The Blessed Event

by Frankie Bow

  “Oh yeah, you gotta get more Spam, too. You’re almost out.”

  I opened the glass door to the dairy case and savored the chilled air.

  “So, you do eat Spam. I take it you’re not doing your back-to-nature diet anymore then?”

  “Nah. Too humbug.”

  During his previous visit, Davison had observed a strict dietary regime. It allowed organ meats and leafy greens, but banned grains and dairy. Naturally, Donnie had catered to his son, cooking every meal to his new guidelines. It was a dark era of gizzard stews and salads bristling with husks and stems.

  “Don’t get the small milk, ah Molly. Gets used up too fast, that’s why.”

  I sighed, put back the quart container, and pulled out a half gallon instead.

  “Eh, what would you and Dad say if I didn’t go back to school in the fall?”

  I almost dropped the milk on the floor.

  “Not back to school? What do you mean?”

  “What if I took a break?”

  “What? No. Why would you want to take a break? Do you not have enough money? We can lend you money. How much do you need?”

  “Just like for a year.” Davison followed me to the produce section.

  “A year? Away from college? Where would you live for a whole year?”

  I didn’t like to be inhospitable, but Davison had been back for only two days, and I’d already had enough. He left wadded up shirts and dirty dishes everywhere. He ate like an army of locusts coming off spring training. Worst of all, he was just there all the time. Trying to enjoy alone time with my husband was pretty much out of the question with his obnoxious son thumping around in the next room.

  “I thought you liked it at the academy.” I tried to disguise the desperation in my voice. “And you get all four seasons back east. People love seasons. And if you drop out it’ll be hard to get back in. Your father and I don’t want you to lose your momentum.”

  “I could always come back to Mahina State.”

  The military academy was Davison’s third try at college. He’d left Mahina State for a fancy liberal arts college in Southern California, where he’d goofed off, lost his athletic scholarship, and eventually gotten kicked out for cheating. Donnie and I had hoped the structured environment of his current institution would keep him on track.

  “You don’t want to come back to Mahina State. You should try to stick it out where you are.”

  I bustled around the store, trying to pick out snacks that were edible, but not so tasty they’d disappear right away. Plain yogurt. Frozen broccoli. Raw almonds, instead of roasted.

  “You know lots of famous guys, they never finished college at all,” Davison said.

  “Now you’re talking about not finishing at all? I thought you said you just wanted to take a break.”

  I checked out, and we exited to the sidewalk. Davison didn’t offer to carry the bag, which was just as well. He’d probably stick his face into it and start eating the groceries.

  “Dad never went to college,” Davison persisted.

  “Davison, you don’t want to drop out and move back here. Look at everything you’ve already—”

  “Look out,” he shouted, but it was too late. I’d been focused on arguing with Davison, not watching where I was going, and I’d collided with a broad chest in a green football jersey. I looked up. No sunglasses this time. The man’s eyes were flat, black irises revealing nothing.

  He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.” His voice was deep, with a local inflection. He kept the hand on my shoulder and turned to stare at Davison.

  Davison glowered back. This went on for the longest two seconds I have ever experienced.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” I finally ducked out of the man’s grip. I nudged Davison ahead of me with the bag of groceries. I could feel the stranger’s opaque black eyes watching us as we hurried down the sidewalk.

  Once we were safely inside the car, Davison decided to be brave. He unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the door handle.

  “You wait here, Molly. I’m gonna go back there and kick his—”

  “It’s fine, Davison. No harm done. He didn’t even break the eggs. And I was the one who bumped into him. Please buckle in so I don’t get a ticket.”

  I twisted the key in the ignition a few times and pumped the gas pedal until the engine turned over.

  I backed out of the parking space and drove the way we had come, watching the sidewalk, but I didn’t see the man in the green football jersey.

  “Eh, Molly, stop.”

  “No. I’m not stopping. The least I can do is not get you into a brawl with some stranger the minute we leave the house.”

  “It’s Uncle Brian.”

  “Who?”

  “Uncle Brian. What I just said.”

