Store Bought: Part 9

I remember that week in Belmont as stained peach and yellow and soft orange. The walls of the guest bedroom where Judy had moved were the color of a strawberry banana smoothie. The leaves outside were fiery yellow, red, and orange. People had pumpkins on their front porches, except us. The new comforter was goldish brown with autumn-colored smudges all over. The cancer had made Judy’s skin jaundiced. Yellow roses were Judy’s favorite, and even though it was late in the season, we noticed one blooming in her garden after the funeral.

Judy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on October 16^th, and she died less than a month later on November 4^th. I was 12 years old. A few weeks before, she had asked my mom to take her shopping at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. She wanted a new comforter.

It is a testament to my grandmother that I feel comfortable calling her by her first name. My sister, Rebecca, my brother, Josh, and I were the oldest grandchildren by a decade. Judy was too classy to be the “Grammie” type of grandmother back then. The three of us still feel smug that we were the only “Judy” grandchildren.

During the weeks before and after her death, every time someone came in the house in Belmont, they were carrying at least one of three things: chocolate Halloween miniatures, a tray of four medium regulars from Dunkin Donuts, or a CVS bag of prescriptions.

For months after she died, there were still calls to the house asking if she’d like to picket for so-and-so issue for the Democratic Party.

I think I was about seven years old when Judy decided to have the kitchen remodeled. They took out a wall and expanded it into where the other living room used to be. Judy decided on chestnut-colored cabinets and a granite-top island in the middle. There were hardwood floors and a big table with leafs that could be added on for Thanksgiving.

Judy and Baba had the biggest bed I had ever seen. When we visited, I would go into their room in the morning and climb onto the vast mattress with the old blue and white comforter. Baba read the newspaper. Judy wore those pink silk pants and button shirt pajamas that people had in the movies. She bought me a pair to match.

Judy came into the living room where I was playing Barbies behind the couch one morning and I said, “What’cha up to, Judy-ba-doo-di?”

I loved visiting Judy and Baba’s house because there were different Barbies to play with and a dozen aunts and uncles patient enough to play with me. Once, Judy tried to take an old suitcase and line it with fabric for a Barbie box. She stapled all the material in and realized too late that she had also stapled the suitcase to the table. My dad told that story at her wake and we all laughed with red eyes and tight throats.

Judy surprised me with a giant shopping bag full of new clothes one spring. There was a green and yellow stripe FUBU shirt in there and neither of us knew that FUBU meant For Us, By Us. I proudly wore it around the streets of Boston.

There was also a spring dress in the bag. It was yellow with a band that tied around the waist. There were three daisy appliqués on the front of the waist ribbon that I will never forget. I hated them. When my mom made me wear the dress to my piano recital, I announced on the way that I wished a bolt of lightning would come and singe the daisies off of my dress.

The day after my 9^th birthday party, mom and I drove to Belmont, and on the way there I discovered hives on my face and belly and arms. I made reports up to my mom in the front seat along the way. Judy was a nurse and Baba, a doctor, so I was under close supervision for the whole weekend. When I came down for breakfast in the morning, Judy would inspect me, but she knew to be discreet. I didn’t want the whole family to see my speckled stomach, or worse, my pink cotton bra.

Anyone who knew Judy could tell you that she wore Chanel No. 5. She was the only person I ever knew to own a real fur coat, too, though I never saw her actually wear it. On holidays at Judy and Baba’s house, we used china plates and Waterford crystal.

I wasn’t born yet when she worked there, but my mom told me that she was a pediatric nurse at Boston City Hospital. Many of the patients she worked with were HIV positive.

Judy loved show tunes and she was determined that we, too, would know the classics. By the time I was seven, I could sing along to “Mein Heir,” “Two Ladies,” and “Don’t Tell Mama,” some of my favorites from our soundtrack of Cabaret.

In my dad’s barn, there is a framed photo of Judy in nylons and a skirt, sitting on Josh’s red Honda 100 dirtbike.