by Kat T. Masen
My mom is standing behind him, dressed in a fluorescent pink yoga outfit, much to my surprise. She hasn’t changed much since I saw her last, her bangs still cut like she’s rocking an 80’s video clip, and it wouldn’t hurt her to wear a bra once in a while. Nevertheless, I was told on numerous occasions we looked like sisters. Apparently, she had a youthful glow, or perhaps I looked like an old soul. Let’s stick to the youthful glow story to boost my ego.
“Come here, give me a hug.” She smiles.
I step forward and embrace her. Leaning my head on her shoulder, I’m happy to admit that it’s good to come home. What I needed was some quality time with my family. That, and to get ridiculously spoiled.
“George, take her bags up to her room. Honey, you have to eat something. It’s not about you anymore. I know you city girls are into all these fad diets but if you don’t eat and gain nutrients the baby could be born with God knows what.”
“Mom, I’ve been eating. And would it kill you to wear a bra?”
“I read an article about how bras can increase your risk of breast cancer. Your dad seems to enjoy it.”
I wince at the mental image. “Oh my god! You did not just say that.”
As I walk through the house I see that nothing has changed, apart from a ridiculous looking exercise thingamajig in the living room. Hanging on the walls are several photos of Gemma and me throughout our childhood. I take a moment to stand in the hallway and look at the photos, so much fun and laughter hanging on this one wall. I rest my hands on my stomach and hope that one day my child will get to experience everything I did. That would most likely require me finding a husband and having more children. Do not have this conversation with yourself now, you sadistic fool!
There is a photo of Jason and me sitting in a small frame amongst the others. I remember the day clearly—it was the first summer I brought him here to meet my family. We are sitting in a boat, him behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist. Laughing out loud, I recall just afterward when we both fell into the lake accidentally. It’s a great memory, and so as not to get too caught up in nostalgia, I go in search of my mom.
I settle into the kitchen as my mom prepares lunch for us. As we all sit down to enjoy the meal, my mom takes this opportunity to lecture me on everything I should have done, should be doing, and basically how I should raise this kid until he or she is in college. Only my mom could have an entire conversation with herself while I devour the homemade pie in front of me. My dad polishes off three beers as she rambles on. By the end, we both stare at her until she realizes she’s been talking to herself.
“Honestly, the two of you are like peas in a pod. Can’t get anyone to listen in this household,” she rattles off, moving towards the sink as she starts to wash up.
My dad shrugs his shoulders and heads out the back door with his fishing hat on.
Even at the sink, my mom continues to talk a mile a minute. I take my cell out of my pocket looking for some social media relief when I see a text on the front screen.
#Jerk: Hope you got there safe. I’ve got my black belt packed.
With mom still going on about breastfeeding versus bottle feeding, I scramble to send him a text before she realizes I’m not paying attention.
Me: Pack a new set of ears. My mom has not stopped talking since I got here. Apparently, I should be looking at colleges now because there’s a waiting list.
The exhaustion from traveling finally catches up with me, so I excuse myself to take a short nap. I wake up in a blind panic, and disorientated, I realize I have slept through to the morning. My mom didn’t even have the balls to wake me. The time on my cell says eight, and that red badge is sitting on my home screen.
#Jerk: We, Presley. We should be looking. We’re both parents to this baby.
Huh? There is no time to think about his text as I race out of bed and into the shower. Within minutes I’ve hopped out and dressed myself in a simple white dress that sits a lot shorter than normal. With my wedges on and my hair tied into a bun to avoid the sweltering heat, I make my way downstairs. The aroma of pancakes lingers in the air, which can only mean one thing—maple syrup. So I’m eating for two, and boy did my mother stack them on the plate!
As predicted, my mom eyes my dress. “That dress is a bit short, don’t you think?”
Rolling my eyes at her, the stupid side of me mentions that I haven’t really purchased any maternity wear apart from that black dress. With a light bulb going off in her head, she rushes to the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ve got a box of stuff in the attic! George!” she yells to my dad.
Why, oh why, did I say that? I just know she’ll pull out some muumuu with a horrific pattern from the ’80s.
“I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She darts out of the room, leaving me alone with my almost finished stack of pancakes.
Knowing Haden will be here soon, I use the moment to relax and read the local paper. Nothing much has changed, a few new marriages and births, but as usual, the town carries on without much excitement. There is a whole page about a carnival coming in for the night. Sounds like fun, if you’re ten.
My mom is talking to herself again, carrying some boxes down the stairs. The sound of an engine pulls up at the house, and I look at my mom to see her reaction. She has her stern parental face on and dad is walking down the stairs with his rifle in hand. Alright, he doesn’t and that’s a bit overboard, but I do know he has a pocketknife ready.
I wipe my mouth with the napkin and make my way to the porch. I hear the sound of the trunk shutting closed and behind it, Haden appears. That stupid flutter, the one that gets all my panties in a twist, makes another appearance, and with every fiber of my being I’m trying to ignore how gorgeous he looks in his natural-colored denim shorts, light grey tee, and a pair of Chucks. My damn weakness. Jason hated them; he called them skater shoes. Jason also wore Jesus sandals.