  Davison pointed to a dapper old gentleman strolling down the sidewalk. The man wore wide-leg trousers, a tan windbreaker, and a porkpie hat. His ensemble would have fetched top dollar at the trendy vintage place I used to shop at, the one just off La Brea.

  “Who is Uncle Brian?” I pulled over and parked again.

  Davison jumped out of the car and charged over to the man. I winced as my hulking stepson caught the frail senior citizen in a bear hug. Uncle Brian appeared unharmed, though.

  By the time I joined them, they were chatting.

  Davison switched from Pidgin to Standard American English as I approached. “Uncle, this is Dad’s new wife. Molly, this is Uncle Brian.”

  Uncle Brian grinned, flashing a mouthful of perfect white teeth, and pulled me in for a hug. He smelled like wintergreen and hair oil.

  “Looks just like Sherry, this one.” Uncle Brian released me. “He like the Italian wahine, ah, your fadda?”

  “She’s not Italian, Uncle.” Davison was clearly proud of his insider knowledge. “She’s Armenian.”

  “Albanian. Very nice to meet you. How do you and Davison know each other?”

  “Your husband, Donnie, was my brother’s boy.”

  So “Uncle” wasn’t simply an honorific in this case. Uncle Brian was Donnie’s literal uncle. I absorbed this revelation as Davison and Uncle Brian resumed chatting, quickly lapsing back into Pidgin. I could follow the conversation, but didn’t have much to contribute. They speculated about mutual acquaintances, said some things to each other about sports, and discussed getting together now that Davison was back in town.

  “He seems nice,” I said evenly as we drove uphill from the ocean toward the house. “I didn’t know your father had an uncle. Or any living relatives at all, besides his sister.”

  “Yeah, Uncle Brian’s cool.”

  Donnie rarely talked about his family. I knew he had a sister, Gloria, who lived in the San Francisco Bay Area. Gloria was Davison’s biological mother, but Donnie had adopted and raised Davison as his own. Why Davison’s mother had given him up, and who Davison’s biological father was, I had no idea. The most interesting (by which I mean sordid) part of the family saga had to do with Donnie’s first wife, Sherry Di Napoli.

  Sherry ran off when Davison was eight years old. Years later, Sherry and Davison reconnected, but neither one realized they had once been a family. Davison and Sherry were both reasonably attractive, and neither of them was ever going to end up in the Impulse Control Hall of Fame, so you can imagine how that went. By the time the truth was out, it was too late for either of them to be too bothered about it. As Sherry memorably said of her former stepson, “He’s not a light bulb. I can’t un-screw him.”

  Sherry had been in and out of Davison’s life ever since.

  I knew Sherry, and I got along with her, but I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw my Thunderbird. Donnie acknowledged an “unhealthy attachment” between Sherry and Davison, but preferred to remain in denial about the particulars.

  I couldn’t really blame Donnie for not wanting to acknowledge the Sherry and Davison situation. And perhaps Donnie’s sister wanted to keep the circumstances of D
avison’s adoption private, which would explain Donnie’s reticence on the topic. But it was curious, I reflected, that Donnie had never once mentioned his Uncle Brian.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The first thing I did was clear a place in the closet for my new instrument. According to the Fujioka’s receipt, it was a “Guitalele,” a term I had no intention of using. After I’d put away my guitar, I came back out to the kitchen. My unhelpful stepson had opened the milk, left the carton out on the counter, and disappeared into his room. I put away the groceries by myself.

  Maybe I hadn’t been as productive as I’d planned, and I’d let Davison take up way too much of my day, but I had a rare treat planned for the evening. Donnie and I had a dinner date at the Maritime Club, Mahina’s oldest private club and possibly the last place on earth with Baked Alaska on the menu. My entrepreneurial husband (I’ve never cared for the term “workaholic,” as there’s no such substance as “workohol”) had taken the evening off and scheduled one of his capable managers to cover the dinner shift at Donnie’s Drive-Inn.

