by Xavier Neal
To no surprise, our brief trek towards her building in silence is short-lived.
“Oh!” My wife squeaks. “Have you gone grocery shopping this week?”
“Cherry Pie, I go to the grocery store like every two days for somethin’. It’s gettin’ ridiculous.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” she mumbles under her breath.
“You know, it’s not like I was completely absent for these past six years. I was here.” I stand up for myself. “I changed diapers. I rocked the boys back to sleep. I rushed to the store to get them formula and new pacifiers and pull ups. Fuck, I was there to buy Small Fry his first pair of shoes for T Ball and Kenny’s backpack for his first day of Kindergarten. Stop treatin’ me like I just stepped into my dad boots.”
Sienna’s defensiveness is as immediate as my own. “Stop actin’ like a month at it full times makes you an expert on all things in our household.”
“Maybe it fucking does.”
It doesn’t.
But I’m balls deep into this argument, and I’m not gonna just throw in the towel.
She stops right outside the shop, peers up at me with narrowed eyes, and snaps, “All right Father of The Year, let’s put that shit to the test then. Kyle and Kenny’s holiday parties are coming and normally, since I’m room mom for both, or rather was, the major responsibilities fall on me, or rather they did. Enjoy coordinating with their teachers on the theme, the approved food list, and of course don’t forget to pick out appropriate presents for the boys to give their teachers.”
Despite the panic pumping through my veins, I maintain a solid disposition on the outside. “Will do.”
“That’s on top of normal grocery shopping for the week, which for the record, I’ve been helping you out with.”
“Have you?”
“Yeah,” she bites. “After work, regardless of how fucking tired I’ve been, I’ve still swung by the store and grabbed a few things I knew would make everything easier on you week to week since you’re still struggling with the routines I established. But now that we’re gonna have a pissing contest, you’re on your own. Oh…and make sure to collect snacks for Kyle’s basketball game this week. It’s our week. Though, since you are clearly the better stay-at-home parent, you probably already knew that.”
Wait…I’ve gotta assistant coach that shit and bring food?
What the fuck am I paying for then?
Instead of questioning just exactly what she’s been gathering or thanking her for the efforts I hadn’t noticed, I allow my pride to continue to get the better of me. “Why don’t I know any of this shit?”
“Do you check your email?”
“Rarely.”
“Might wanna start.” She viciously sneers. “Perhaps today. Pretty sure there’s one about the boys getting out of school early.”
This time there’s no masking my alarm.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Is that what they were rambling about in the backseat while I was mentally griping how much I hate having to wait to smoke until they’re out of my truck?
“Remember, if you’re over thirty minutes late, they start charging a fee for each additional minute.” Sienna’s smile instantly becomes smug. “Don’t get a ticket rushin’ to get ‘em.”
My shoulders drop in defeat. “I’ll try not to.”
She steps closer and tugs the end of my shirt as if silently stating her victory. “Superman, I’m really thankful you’re takin’ over those ropes. I really am.”
I mistakenly start to smile.
“But you still have a lot to learn.” Her scolding head tilt is one I swear she learned from Mama. “Text me when you need me at the store.”
Once more, my ego wins. “Don’t bother waitin’ by the phone, Cherry Pie. I’ll have it all under control.”
My proclamation rolls her eyes in disbelief.
I ignore her attitude and drop my mouth on top of hers. Thankfully, she’s never been able to resist kissing me no matter how angry or irritated she is. The moment her lips slightly part, my tongue slips in to snatch one last taste of the woman I love. She turns what should’ve been a light kiss into a torturous one. Her tongue evades mine. Twists away. Forces me to have to deepen my actions to get the flavors I want. When my hands fall to her ass, I cup it roughly and tug her closer so she can feel how hard her teasing makes me. Sienna’s sweet moan pressed directly against my tongue causes me to contemplate sneaking her into the bathroom of her job and dealing with the pricey consequence of picking up our boys late.
She never paid me random lunch break visits like this. If she had? We’d definitely have more than one tax tardy on our record.
“Hate to cock block,” a male voice unexpectedly states.
We pull ourselves apart and direct our attention to my wife’s coworker.
Langston opens the glass door a bit wider at the same time he motions his head inside. “Yasmine’s been screeching your name on and off for like ten minutes. I don’t think she’s buying that you’re still in the bathroom.”
Sienna’s face burns bright red. “Shit, I didn’t think I was that late.”
“Yeah, lunch is really only supposed to be thirty minutes…” his light, caramel face scrunches, “on a slow day.”
“She’s not even supposed to fuckin’ eat?” I growl at the male who I’m not convinced isn’t interested in more than just my woman’s baking skills.
“Eddie,” she reprimands.
