She Effin' Hates Me

by Scarlett Savage

  “Thanks, but . . . you fuh . . . hate me.” Buddy knew that Ava hated the f-word like slugs hate salt. “This morning you called me a bottom-feeding scum sucker.” He grinned at her. “I think you’re warming up to me!”

  “In your dreams, dirty old man,” Ava sniffed haughtily. “It’s just that, well, if these cookies don’t get eaten, they wind up on my hips.” She rubbed her linen pants self-consciously. “Better to ruin your arteries than my figure.”

  “As I was saying,” Suzanne tried to cut her way back into the conversation, “it seems that there were certain errors made over who was . . .”

  “This is just crazy!!” Brandon exclaimed suddenly, jumping to his feet and looking down at Molly with exasperation. “Enough is enough.”

  “This is just crazy. I agree with Bentley,” Buddy said, standing up. “He’s staying with me, and that’s final. C’mon, Barney, let’s go regrout some tiles, or do something else equally masculine.”

  “It’s Brandon.”

  “Whatever. Get a move on.”

  Brandon collapsed back onto the ground, sinking his head into his arms.

  “We just got back from my family’s house,” he pleaded. “I’m sort of burned out on regrouting. Or garage cleaning. Or tarring the roof . . .”

  “Okay, Buddy, the kid already cleaned your entire house, top to bottom. I’m not going to let you work him into the . . .” Suzanne began, when suddenly Brandon’s words hit her like a bucket of ice water. She put her glass down on the table carefully, almost in slow motion, as she turned to look at her only daughter.

  “His house?” she managed. “His family’s house?

  “Thank you for that,” Molly whispered to Brandon. Brandon smiled weakly, not sure how he’d set the bomb off.

  “You went to his parents’ house with this news . . . first.” Suzanne tried to process the news; any way she looked at it, it felt like an enormous betrayal. “Before you came here, you went there.”

  “It’s not that big a deal, Mom,” Molly said earnestly. “It was on the way back from orientation, so we thought . . .”

  “Oh, no. It’s okay. I get it. Well, isn’t that a fine kick in the butt.” She laughed bitterly, taking a nice long sip of her iced tea. “At the very least, I would have liked to have been among the first to find out, and now I find out that I’m . . . I’m . . . what, just some name on the newsletter?”

  “I’ve been trying to get a word in edgewise, Mother,” Molly protested. “But you were too busy busting Buddy’s balls.”

  “She can’t really help that. She’s been a ball-buster since the day she was born.” Buddy interjected, pointing to Ava, who glared frostily back in return. “Just look at her genetic blueprint, for God’s sake.”

  “I’m getting a glass of milk.” Molly jumped up, apparently looking for an escape—any escape—from the choking tension that was surrounding her on all sides. “Anybody need anything from the kitchen?” Molly started to get up, but Ava stopped her.

  “No, sweetie, don’t you move. I’ll get it for you. You just stay put.” She sounded downright happy as she jumped up. Normally she waited on people with sighs and heavy groans, as if the effort was a huge imposition.

  This new enthusiasm was frightening; Brandon and Molly exchanged a confused look.

  Milk. Of course she wants milk. Pregnant women crave milk, Suzanne thought as she stared forlornly at her daughter. She wished this was a nightmare; she wished someone would wake her up.

  “It goes well with cookies,” Molly said, puzzled at the look on her mother’s face.

  “Sure,” Suzanne said sadly. “It sure does.”

  “Milk is actually just cow sweat, you know,” Buddy told them, working his fingers around yet another macramé knot.

  “Cow sweat?” Molly’s face froze; she looked as if she might throw up. “Cancel the milk, Grandma.” She sighed and picked a dandelion, twirling it in her fingers. “And now we’re talking about cow sweat. At least at your parents’ house, we could get a word in.”

  Suzanne slammed her glass down on the table so hard Ava was sure she heard a crack. It was the final straw on the poor camel’s back—she simply could take no more.

  “And just how did they take it, Brandon?” she spat out furiously, advancing on him. “Just so I have an idea, you know, of the protocol.”