  I planned to make sure to tell Donnie I’d taken Davison shopping. Donnie sincerely believed if I spent time getting to know Davison, I would learn to love my new stepson as much as he did. I didn’t share Donnie’s optimism, but I wanted to let him know I was trying. Naturally, I’d have to curate the day’s events a little. I wouldn’t mention the scary man in the green football jersey. We would probably never see him again anyway, and telling Donnie would only make him worry.

  I went back to the bedroom to choose something to wear, and glanced at the clock on the dresser. The deadline to upload final grades for spring semester was six p.m. I’d wait until a quarter till. I’d found if I released grades early, students would see it as an opportunity to open negotiations.

  Niccolo Machiavelli advised that severities should be dealt out all at once, so that their suddenness may give less offense. Machiavelli’s counsel more or less guided my grade-posting policy.

  I pulled out three outfits from the closet, and laid them out on the bed. My Lilli Ann cocktail dress required a corset underneath, which would interfere with my enjoyment of dinner. Also, this choice might require some stealth, as Donnie didn’t know I even owned a corset, and I didn’t feel like explaining it to him. My vintage fitted cheongsam in magenta silk looked stunning when I was standing up, but I wasn’t sure I could sit down in it.

  I decided to go with silver silk trousers and an ivory blouse. I was just hanging up the cheongsam when I heard Donnie’s car in the carport, and then his keys in the door. I hurried out to meet him.

  My husband was remarkably easy on the eyes. Even at the end of the workday, when he would walk into the house wearing his perfectly pressed red Donnie’s Drive-Inn polo shirt, the armbands straining over his biceps, and he flashed me that gorgeous smile—sorry, where was I?

  Right. Getting dressed for dinner. I intercepted Donnie at the door with a big hug. He looked around a little self-consciously, and then grinned and hugged me back.

  “What’d I do to deserve this?”

  “I’m just happy to see you. The semester’s over. Grading is done. I’m not interim department chair anymore, and I’m looking forward to a nice dinner out.”

  “It’s just the Chamber of Commerce awards banquet. Not exactly the most romantic surroundings.”

  “It’s okay. I’m planning to enjoy it anyway.”

  “Did Davison behave himself today?”

  “Yes. In fact, I took him shopping.”

  Donnie pulled back and beamed at me.

  “Shopping? Where’d you go?”

  “Oh, just Natural High for some groceries. And Fujioka’s.”

  “The music store? What were you doing there?”

  “I bought a guitar. Don’t worry,” I added quickly. “It was inexpensive.”

  Donnie had been worried about cash flow recently. Something about daily receipts at the Drive-Inn. When I asked him about it, all he would tell me was that it was just temporary, and nothing to be troubled about.

  “Molly, I’m not concerned about the money. So are you going to start playing again?”

  “I want to. Donnie, you have to see it. It looks like an ukulele, but it’s actually a proper six-string guitar. It’s adorable.”

  “A guitar that looks like an ukulele? Is there a name for it?”

  “No, it’s just a guitar. Okay, I know we have to go soon. Let me get the grades uploaded before we leave.”

  I sat down at my workstation and opened the Mahina State University Learning Management System.

  “You’re a little underdressed for dinner, Molly. Where’s Davison?”

  I realized I was sitting in the living room in my bathrobe. I’d have to get used to not having the house to myself.

  “He’s back in the guest room, I think. Oh, Donnie, speaking of Davison. Has he said anything to you about being in a serious relationship? Like buying an engagement ring serious?”

  “No, he hasn’t mentioned anything to me. Why? Is there someone you’d like to introduce him to?”

  “No. I was just wondering if you knew why he might be ring shopping. He hinted there was someone special, but he wasn’t specific.”

  “I think Davison’s a long way from being ready to settle down. He has to finish college first.”

  “I agree.” I pressed the “upload” button to enter the final grades and stood up. “I have my outfit laid out already, so I’m just going to log off and—”

  A “boop” sounded from my computer.

  “It sounds like you have a new message,” Donnie said. “Do you want to check it before we go?”

  “It can wait. We should get going—”

  “Boop,” went my computer. “Boop.”