“Man, none of us do,” Langston casually informs. “Woes of this gig.”
“Sienna!” A woman’s voice echoes through the empty shop.
My wife hits me with a cringing face seconds before she pecks my lips. “Gotta go.”
“Love you,” I swiftly state loudly.
“Love you too, Superman.”
She scurries inside while Langston steals one last look at me that makes him smirk.
Okay…now I might be a little more sold on him being gay.
That lip lick and twinkle make it hard to think otherwise.
After leaving Sienna, I get stuck in rush hour lunch traffic, which almost makes me late grabbing our boys. Kenny starts griping the minute they’re in my truck about how cold it is outside while Kyle whines that he needs a snack. The trip over to the grocery store is easy in comparison to the one in the actual building. Both boys suddenly seem incapable of walking. They complain about their feet hurting. Belly ache that they’re starving. Bitch that I’m grabbing the wrong type of fruit snacks and brand of pancake mix. By the time we reach the toy isle, I’m already at my wits end.
The two of them rush away from my side to discuss what they’re going to write on their wish list to Santa.
Grateful to have a moment alone to just think, I peer into the overflowing cart, unsure if I have everything and even less sure that I can fit anything else in it.
Rather have too much shit than prove Sienna right by forgetting something.
I mentally rifle through the cabinets and fridge at home, checking off what I believe to be everything important, however, when I move onto the shit that belongs in the bathroom, I find myself dialing for help.
It almost goes to voicemail before she answers. “Not the best time, Eddie.”
“Sorry, Mama,” I sheepishly apologize. “I just need a little help at the store.”
“That’s why they have grocery attendants.”
“Not…findin’ where shit is,” my grumble is accompanied by a shake of the head. “Makin’ sure I get the right shit.”
“Isn’t that what the woman you married is for?” Mama sasses in return.
While my parents live out in the country, raised us in the country, and have all things country flowing through their veins, they’re far from stereotypical. They lack filters, which easily explains why having a swear jar is necessary to keep my mouth in line around the minis. Their inability to conform to what others claimed to be normal, is what makes them so amazing. We weren’t brought up to behave one way in front of peopl
e and another when they weren’t looking. We were taught to be who we were all the time. To be true to ourselves, whoever that was. Sure, we were given the basic social tools like manners, but more importantly, we were brought up to be open-minded, understanding, and accepting of others’ differences. I’d honestly never struggled with the latter until my oldest boy insisted on wearing things I don’t feel he has any business wearing. Took a good ass chewing from the woman on the other end of this phone to help drive Big Foot’s point home. Like everything else that comes with this new full-time father position, it’s taking some time to adjust.
I’m working on it.
Just like I’m working on cussing less and grocery shopping more.
“Yeah, I don’t wanna bother Cherry Pie at work.”
There’s a skeptical hum out of my mother. “You mean you don’t want her to know you can’t do this shit on your own yet?”
“That’s what I said, Mama.”
She snickers yet doesn’t chastise me about my stubbornness.
“Now, in the bathroom-”
“Soft toilet paper only. There’s a reason you boys always waited ‘til you got home from school to poop.”
“Toilet paper rules I know. That’s one you don’t forget when your lovin’ wife decides to wrap your truck in the wrong kind you brought home.”
She’s pretty, smart, and spiteful.
Triple threat.
Mama chuckles as she continues, “Make sure you’ve got the right kind of soap for the shower, not just the one you use, but the shit that’s probably got flowers or beans or something on the bottle.”
I mentally note to go back and grab it.
Pretty sure she likes smells that remind her of the kitchen…vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberry.
Fuck, now I’m hungry.
Mama’s voice overthrows my thoughts. “Make sure you’ve got hand soap for the sink.”
Damn it, need that too.
“Shampoo-”
“Of course.”
“And conditioner. Your wife’s hair isn’t that soft and silky on its own, Eddie.”
Huh. Good to know.
“You’re gonna need to make sure you’ve got the right supplies for cleanin’. Toilet bowl scrubbin’ gel. Tile cleaner. Mildew spray to help fight build up. And don’t think jus’ ‘cause Pop says Lysol cleans everything that it actually does.”
Well…looks like our house is gonna need another round of wipe downs.
“Lastly, don’t forget lady products.”
Just hearing the words causes me to gag.
Doesn’t matter if a man is fifteen or fifty. Dealing with that shit isn’t something we’re instinctively comfortable with.
“Don’t cheap out,” she nags. “You don’t wanna wipe your ass with cardboard any more than she wants it stuffed up her cooter. Ya got it?”
“Mama,” I groan, free hand dragging itself down the side of my face. “Do you gotta say shit like that?”
