Look How You Turned Out

by Diane Munier

  "You learned this with Angela." I touch his jaw. He's shaved for me, and his face is smooth.

  "But not like you think. When someone pulls out…you, realize how binding it really is. It's not easy to let it go. It means something on a level deeper than just legal. It's layered. You're supposed to be able to trust this person, right? You take it for granted until you can't. Then you see how serious it is. When the trust is gone…you see what a big deal it all is…you know?"

  "I can only imagine, Marcus. I've never…."

  "I know. I know baby. I'm just telling you…I hope it's…."

  "I want to know. Everything. Please tell me."

  He sighs. "She um…she was prone to depression. When I met her, she was in an up cycle, going to law school. She was intelligent. But there was always an unpredictable streak which seemed exciting on some immature level. Immature meaning me. She um…she wasn't happy about the pregnancy. She fell apart a little, and I rushed in on my white horse to do the right thing. I figured we could overcome her difficulties.

  "She went off her meds during the pregnancy, something she'd been so afraid to do. And she had a few bad times, but the pregnancy seemed to stabilize her emotions somewhat, which was a big surprise to her especially, but to me as well.

  "But after Juney she was so depressed. She didn't have an interest in him. She wouldn't hold him even. I worried…I didn't think she'd hurt him on purpose, but neglect. I graduated and took family leave from the law firm I worked at, but I had to go back eventually, and Mom took over. Angela…got worse. We saw doctors…psychiatrists. I worried she would hurt herself. My work suffered. It was a slow descent into a nightmare. She started to go out. During the day, then at night.

  Then she didn't come home, and I combed the neighborhood. I did that at first. Then she didn't come home for stretches of time. Juney…he was always so incredible." He doesn't finish. We hold each other for a while in silence. Finally, "He didn't even know to ask for her."

  After that, there's not much more to say. I see how it was. He's not blaming, not bitter, but he tells the truth.

  I awake around three.

  In a couple of hours, we have to get up, don our uniforms and go to our respective jobs. He will have to serve an eviction notice on a woman and her boyfriend outside of town, and I'll have to help with the breakfast rush which will include of few of the boys who shot a deer at the crack of dawn. But now there's this and us and our warm nest of love and every now and then his chest moving with his quiet laughter. Happy.

  Chapter 46

  I can work indefinitely at Billy's with the crowd and the state of things, but I am firm about getting off at twelve noon. I stop by the hospital and see Dad, take his laundry and leave clean clothes. Then it's home again home again jiggety jog. I have cookie dough to make. And Sloppy Joe. So I rush home, and I'm singing Jingle Bells all the way.

  I get a bushel basket off the porch, dump the new snow out of it and take it in the kitchen to load my ingredients. I run upstairs and shower, and change into soft and warm, and I am barely in Marcus's kitchen and unpacked before Elaine drops off Juney.

  He comes in the kitchen and drops his backpack and gets on the stool next to me. "What you doing?"

  "Hey to you too," I say. "You want to brown the meat or mix the dough?"

  "I'll do the meat," he says.

  "I brought fries from the restaurant," I say. Nice, raw, seasoned, frozen. He loves those.

  Now most kids, yeah don't try this at home, but this kid, he cooks. He cooks with Marcus, even though it's limited to the box, but he cooks with Grampa Artie, I know he cooks with Elaine, and he cooks with me. So I find him an apron, tie it around his skinny waist, and he's breaking the meat up with a wooden spoon. I go to the big screen in the family room and put on the holiday music.

  "Not pops," Juney says loudly.

  "I know," I say choosing the oldies, Burl Ives and Perry Como and Bing.

  I get out the butter and the bowl. "Where's the hand mixer?" I ask.

  Juney is working the meat, and he's looking at me, this innocent little boy face of his.

  "There's no mixer," I say.

  He's just staring.

  "That's why she brought hers," I say.

  "It's in the linen closet," he says.

  I blink. "Why?"

  "He said when you throw things through people's windows you don't get them back," he says.

  What? So he's punishing her? Is he punishing her?

  "Does it…," I clear my throat, "still work?"