  “You’re right. I probably should check my mail before we go. That way I won’t be worrying about it over dinner.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I sat down at the computer again.

  “This is impossible. I just uploaded the grades. How did she get back to me so quickly? What, was she sitting by her computer refreshing the display every five seconds?”

  “All capital letters?” Donnie peered over my shoulder. “This must be really important.”

  I HAVE 57% ON THE WRITTEN ASSIGNMENTS, 58% ON THE QUIZZES, 58% ON THE FINAL, 98% ATTENDANCE, AND 77% ON THE MIDTERM, SO MY TOTAL GRADE IS 347%. THAT IS A PASSING GRADE PLEASE FIX THIS ASAP.

  I stood up. “I’m not dealing with this right now.”

  “I’m going to take a quick shower,” Donnie said. “Do you think you can be ready in about twenty minutes?”

  “Oh, sure, I—”

  “Boop. Boop,” went my computer as new messages popped up at the top of my inbox.

  “What’s going on?” Donnie frowned at my computer.

  I sat down again. “Grade-grubbing season has begun. You think this is bad, you should see what Emma gets. She teaches introductory biology, so every semester she crushes the dreams of dozens of future doctors. It’s so bad she’s started carrying around a little pen recorder for when students claim she promised them extra credit or whatever.”

  “You’re not going to try to answer all of these right now, are you?” Donnie glanced at his watch. “Can’t you leave some of these for later?”

  “I will. Oh, wait. Here’s one from the marketing office. Do I want to continue being listed on the speakers’ roster? Sure, why not. Yes, I’d be delighted, press reply, and sent. Okay. Done. Oh no, something else from the Student Retention Office about our new Humor Initiative.”

  “Can you ignore it for now?”

  “Better than that. I’m deleting it.”

  I powered off my computer and followed Donnie into the bedroom.

  “Your dirty Drive-Inn shirts are on the dresser,” I said. “Did you want me to put them by the front door? When is the pickup again?”

  “I’ll take care of the shirts. Thanks for offering. I want to add this one, too.”

  Donnie pulled off the shirt
he was wearing, rendering me momentarily speechless.

  “You should put a vacation responder on your email.” He folded his shirt neatly and added it to the stack on the dresser.

  “How do you know about vacation responders, Donnie? I’ve never known you to go on vacation.”

  “I get them from other people sometimes. The person is out of the office until a certain date. If your matter is urgent, please contact the main desk at this number.”

  “You know what? That’s a good idea. I know the Student Retention Office won’t like it, because they think we should be at their beck and call twenty four-seven, but I’m not getting paid over the summer, and they are. Donnie, do you mind if I just get these shirts out of the way?”

  I retrieved the cleaner’s bag from the closet, swept the stack of used shirts into it, and handed it to Donnie.

  “Oh. Sorry. I’ll bring this out to the car when we go. Hey, you don’t have to let the Student Retention Office push you around anymore. You have tenure now.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

  “That’s right,” I called after him. “I do have tenure now. No more unpaid summer work. No more giving do-overs to plagiarists and cheaters.”

  I remembered who was occupying the guest room next door, and quickly changed the subject.

  “I’m not going to think about work right now. I’m going to get dressed up and enjoy a lovely dinner.”

  I stood in front of the mirrored closet door and examined my face. My makeup was mostly intact, so I didn’t have to wash it off and start over. I dabbed away under-eye mascara flakes with a Q-tip, and blotted the shine from my skin. Good enough. I hung up my bathrobe, dumped baby powder into my armpits, swung my arms back and forth to disperse the powder, and pulled on the trousers and blouse. Then I rubbed a greasy dab of VO5 between my palms, and pulled it through my hair a few times to define the curl.

  “Oh, and Donnie,” I called into the bathroom. “I’m going to wear those beautiful platinum earrings and necklace you gave me. Can I come in and get them?”

  The shower was already running, and he couldn’t hear me. I went into the steamy bathroom and checked the vanity counter for my necklace and earrings. They weren’t there.