  Molly slowly sat up straight, looking at her mother almost fearfully.

  “What are you saying?” Molly stammered. “Are you saying . . . you already know?”

  “Maybe I didn’t get SAT scores as high as yours, Moll.” Suzanne seethed. “Or grades nearly as good. But yes, miraculously, I have been able to put together the incredibly obvious signs that you’ve put out here.” She stopped herself, drew in a deep breath, and forced herself to calm down. “So, Brandon? How did they take it?”

  “Well,” Brandon answered slowly, glancing over at Molly nervously, “my stepdad felt kind of funny about it, I think, because he didn’t say much. But then again, he never really says all that much, so that’s cool. He just went out and did whatever he does out in the garage, with all his tools.” He smiled then, thinking of his mother. “I think my mom . . . Actually, I’m sure Mom was mostly relieved.”

  “Relieved?” Suzanne was aghast.

  “Yeah, relieved,” he answered. “Because, well, she’d already guessed. And it’s one of those things that you don’t want to have to come out and ask. So, when I told her, she was relieved. You get the idea.”

  “Yeah, I can relate,” Suzanne said vaguely. Maybe she’d call his mother later, and they could have a long-distance cry together. “And the rest of the family?”

  “Then, both my brothers said, ‘Who cares? Let’s go play some football.’ And my aunt, my favorite Aunt Jennie, she just wanted to take me shopping.”

  “That’s just how I feel.” Suzanne felt suddenly dizzy. She sat down on Buddy’s bench and lit up a Spirit with a hand that trembled so badly Buddy had to steady it before she could get the flame to touch the tobacco. Once lit, she did her Lamaze breathing around the smoke until the courtyard righted itself. “That’s just how I feel. Like all four of those reactions. Wow. Oh, wow.”

  But inside, she was screaming. Didn’t I teach her to think ahead, to be careful, that every action has a consequence?! Didn’t I at least teach her she had to have a childhood before she could have a child?! Oh, dear God, didn't I teach her not to be like me?!

  She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself that Ava was right, things were different now. And, she supposed, a thin light of pride shining through the despair, that if anyone could make Vassar combined with new parenthood work, it was Molly.

  It just . . . It’s not what I wanted for her, she thought sadly. It’s not what I wanted for her at all. I wanted her to have a complete childhood . . . I wanted her to have the childhood that I didn’t.

  Ava came to her and began stroking her shoulders soothingly. She took a napkin and dipped it in the ice water pitcher.

  “Now, honey.” She gently put the cold cloth on her forehead. “Don’t get yourself all worked up. We knew this was it.”

  “You knew?” Molly leaped to her feet, looking at Brandon accusingly. His equally surprised face cleared him instantly of guilt. “How? How did you know? My God, is it that obvious?”

  “No, we didn’t!” Suzanne retorted. “For a week now, ever since she told us she had an announcement, we’ve been very, very happy, not knowing!” She drew a deep, ragged drag on her cigarette. Ava winced at the smell but didn’t pull away. “But now . . . Now we know we know, you know, and there’s no way to un-know . . .”

  “I know,” Ava whispered soothingly.

  Molly came to her and knelt nervously by the bench. “Mom?” She cleared her throat. “Mommy?”

  “What?”

  “Well, I just . . .” Molly swallowed hard and started again. “I just wanted to know if you . . . I mean, do you . . . Do you still love me, Mommy?”

  Suzanne peeled back the nap
kin and looked at Molly in disbelief.

  How could Molly possibly think that this—or anything—would make her not love her anymore?

  It would be physically impossible to stop loving her only child. She couldn’t imagine circumstances under which she’d want to stop loving her, but even if for some reason she did, it would be no more possible than sprouting a second head would be. If Molly walked into Market Square and decried her undying allegiance to Osama Bin Laden’s grave, Suzanne would still love her and stand by her. If Molly ever went to jail, she’d probably commit a crime herself, so they could at least be together in jail, if nowhere else. And Molly, she was sure, knew this down to her bones.

  And yet, there was a foggy, distant memory nagging at the back of her mind.