  "Yeah. Dad tried it. But it's pink," he calls to me.

  I whip open the linen closet. Well, there's some of the Christmas decorations. Good thing we're putting those up so I don't have to organize this. Marcus's collection of linens sucks. On the floor is the pink beast. I pick the heavy thing up.

  Bitch has an arm to toss this thing. I carry it back in the kitchen and heft it onto the counter.

  "The bowl is dented," Juney notes.

  "Yeah," I say. I take the bowl and wash it, wipe the mixer down. The pink is scarred in some places. I plug it in, move the lever, and it runs without difficulty. "We should write the company and let them know," I say. "They should turn this thing into a car."

  "You're really gonna use it?" Juney says.

  "We need a mixer. The only thing that would keep me from using this thing is my pride. And I'm too tired to have pride."

  "What's pride anyway?"

  "Pride is what you have when you meet people in the street and pull your six gun, because they called you crazy."

  "I was just kidding when I said that," he defends.

  "Pride is what you try to hang on to so you can look cool. It's dignity. You know what dignity is?"

  He sighs. "Dignity is like…not throwing up in class."

  I laugh. "Yeah. That's exactly right. So me using this mixer is like you throwing up in class. But I'm doing it anyway cause I've got a pound of butter hard as a brick."

  "You're crazy," he says working over the meat with his miniature Marcus hair so cute against his neck. I'm never going to be able to be mad at him with that hair. And forget his green eyes. Just forget it.

  "Takes one to know one," I say, but when he looks at me I smile, and he does too.

  When Marcus gets home, we have Sloppy Joe ready and cookie dough chilling in the frig. He takes note of the mixer right off, but he doesn't ask.

  "It's her," Juney says.

  "Bedilia," Marcus repeats so Juney uses my name I guess. I can handle Juney, but it's kind of sweet the way he thinks he has to defend me or something.

  "It smells good in here. How are you Miss Bedilia?" he asks, kissing me in front of Juney.

  "Fine," I say like a putz cause I have thought of kissing him all day. We get in two big smooches and Juney protests.

  Marcus goes to Juney next, "I'm getting to you," he says, and Juney says, "No," but Marcus hugs and kisses him anyway and he doesn't protest too much. "Did you have a good time with Granma?"

  "Yes," Juney says. "But I didn't get to come home until after lunch," he complains just in case we were going to think he was completely happy.

  "I had to work, Juney," Marcus says. "Let me change and I'll help."

  Marcus goes into the back room to change, and Juney and I start to make sandwiches and put salad in bowls. Then I get the fries out of the oven, Marcus emerges in home clothes, flannel, and jeans and gets a fire going and Juney sets the table. We sit down to a feast.

  At the table, Marcus is talking about a guy who was walking across country and how he stopped at the station today and Juney is asking questions, but all sound is muffled by my thoughts. This is our first dinner together in the house we'll share. I don't want this to be occasional. I want this to be my everyday life. We belong together. We work.

  Marcus is telling me how good my sandwiches are. I give Juney credit.

  "Good salad," Marcus says with his mouth full, and I feel his socked feet tangle with mine, and Juney looks under the t
able and says hey and pretty soon all three of us have our feet stacked.

  "Marcus," I say.

  "Yes, my Bedilia?"

  "I was thinking…what if we get married on Christmas Eve?"

  "Christmas Eve?" Juney says but Marcus is looking at me.

  "I think we could get Pastor Bob to do it if we did it around eleven, well before the services," I continue because I've been thinking about this and little else on a subliminal level since we decided to do this. Oh, I may look like I've been all about the meatloaf special and if someone wants mashed potatoes or potato medley all friggin' week long, but this is what I've been kicking around.

  "You wouldn't go away, would you?" Juney says.

  "No," I say. "We don't need to go anywhere."

  "Bedilia…we will have a honeymoon…when we can," Marcus says.

  "Can I go?" Juney says.

  "No," Marcus says as I'm saying, "Maybe."

  "Why can't I go?" Juney says.

