Unwinding

I missed 14 words in the January 16, 2024, NYT Spelling Bee puzzle. All 14 are included, in bold type, in this story. The missed words, in alphabetical order, are as follows: Celli, Clink, Elect, Electee, Elicit, Illicit, Intellect, Lenience, Littleneck, Neck, Neckline, Necktie, Telekinetic, and Tinct.

“Are you practicing your telekinetic powers over there, Madame Electee?”

“What are you talking about?” Julie asked, glancing at the time on her laptop when her husband walked past the dining room table into the kitchen. 6:12 pm. Time for unwinding.

“The little thing in front of you that looks like it might be grape jam. You were staring so hard, I wondered if you were trying to open it with your mind instead of your fingers. Is it poison? Something illicit?

She picked up the sealed plastic container and continued to examine the thing. It was about the size of a Coffee-Mate creamer you’d find at a truck stop on the freeway. “You’re right that it has a burgundy tinct, Presto, but it’s not a condiment. It’s the blood of Christ.”

“Whoa, did that fall into the wrong hands.” Preston chuckled, loosening his slate blue paisley necktie and unbuttoning his collar.  

Julie snickered, rose from the table, and gave him a kiss. Twenty-five years of marriage and not a day went by that her husband did not elicit a laugh. She showed him the purple Christ-creamer.

“Seriously, where’d you get that?”

“Jessica gave it to me when I was in Dallas last week. She knew I’d like it.”

“Where’d she get it?”

“Oh, she went to a baptism at one of those Texas megachurches. Since Covid, they have to vacuum seal the blood. I think she said it was the church across from the big mall. Remember? Didn’t Patti tell us they hold weekly prayer breakfasts asking Jesus to make them money on their real estate deals?”

“If it’s commercial real estate, I think Jesus says no,” Preston said, raising one eyebrow and shaking his head. Then he looked confused. “I thought we weren’t allowed to make fun of Texas.”

“You can’t, but I can. It was years ago that you exceeded your lifetime allotment for Texas derision.”

“Too bad,” Preston sighed. “Texas is the gift that keeps giving.”

“How was your hearing today?” Julie started emptying the dishwasher, thinking the third week of January was probably about time to put away the Christmas mugs into the inconveniently high cabinet over the microwave. Preston was rummaging in the pantry for peanuts.

“Uneventful. Judge gave them two weeks extension. Hey, when I walked up to the mailbox, I noticed Sam’s is having a special tonight on littleneck clams. Want to go for dinner?” Preston asked.  

Thank you, Zeus, Julie thought to herself, looking skyward. She’d forgotten all about dinner. Her book club tradition was to elect a new chair annually and this year, she was it. The office was an honor no one wanted, like finding the plastic baby Jesus in your cake on Three Kings Day and having to make tamales for your whole family in February. She’d spent the entire afternoon lost in book recommendations and reviews.  

Out loud to her husband, she said, “Sam’s sounds great. But what about the postponement? C’mon, Presto,” she poked, “No tirade on judicial lenience for corporate wrongdoers?”

Preston shrugged. “We’ve got some tricky legal issues in the case. Right now, I care more about the judge’s intellect than her rulings on deadlines.”  

“That sounds right,” Julie said absently as she drifted back to the bedroom closet to change for dinner. It was a cool night and as she surveyed her sweater options, she fretted. When she bought the long black turtleneck a couple of years ago, it seemed like it would offer full neck coverage. But since then, her face had been subjected to an unreasonably strong gravitational pull. At this point, any turtleneck could double for a bright red sign on her chest reading “Look at my jowls.” Screw it, she thought, no neckline will camouflage this much trouble. She sighed, put on the blue-green V-neck with a silk scarf an artist friend made, and applied some fresh lipstick.

At dinner, the couple settled into a table on the restaurant’s far side. She ordered Chardonnay and Preston an IPA on draft. When the drinks arrived, Julie insisted they clink glasses to bring her good luck with the book club.

“Juliper, I don’t understand why you’re nervous about running your book club for a year. Isn’t it just six or seven people from the office?”

“Yeah, mostly. I know. But Roberta’s back in the group. I always let her bother me. Remember that year she cost us at least $1,000 in therapy?”

“Because she’s always bossing you? Poor Juliper,” he squeezed her hand. “someone’s always bossing you.”  

“It’s not just that. She’s so pretentious. Who says celli instead of cellos? Nobody.”

“Technically,” said Preston, while doing a little fact-checking on his phone…

“Don’t even think about it, Presto.” 

He slid the phone in his coat pocket. Just then, Sam, himself, stopped by and set down Preston’s clam dinner. “And for you, Julie, the lobster roll, as usual.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Julie smiled. “You’re busy tonight,” Preston added.

“Every night. It’s great.”

“Then can we stop telling people about you already?” Julie teased.

“Never,” Sam called over his shoulder on his way back to the kitchen.

Taking a break from the clams, Preston asked, “Wasn’t Roberta the one always rescheduling the meetings at the last minute?”  

“See? I forgot that! That pisses me off, too.”

“But if you’re the chair, can’t you just make a rule good for the entire year that meetings are fixed once a date is selected? She’ll probably miss most of them and then you won’t have to worry about her.”

“Hm. That’s a good point, actually. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You paying me my hourly rate?”

“My husband would pitch a fit if I spent that,” Julie smiled. “Want an onion ring?”

Sensing that the crisis was past, Preston liberated his phone from his jacket and asked, “Hey Google, how many celli are there in the average symphony orchestra?”

Julie’s eyes widened, her face flushed, and she swallowed a big gulp of wine.

“Got you,” Preston grinned mischievously.

“I can’t believe I fell for that.” Julie shook her head and laughed.

Preston helped himself to more onion rings.