“You called me, ‘member?”
Yeah…and in doing so I may save face with my wife but not be able to sleep at night because I can still hear my mother say words most mothers wouldn’t dare consider saying to their sons.
Part of me has no doubt, at some point in time, Sienna will probably say similar shit to at least one of our sons.
“Baby, look how huge my dick looks like this,” Pop says from somewhere in the background.
My head falls forward in a mixture of disgust and astonishment.
These are my parents.
These are the two people who raised me.
As much I wanna bitch and moan when they say or do shit like this, there’s a bigger part of me that can’t help but smile knowing if my marriage is a fraction as successful as theirs that I’ll die a happy man.
“Gotta go,” Mama warmly announces.
“Yeah.” Ending the call, I divert my attention to where the kids are holding two very different types of Lego boxes.
“Cap’s all uhhhh,” small fry says, using the package like a shield.
Kenny laughs at his younger brother’s actions.
“Don’t you want it, too?!” He tries to persuade. “We can both get ‘em!”
Kenny shrugs, obviously unconvinced. “I like this one. It’s got a treehouse.”
“Yeah, but there’s girls on the box.”
“I like girls.”
“But this one has things to shoot!”
“This one has monkeys.”
“But Dad’s only gonna let us get one!”
Kenny’s mouth pushes to one side before he starts nodding in agreement. “Yeah. And it probably won’t be this one…”
There’s an undeniable ache in my chest.
I don’t want my son to think he can’t like what he likes because I don’t like what he likes. I don’t want him to be ashamed of what he’s into or, someday, who he wants to love because I’m an insensitive asshole who’s having a bit of trouble adjusting to him liking cats instead of dogs and the color purple instead of camo. I want the closeness with my boys that Pop had with all of us. Why not start with something simple like buying him the Legos he wants instead of the ones I want him to have?
“I’ll make you boys a deal,” I invade their conversation. “If you can be on your best goddamn behavior for the rest of this grocery store trip, I’ll buy ‘em both.”
Their eyes widen in excitement.
“But if you screw up, if you whine or fight or make this harder on me, no one gets anything. Got it?”
“Got it!” They chirp in unison.
“Good.” My smile expands theirs. “Now, y’all hold onto them boxes ‘cause there’s no more room in the cart.”
Kyle and Kenny both enthusiastically tuck their toys underneath their arms.
We resume making our way around the building, grabbing the items I discussed with Mama, the snacks for basketball practice I almost forgot, fancy coffee as a surprise for my wife, and two cases of my brother’s beer that they now carry here at the local chain grocery stores. Regardless of the fact I’m fairly certain I have way more shit than I should, I label the adventure a success.
The boys rush into the house as soon as the door is unlocked to put their new toys safely away. Like the good-mannered children they’re being raised to be, they immediately run back out to help take bags inside. They carefully carry the lighter ones. Remind one another they’re almost finished even when it looks like it’ll never end. Laugh and make unnecessary silly faces at each other just to keep the mood joyful. I helplessly smile to myself remembering how me and my brothers behaved the same way when we were kids.
Hell, we still behave that way.
That reminds me. I need to call Big Foot back.
“Eddie!” A woman’s voice unexpectedly shouts to me. “Eddie!”
I throw a glance over my shoulder to see a familiar face alongside one I don’t recognize.
Placing the remaining sacks back down on the bed of my truck, I turn to face the daughter of the neighbor who lives in the corner house. “Hey, Tri.”
Trinity Riley, or Tri as she insists on being called, is the youngest daughter of Carol and Freddie Riley, an older, eccentric couple that somewhat remind me of my own parents. Year-round they request Sienna’s famous cheesecakes, and after the first year we lived here, she stopped charging them for the dessert. They kept an eye on Sienna for me both times she was pregnant and I was out of town for the night. I worried despite the fact she told me repeatedly that she was fine. They brought us meals when the boys were first born, so Mama didn’t have to make as many. It also helped me not have to stress about getting my nursing wife fed so late in the evening because work wouldn’t let me go on time. Nowadays, the Rileys are spoiling the boys with random books and cheap clearance toys. They don’t have any grandchildren yet, which is what I think keeps them spoiling mine. We don’t mind one bit. They’re great folks. Tri we used to see more often when we first bought this house, but that was before her career took off.
Her cocoa complexion appears to be flushed. “Eddie, this is Hollis Pierce-”
“George’s son?”
The male who can’t be any taller than my youngest brother nods his head.
“’Bout time we finally got to meet you.” I extend my palm towards him. “Eddie.”
We shake hands. “Hollis.”
Afterwards, I fold my arms firmly across my chest. “How is George? I only got a chance to make it to the hospital once.”