  "It's a long way off," Marcus says. "When we go you'll know where we are and how far and when we'll be back. You can stay with Granma and maybe Artie some too. We'll leave you a cell phone, and we can be in touch every day," Marcus says, so used to addressing all of Juney's fears.

  "Why can't I go along? Bedilia doesn't mind."

  "It's husband and wife time, Juney," Marcus says.

  "But you're not fighting," Juney says.

  "What do you mean?" Marcus.

  "When you and Angela went away it was because you were fighting or she was sick."

  Marcus flashes a look to me, but he's got it. "Juney, this is a celebration for Bedilia and I getting married. The husband and wife take a little trip. It's a happy time."

  "But I want to celebrate."

  "You're the kid," I say. "Sometimes we'll need some time alone so we do stay good and strong, see? You can't always go along cause moms and dads need time."

  "Lovey-dovey time," he says with attitude.

  "Yes," I say. "Lots and lots of that. You know that. But they'll be plenty of family time too. I'm not going to steal your dad from you like you stole Artie from me."

  "I did not steal him," Juney protests.

  I blow a raspberry. "Little Juney straight from heaven. He hasn't looked at me since."

  Juney laughs. "That's not true. Dad?"

  "He's pretty crazy about you, son. But he's crazy about his sweet little Bedilia, too."

  "Sweet little Bedilia," Juney mimics at me.

  "Little Juney straight from heaven," I mimic back.

  The afternoon is spent rolling out dough and baking cookies. Marcus helps a little, but he has chores at Artie's house as well as his own. Once the cookies are baked, we bundle up, and Marcus drives us to the Boy Scout's stand and we pick out two trees and two wreaths, then it's back home. Now Juney and I make the icings for the cookies and dye some red, some green, leave some white, and we start to decorate cookies, and Marcus puts Artie's tree on our back porch, then he comes home and gets his tree nice and solid in the stand. Then he sloppily decorates a cookie and shoves the whole thing in his mouth, and Juney laughs.

  Once we get those cookies done, and they are covering every surface while the icing sets, we start the first movie, Elf, of course, and Marcus drags out his sad collection of ornaments and some preserved art projects Juney has created over the years. Marcus puts the lights on the tree and then I have him pop corn so we can make some cool garland, but the popcorn smells so good we eat more than we string so Marcus has to pop three batches. And Juney and I make a plan on how to hang the ornaments according to sizes, but he doesn't stick to the plan. Marcus makes his famous hot chocolate and puts the star on top of the tree and has to mess with it for almost an hour to change the bulb and get it to go on. And finally it's not bad, and we play some more music and dance in the living room because it's not as warm, and Juney gets on the couch and shakes his little butt around, and Marcus laughs then says, "That's enough Juney."

  Then we hold the ends of Marcus's extended duster and limbo rock. And Marcus can go lower than anyone, but he falls back on the floor and says, “Oh my back,” and he's laughing, and we leave him lying there while we pack the cookies in Tupperware, including Jessica's Tupperware. Then we start It's a Wonderful Life and Juney is on his beanbag, and I am on the couch, and Marcus comes in and squeezes behind me, almost knocking me off, but these are huge man-couches so there's room if he holds me tight and he does, and Juney falls asleep while George is trying to shake the dust of his crummy town off his feet.

  Marcus has an afghan over us and his hands, and he's kissing my neck and breathing in my ear, and his hands are everywhere. He warns me to be still and kisses my ear, and my eyes slide closed, and he kisses my hair.

  "Christmas Eve," he says. "It's too far away. What are you doing tomorrow?"

  "On Sunday? Artie."

  "I don't know if I can wait. You're too far away."

  "I'm across the street." But I know what he means. I know exactly what he means.

  He tells me to let him up, and he gets Juney on his feet and gets him in bed, and I start to clean up, and he comes to me and tells me to leave it, and we're back on the couch, and he's kissing me like the world is about to end, the ship's going down, the aliens have landed with that cookbook How to Serve Man, and they're at the door. He's kissing me like I'm kissing him.

