The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 23

"Maribeth!" Sonya called. "Time for dinner."

When Maribeth entered the kitchen she watched her aunt lift a pot from the range and dump boiling water into a metal colander. Clouds of steam rose from the sink.

Maribeth was familiar with the process of boiling. Indigo boiled potatoes, ears of corn, green beans, rice, and eggs. Though Maribeth wasn't exactly sure what her mother was doing, she often watched Indigo boil hemp and oils as part of her laundry detergent operation. But Sonya's boiling method was producing something different. Maribeth didn't recognize the smell and the lack of recognition brought on a wave of anxiety. Her eyes scanned the floor, the table, and the kitchen counter for clues.

Sonya scooped a serving of pasta onto Maribeth's plate. "It's spaghetti," she said with a smile. 

The word bounced off of Maribeth's wrinkled brow. 

Her aunt set the plate on the table. "Long noodles," said Sonya, lifting a few strands with her pasta fork. "You never had spaghetti?"

The little girl answered with a quizzical look at the nest of pasta on her plate.

"Lots of kids like spaghetti," Sonya said.

"Lots of kids like kickball," said Maribeth. "But it makes me sad."

"Spaghetti won't make you sad. How much sauce do you want?"

"What?" Maribeth said. "Sauce?"

"Tomato sauce. It goes on the spaghetti." Sonya read the label. "It's got tomatoes, garlic, onion, and water."

"No sauce. No. No sauce. At all."

"Just plain noodles?"

No answer.

"You like tomatoes, right?"

"Oh, geez. Not all smashed together like that."

"Why don't you try it?"

"Do we have any apples?"

Sonya placed a can of grated parmesan on the table. "Here's some cheese." She sat down across from Maribeth with her plate, spaghetti covered in sauce. She shook some cheese from the can.

Maribeth watched without saying a word.

"You can't eat apples and carrots for every meal," said Sonya.

"I like apples and carrots."

"You need some pasta and bread in your diet. Eat your spaghetti before it gets cold."

Reluctantly, Maribeth put a single noodle in her mouth and sucked it in.

"So, your birthday is coming up soon," said Sonya. "What would you like for a birthday present?"

Maribeth shrugged and ingested a second noodle.

"Don't you get presents on your birthday?"

She shrugged again.

"I remember your momma on her birthday." Sonya giggled. "She wanted to be a cowboy. Three birthdays in a row."

"A cowboy?"

"So our mom and dad bought her a cowboy hat for her fourth birthday. She liked that but she wanted boots. Real cowboy boots, she said."

Maribeth slurped up another noodle.

"So, the next year, when she was five, she still wanted to be a cowboy. So our mom and dad gave her this really awesome horse to ride."

"A real horse?"

"No, it was a toy horse but it looked like a real horse. Indigo was mad that she didn't get real cowboy boots. She always had a bad temper."

Maribeth met her eyes briefly and then focused on her plate.

Sonya said, "She colored pieces of paper and taped them to her legs to make her shoes look like boots. It was totally ridiculous. The paper would rip and fall off when she was playing cowboy and that made her mad."

"She taped paper to her legs?" Maribeth asked. "That doesn't even make sense."

"And then she really got in trouble," Sonya said. "She found some markers and drew boots right on her legs. My mom tried scrubbing the marker off but it stayed on her legs for months." Sonya laughed at the memory. "Indigo was such a stubborn girl."

"And what about her next birthday? When she was six?"

"She was so mad that she still didn't get cowboy boots that she spent her whole birthday in the closet." Sonya shook with laughter.

"Oh, geez. What does hiding in a closet have to do with being a cowboy?"

Sonya twirled a forkful of spaghetti and brought it to her mouth. "That's your momma. She wouldn't even come out to eat her birthday cake. Stayed in there next to the vacuum cleaner all day."

Maribeth thought about that for a while, unable to make sense of it. When she turned her attention to Sonya, she was intrigued by her aunt's spaghetti twirling technique and decided to try it.  "I know what I want," she said. "And maybe it could be a birthday present." She twirled some spaghetti onto her fork.

"You're not gonna say cowboy boots, are you?"

"No. It's nothing about cowboys," said Maribeth, her cheeks bulging with spaghetti. "Anyway, I don't want to be Maribeth Finch anymore."

"You don't what?"

"Lizzie Nickerson," she said, her shoulders back, her chin tilted upward. "That's me. Lizzie Nickerson."

"Lizzie Nickerson? Where did that come from?"

"That's who I am and that's who I want to be."

"What about Lizzie Finch?"

"I don't want to be a Finch."

"I'm a Finch," said Sonya a little offended.

Lizzie met her eyes with her customary blank expression.

Sonya realized that there was no point arguing about the girl's birthday wish and she truly believed, or at least hoped, the new name would pass. But it didn't. When she called "Maribeth," the little girl wouldn't answer or, when cornered, would respond, "There's no Maribeth here."

It was futile to pursue the matter any further. When Lizzie set her focus on something there was no changing her mind.

"Okay." Sonya sighed. "If it makes you happy, Lizzie Nickerson it is."