seemed nice enough. I always thought that it was shame she didn't have any kids before her husband died. She would have made a great mom. It was obvious with the way Francis and Katie took to her.
"You know, I think I might be able to fit one more piece of pie," my father said, bringing my thoughts back to the present.
"Seriously?" my mother asked in that tone. Pop laughed along with the others, but that didn't stop him from taking more pie.
The annual block party had sort of fizzled out the last two years and there was talk about cancelling. To be fair, the problem was more the weather than anything else. The first year it rained and the second it actually hit one hundred degrees. The weather was perfect today despite the heat wave we'd been having this summer. Maybe that's why everyone got so into the party this year.
My father wasn't the only person drunk, but most of the adults weren't that bad. They seemed to really be enjoying themselves. Hell, they even took part in the annual water balloon fight this year which had never happened before. Quite a few of them had water stains on their clothes.
"I think it's time for shots!" Mr. Bell grinned suddenly. There were groans around the table, but a surprising number of the parents were willing. That's where I came in. My parents had volunteered me to be the bar tender an hour or so ago. That's why I wasn't with my friends at Ben's house sneaking drinks with the rest of the teenagers. I had hoped to convince Janice, Mr. Bell's daughter who liked to party just as much as her dad, to have some fun, but I guess it wasn't to be. Damn!
"Line'em up!" Mr. Bell cried, grinning at me. I shook my head, but started filling the plastic shot glasses with tequila. He handed them out as quickly as I poured them. I was surprised when he took the last one and handed it to me. "Here, you might as well have one. You'll be at college in a month." I glanced at my parents. Mom frowned, but dad smiled and nodded. Things were starting to look up.
We did the shot and Mr. Bell insisted that I immediately start pouring another round. Some of the parents bowed out, but others took their place. I noticed that Mrs. Nolan was sitting at a table by herself.
"What about her?" I asked Mr. Bell softly. He turned and saw Mrs. Nolan sitting there.
"Mae!" he cried, taking an extra glass to the table. "Your turn!"
"Oh no!" she cried in surprise. "I couldn't. I haven't done a shot in years! My George always said alcohol went to my head far too fast."
"One shot won't kill you!" Mr. Bell insisted, holding the glass out. She hesitated, but then slowly reached out and took the glass.
Mom took the glass Mr. Bell tried to hand me a few moments later and gave me that look, but I didn't mind. I was too busy watching the adults joking as they downed theirs. Mrs. Nolan surprised me because she downed hers without a problem. I just never pictured her being a partier.
There was a break before the next shot, but only a few minutes. Mrs. Nolan took the next shot without comment. It went down just as easily as the first, but I noticed that she did seem a little flushed afterward.
The parents finished the two bottles of tequila in quick order. Most didn't join in with every shot, but there were some hard core partiers like Mr. Bell. Mrs. Nolan took a break after her second shot. She went back to the table and started talking with mom and some of the other ladies. I noticed that she was laughing a lot more than usual.
"Here," Mr. Bell said, handing me a shot glass so I could join in the next round. Mom was too busy talking to notice. An hour later I was feeling pretty good. Mr. Bell had only snuck me another shot or two before mom saw and cut me off, but it was enough.
Mrs. Nolan rejoined the drinkers just after mom caught me. That's when it happened. There are times in your life when your perception about someone shifts dramatically. This wasn't the first time it happened to me.
I still remember the day in fifth grade when Ben, a quiet kid who was a good foot shorter than me, stood up to a big seventh grader because he was picking on Jill Brody. I joined him in backing the older kid down, but only after he took the first step. I think on some instinctual level I realized at that moment that Ben was going to be one of those rare friends that stood by you through thick and thin. We'd been fast friends from that moment on.
This was different of course, but along the same line. Mrs. Nolan hadn't really taken part in the water balloon fight, but she was hit in her right shoulder by a stray somewhere along the line. Her entire right side got wet, including her blouse. I hadn't noticed earlier because I guess she was conscious of the fact and was being careful, but after the next shot she seemed to forget and stood in a way that let me see just how nice her breast looked with her blouse clinging to it.
It was in that moment that Mrs. Nolan stopped being the nice, unassuming neighborhood widow to me and became a woman. Not just any woman, but one with very nice tits. I looked at her closer than I ever had before. She had pale skin with a light smattering of freckles and auburn hair that was always up. I wondered what it looked like down.
Mrs. Nolan wore glasses that were a few years out of style. Her eyes were a soft brown. I thought they'd look very sexy if the glasses were gone. She wasn't heavy, but then again she was built sturdy. I really couldn't see much of her body with the clothes she wore. Her face was still flush from the alcohol and seemed far more alive than usual. Someone said something funny and she laughed again. It struck me that she had a very nice smile.