  He quickly walks me to the door, turns on the light and we start kissing on the stoop all lit up now in case the neighbors have any questions. "Tomorrow," he says again. "Unless you want the whole deal…the dress and all of it. Do you?"

  "No. Never. I just want you."

  He groans and kisses me, bends me back a little. "Come with me to the Casbah," he says low, and I laugh.

  "Marcus," I giggle, then we're kissing again.

  "And we will make beautiful music together," he says in this sexy voice, and I crack up again.

  Then I know what. I know what we'll do.

  Chapter 47

  Scenes from a wedding part 1

  "I still don't see what the rush is pumpkin face," he says.

  Is my face swollen or something? I'll just never get comfortable with that name.

  "Dad, Dad, Dad, just be like Nike, okay?" I am hanging his pressed uniform on the door in his hospital room, the same hospital where we will come for an emergency wedding. They're going along. I am the chief's daughter.

  "Honey…you're my little girl dammit. Why'd that son of a bitch have to run into me anyway."

  "Dad…you've got an hour and a half which means I've got an hour and a half. This…pumpkin face needs to look…amazing."

  "C'mere," he says holding out his arm. I sigh and go to him, fall on the chair beside the bed and put my arms around him.

  "Daddy."

  Let me back-up. During the night, I've arranged our entire wedding, via text, with Marcus. We are getting married in the hospital's chapel. The pastor will be there at twelve o'clock, right out of church, with the fresh glow of fellowship upon him…or the exhaustion from the same, it's a crap-shoot.

  The hospital's chapel looks good already—Christmas. Pointsettias and candles. Marcus has prevailed upon the judge by now, and he'll have the license. Then he takes care of his mom. I take care of Artie. Teresa is taking care of the food.

  They are letting us use the conference room at the hospital, and she is bringing the special fried chicken, mashed potatoes with white or brown gravy, green beans, applesauce, and two kinds of rolls. She insists on bringing the cake. I said never mind we have Christmas cookies up the wahzoo.

  Our rings aren't here yet, but my engagement ring will be re-used in the ceremony, and it's my favorite anyway, and I'll just put his class ring on his finger. It is poifect, and yes I said poifect.

  Marcus has only to get himself and Juney ready, and I have to get myself ready. But the thing is…Elaine shows up at my house at seven in the morning with her wedding dress. "Wear it or not," she says in her usual humble manner.

  It is the real
deal, more girly and sweet than I would have picked, a little heavy on the shoulder pads cause it was the eighties. Thing is, this dress was from when she married Don, so if this were Braveheart, it would be the family plaid.

  The veil is pretty traditional and not the atrocious headgear that was popular back then. I could never carry it off without the big hair, and my hair is thick and abundant, but it isn't intentional.

  I try on that dress, with her help, and it isn't bad, and she gets out the old steam iron I didn't even know Artie had and gets busy on the kitchen table—ironing, not anything weird like…dancing.

  I apologize for the way we are doing things. Best she know now how unpredictable I can be. But I plan to change that—get more…predictable I guess.

  "I think Marcus likes you just the way you are, Bedilia. I've never seen him so happy. Even when Juney was born, he was over his head with his marriage then. But…you've reminded me that underneath that uniform is a very light-hearted human being—and I thought he was gone.

  "It's not that I don't love the man he's become. There's so much to admire about Marcus. But he almost became…humorless. That wasn't really fair to Junior. I…worried…."

  She breaks down there. Mothers are a black hole in my repertoire of understanding, and I am the world's worst comforter. But I go to her and tell myself not to say anything dumb. I pat her shoulder, and she pats my hand and digs a Kleenex out of her pocket and dabs her nose like a lady should. I guess.

  "I um…I really love him. I always have. It just…he changed…settled into this very sober man," she continues.

  Um…sober is good Elaine. Mothers want that…usually. But I know what she means. Mr. Serious about everything. But me…um…well his mother doesn't need to know how I've lusted after him, and love took hold in there like an errant cell…and grew.

  Bad analogy.

  I mean I am consumed with love and lust as opposed to lust with a little love on the side. That's been my metamorphosis comes to her son is all I'm trying to say for the love of God.