For someone who just traveled on a plane, he looks refreshed, his hair perfectly styled to the side and a freshly shaven face. With a warm smile he greets me, fully aware that my parents are standing right behind me.
“Mr. and Mrs. Malone, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He reaches out his hand, but my mom embraces him instead. What the hell? What happened to this lecture on how utterly disappointed she was that such a young man would be irresponsible enough to have sex with an older woman and, if his parents didn’t teach him to have any morals, then maybe she should?
What a load of BS from the woman smiling and acting all friendly with him!
My dad, on the other hand . . . well, his face says it all.
“So you’re the one that knocked up my Poodle?”
Haden pulls away from my mom and looks at me confused. “Um, I like women, sir. I’m not into bestiality.”
“He means me,” I complain. “Dad has called me Poodle since forever. You know, ’cause of my curly hair.”
“Oh . . . right, I get it. I guess I am the one that knocked up your Poodle then,” he says, amused.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“George, please. Let the boy at least place his bags down before you get all wound up.” My mom ushers him into the house, asking him how his trip went and if wants a drink.
My dad, on the other hand, pulls me aside. “Jesus, Poodle, is he still in college?”
“Dad!” I groan. “He’s twenty-six.”
“Back in my day, you didn’t marry women older than you.”
“Oh my god.” I stop him, raising my palm to his face. “Who the hell is talking about marriage here?”
“I just assumed because the two of you are single—”
“He’s not single. Have you not listened to mom at all?”
“I try not to. It’s what happens when you’ve been married for forty years. You tend to zone out. Your mother could talk a glass eye to sleep,” he says, scratching his belly.
I ignore his ramblings and move on inside to join them in the kitchen. Mom has stacked
a plate of pancakes in front of Haden. Looking quite pleased with his hefty appetite, she pours him some coffee and I nearly grab the cup from him.
God, I miss it so much.
“Your sister will be arriving this afternoon, with her friend Melissa,” Mom tells us.
“My sister is a lesbian,” I mention causally to Haden.
“Presley Victoria Malone!” Mom scolds.
“Well it’s the truth, Deidre,” Dad says with a mouthful of toast. “God gives ya what He gives ya. Gemma is a good girl.”
“So you’re saying I’m not?”
Good morning, hormones!
“Poodle, truth be it. This baby wasn’t exactly planned. Besides, what happened with you two? Because Reverend Keith could sure have a word with the both of you.”
I groan at the mention of Reverend Keith. If my parents’ grand plan is to try to marry me off to the Jerk, it was time to set the record straight. Unlike my usual opinionated self, I struggle to get a single word out and look at Haden for answers. His eyes lift up while grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth. My gaze wanders down to his full lips, glazed in maple syrup. Gliding his tongue along his lips, his eyes continue to watch me with a quizzical stare.
Oh my god, Presley, look away! I shake my head to pull myself out of this pornographic maple syrup fantasy and focus on the question. We hadn’t really come up with a story, so I guess there was no better way than stating the obvious, and Haden takes charge by leading the explanation.
“Presley and I had been friends for a while but, of course, she was engaged. I’d always had a thing for her but respected her relationship. When she broke it off, I wanted to take things further.”
With a steady gaze, I look at him thinking what a load of crock this is. He should add serial bullshit artist to his resume as well.
“Presley has told us you’re engaged to someone else now?” Mom interrogates.
“Yes, I am.”
This is probably the moment I need to throw him a lifejacket. But this is fun, so I sit back and watch the show unfold.
“Well, I’m sorry if I’m out of place but marrying another woman when expecting a child seems somewhat confusing?” Mom continues to pry.
Haden takes a long sip of his coffee and places the cup down on the knitted coaster. “I can understand why you think that. Eloise came into my life before I knew about the baby.”
He shuffles awkwardly so I throw him that much-needed lifejacket.
“Look, Mom and Dad, Haden and I had our fun and well . . . this is what happened. If you don’t mind, I’d like to give him a tour of the house, then maybe show him around town.”
I don’t wait for their response and motion for him to follow me. As soon as he catches on, we make our way upstairs and I show him to the guest room.
“I’m apologizing in advance for the plaid. Mom is a little, um . . .”
He laughs. “She’s a mom. She would get along great with my mom. It was the plaid generation.”
I let out a similar laugh. “And my sister Gemma . . . sorry about blurting that out.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize for everything.”
I lean against the wall as he sorts out his bags. “This is weird.”
“Sure is. Look, it’s only a weekend . . . Poodle.” He bursts out laughing again, then walks over to where I’m standing, giving me the opportunity to swat him across the arm.
“And ignore my dad. Laugh all you want, but if you saw me in bed, I represent a poodle vacationing in the tropics quite accurately.”
He stops laughing and his expression looks pained. What the hell did I say? Backtrack, brain!
“I guess I’m going to be seeing a lot of you. After all, you are carrying my baby.”
My eyes move to the hideous plaid duvet. “The paternity test. It’s booked for next Thursday.”