  Her parents, great as they had been, hadn’t they let her sweat for a few days, just the same, wondering if she would ever be their little girl again?

  Hadn’t she been terrified that her own mother would kick her out, disown her, and sit shivah for her, just like Rachel Lebowitz’s parents did when they found out she was in the same condition Suzanne was? Her parents weren’t Jewish, but still, the image of sheets draped over the bathroom mirror had haunted her just the same.

  She dropped the Spirit now and grabbed Molly, dragging her up from the ground. She held her as close as humanly possible. Molly clung back, her shoulders heaving with . . . fear? Relief?

  “As you’re going to find out,” she whispered fiercely into the girl’s hair, “your child is your child forever. If we get mad, it’s because we want you to do it all better, not to have to work as hard, or struggle as much, but things are different now. I love you, I adore you, I’m crazy about you, but I want to strangle you right at this particular moment.” She pressed her hot forehead against Molly’s cool one to take the sting from her words. “But the other things I said . . . Well, more. I feel those things much, much more. You get me, Missy?”

  Molly nodded, tears choking her throat, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Oh, my. Oh, dear.” Ava could contain herself no longer, and let the happy tears spew forth as they would. “It’s just, it’s just . . . Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you!!”

  “You are?” Molly stared at her. This scene wasn’t playing out at all like she’d imagined.

  “Oh, yes.” She plucked her lace hankie out of her bosom and carefully began dabbing her elaborate makeup job. It would not do to have her mascara run into clown face right in front of all these people. “I would certainly have never said it before you were ready to tell us, but this . . . this is what I’ve always wanted for you.”

  “It is?” Molly’s astonished expression was almost comical; she kept looking at Ava as if waiting for the punch line.

  “Well, of course, what did you expect?” Ava smiled through her tears, reaching out to stroke Molly’s cheek. “Maybe now wasn’t quite the time, of course,” she conceded, “but what’s done is done, and I’m just thrilled. I’m so excited. We’ll have to go shopping first thing in the morning. And, oh, then to the bank to set up a savings account.”

  “Wow.” Brandon finally found his voice. “You guys are just . . . my family took it well, but they sure didn’t react like that.”

  “Well, of course. Just a little something for the future, everyone can use that.” Then she grabbed Molly by the shoulders and shook her finger at her warningly. “This is a big change, I know, but there is no reason, you know, not one reason in this world why this should interfere with your studies.”

  “Oh, well, my folks did say that.” Brandon nodded.

  “Can I ask a question?” Buddy asked.

  “What the hell,” Suzanne sighed.

  “What in the heck is going on?” He could make neither hide nor hair of the pieces of the rapid-fire conversation he’d been able to pick up.

  “Is it possible that you are really and truly this clueless, man? Those bimbos really did suck every last brain cell out of your head, didn’t they?” But Ava’s banter couldn’t conceal the joy in her voice, and she took a deep breath, thrilled to be able to say it out loud for the first time, blurting, “Brandon and Molly are having a baby!”

  But at the same moment, Molly replied, “I’m gay! Finally, I’ve been trying to work up the guts to say it out loud, for months now, so here it is, once and for all . . . I’m here, I’m queer, get used to it!”

  She was so relieved she laughed, but then Ava’s words registered in her ears, just as Ava heard her own.

  They both stopped speaking at the same time and stared at each other.

  “What?” Ava asked, befuddled. “You’re what? What did you say?”

  “I’m gay.” Molly looked around at the now bemused faces of the group around her. “What the hell have we just been talking about?”

  Not pregnant. Gay. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant.

  Although it was what she’d prayed for, Suzanne couldn’t quite wrap itself around the concept, for a minute.

  This wasn’t a repeat of pattern? She wasn’t going to be a thirty-six-year-old grandmother? Nope, she was the mother, apparently, of an eighteen-year-old lesbian. “What?” Suzanne asked again, stupidly.

  For a moment no one moved, as they all looked at each other . . . but Ava could always be counted upon to break a silence.

  She grabbed a napkin, wrapped one end around her hand, and with the other end, began viciously whacking Brandon.

  “What the hell?” Molly cried.

  Brandon tried to shield himself, bewildered. For a defenseless old lady, she was really kicking his ass. He fell to the ground like he did when the gay bashers came calling, and wrapped himself into a ball.

  “Mother!” Suzanne pushed herself between Ava and her victim. Brandon hid behind her as Molly got the napkin away from Ava for good. “Mother, what on earth are you doing?”

  “Didn’t you hear?” Ava furiously pointed at Brandon. “Not only did the little bastard knock her up—he turned her gay!”

  PART TWO

  ELEVEN

  The air had started to take on the golden tone that Suzanne had long associated with the coming of autumn, where the days got shorter and the nights cozier. When it was time to put away the shorts and start taking out a few light jackets and sweaters. It had always felt to her like a new beginning, just like the start of each school year when she was a child.

  Well, if ever I was in need of a new beginning, she thought, walking down Daniel Street, looking in the windows of the antique bookstore and stopping to read the schedules at Molly Malone’s, it’s now. A new beginning, and a new friend.

  It wasn’t Monday yet, but somehow Suzanne found herself slowly winding toward the Goddess Treasures shop all the same. When she had walked around enough to allow herself the illusion that she had just happened across it, she pulled open the heavy oak door.

  The shop had large bay windows in front, but somehow most of the corners seemed dark and mysterious—not by accident, she was sure. The walls had been done up in dark maple and deep red accessories, and there were high arched doorways, both in the front entrance and between sections of the store. Long, heavy silver candlesticks were lit on several carefully placed pillars, and an ancient chandelier hung from the middle of the store. The front door had been covered in some material that made it appear to be carved out of stone; a little showy, a little too Dracula for her particular taste, but still very effective, she had to admit. It certainly set a tone.

  Suzanne had expected that someone who worked in a shop like this would be fully decked out in a flowing, lace-up dress—maybe some kind of cape, with extra-thick eyeliner, flowers in her hair, and perfectly applied red, red lipstick.

  But there was Laura behind the cash register in a perfectly respectable red cashmere sweater, her simple pentagram necklace, and hip-hugger jeans with a long rose winding up one leg.

  A little too “hip” for a lady our age, maybe, but that’s not her problem. Suzanne had an almost paralyzing fear of dressing in such a way
that people would think she still considered herself a teenager.

  But Laura certainly had the figure for it, so why the hell not.

  Laura looked up, and for a second, Suzanne almost fled, wondering if the head cheerleader was going to take a jab at her pregnant belly, before remembering Laura wasn’t a cheerleader and she wasn’t a knocked-up senior. Instead, a smile of real pleasure crossed Laura’s face when she saw Suzanne.

  “Well, hello, you!” she greeted her. “Or rather, ‘Blessed be,’ as we say in the business.” She gave Suzanne a huge, warm hug, not just the polite, obligatory embrace she’d expected. It was a bit startling at first, but then she hugged back. “So, what brings you here on a Saturday morning?”

  She might have said, Well, I’m not going to be a grandmother after all. Maybe I never will be, because my daughter came out of the closet, where I had absolutely no idea she was lurking.

  But what Suzanne said instead was, “Oh, just taking a walk downtown before the really cold weather sets in. Plus, we’re having a bit of a family reunion this week, and it’s been so wonderful that . . . Well, frankly I could use a little break from all the reuniting.”

  Laura grinned. “I hear you. Most of my family is in Southie now. My dad got transferred when I was in school.”

  Southie—what the locals called South Boston—was a place Suzanne knew well; it was where Steve’s people were from. She’d be spending a lot less time in Southie, she realized with a jolt, still holding the pumpkin candle she’d been meaning to sniff midair. Hell, she might never go there again, come to think of it. There were members of his family—his Irish grandmother, who cooked in pinches and dashes, and his brother-in-law with the incessant knock-knock jokes—whom she had grown really fond of over the years. She’d likely never see them again now.

  And there was that sudden, sharp pang, the pang that hit her every time another delightful repercussion to splitting with her groom appeared.

  Consider the trade-off, she reminded herself. You might not get to see Grandma any more, but you don’t have to endure visits with Steve’s mother either.