He doesn’t say a word, completely ignoring what I just said. “So, show me your room.”
“You want to see my room?”
“Yeah, I want to see who Presley Malone really is.”
I’m not sure exactly what he means, but I walk down the hall and open the door to my room. I moved out of this room when I left for college, which feels like a lifetime ago. My parents didn’t really touch it. It still has the king-sized, single bed positioned in the middle of the room with a bookshelf above it. Sitting on the shelf are my favorite books, all-time classics that I read throughout my teens (and yes, somewhere buried in the row of books was my collection of The Babysitter’s Club). I walk towards the shelf and pull out the one book that was my bible as a teen.
“Have you ever read this?” I hand him the book.
“Forever by Judy Blume,” he says. “Can’t say I have.”
I take a seat by the bay window and he follows me.
“I would curl up in this exact spot and read it over and over again. I was so curious and wondered if I would feel the same about a boy one day. You know, in love and wanting to have sex with him.”
He looks at me oddly and doesn’t say anything.
“Too girly of a conversation for you?” I tease.
“Not at all,” he quips. “It’s part of teen sexuality. That curiosity. And so then you obviously took the plunge one day?”
“I was seventeen and it was at some party. Nothing more to tell other than it was over in a minute and the guy moved away. His dad was in the military. And you?”
“And me what?” He stares at me, confused.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
“I don’t know . . . like twenty,” he mumbles.
“Twenty!” I raise my voice despite his embarrassed look. “I’m sorry. Twenty. Really? Isn’t that kinda old for your generation?”
“I wasn’t into girls at school. I had other things to worry about.”
“Like what?”
He quickly stands up and stretches his arms. “So what do you want to do now?”
Once again, I’m taken aback by the swift change in subjects. Something I said, or the topic at hand, appears to be deeper than I thought. Not wanting to cause another argument, I let it go, but make a mental note to delve in further another time.
“How about a walk around town, then maybe lunch by the lake?” I offer.
“Sure, lead the way.”
***
My parents live in a small town, east of West Virginia. It was the same place I grew up in, and much like me, they didn’t like change. Over the years, people moved on, and the generations that followed occupied most of the town now. It was small, friendly, and for the most of the part, trouble-free.
Gemma was the first to fly the coop by skipping college altogether and heading out to California. From there she enrolled in a few classes and met Melissa. My parents knew I didn’t like change, but college was a huge deal and I knew if I wanted to pursue a career in publishing, I needed to head to the city.
“See that school across the street? That’s where I went.” I show him. “And that church, it was built by my great, great, grandfather. I always dreamt of getting married there,” I say loudly, forgetting that he’s standing right beside me.
“Is that where you and what’s-his-face was getting married?” With a bitter tone, he continues to stare at the church.
“Jason, and no. Jason wanted to get married at his priest’s church out in Jersey.”
Since he has decided to bring up weddings, I can’t have thought of a better time to ask.
“And you? Eloise says you’ll be getting married soon.”
“Did she?” He appears agitated. “I don’t know. I don’t get involved.”
“But it’s your wedding,” I state, slightly confused.
“I’m just not interested in the finer details,” he tells me, hesitating just a little.
“I know how you feel. I was excited about Jason proposing, but when it came time to planning, I just lost interest. I guess that’s how I knew something wasn’t right. I always thought that it would be the
most exciting time in my life.”
He exhales, rolling his eyes like an immature brat. “That’s a stupid woman thing. Men don’t care. Plan all you want, as long we are told where to turn up, that’s all that matters. Oh, and the bachelor party.”
“Ugh, that’s such a guy thing. I don’t understand why you need to see strippers as a send-off into marriage. It’s not like you can do anything with the strippers. You’ve pretty much been tied down since the moment you asked someone on that first date,” I argue.
“You’re delusional. Do you know how many of my friends had sex with a stripper the night before their wedding?”
“Are . . . are you serious? First of all, I thought you weren’t even allowed to touch a stripper. Second, what’s the point of getting married then? Just stay single and play the field.”
He stops walking, and running his hands through his hair, he turns to face me. “Some people don’t have a choice, Presley.”
I look at him and laugh. “Everyone has a choice, Haden. It’s called decision-making. It’s part of being a grownup.”
Walking towards the park bench, we take a seat in front of the church.
“And now what? You’re going to have a baby. What about finding yourself someone?” he asks uncomfortably.
I hate this question, because even when I ask myself the same thing, it ends badly.
Cats. Cats . . . everywhere.
“I have no clue. I know why it’s good to be married while you’re pregnant,” I say without even thinking.
“Why?” He turns to me, resting his arm along the top of the bench.
“Why? We’re both adults. It’s not hard to figure out why. Pregnancy hands you a bag of hormones and somehow you’re expected to carry on and pretend it has no effect on you whatsoever. Plus everything is aching, swollen, and I swear, I am this close to getting a membership at the sketchy massage joint downtown.”
He shakes his head while grinning. “You have no problem being honest, do you?”
“We crossed the secrets bridge when you took your pants off.”
“I think you took my pants off.” He smirks.