Loose Screws

by Karen Templeton

  Geoff and I stare at the closed door for several seconds, until I pull myself together to go secure the chain and the two dead bolts, at which point it hits me. Whoa—somehow or other, I now have two men’s balls in my court.

  Unfortunately, I’m not sure I want to play with either set.

  Amazingly enough, nearly two weeks have passed without a single earth-shattering event. If the money hidden in the dog food was significant to the murder case in any way, it didn’t make it to the news, at least, because I’ve been keeping an ear out. The rooster is still here, unfortunately, but Nedra and her magic quilt have somehow trained him not to crow before 8:00 a.m. It finally dawned on me that, since it’s summer, I think a lot of the tenants—mostly Columbia staff—are gone, and the summer students subletting their apartments aren’t about to bring attention to their own activities by blowing the whistle on a rooster.

  Which is not to say that Rocky is going to be our permanent roommate, either. Actually, I think Nedra’s looking into finding another home for him, although she hasn’t exactly said that. But if I know my mother, even the possibility of his being sent back to an abusive home is keeping her up at night.

  And on the Nedra vs. Ginger front, things actually aren’t as bad as I thought they would be. Which is a good thing since it doesn’t appear I’m getting out of here anytime soon (big sigh here—my checking account is running on fumes, folks). Oh, Nedra and I still lock horns about something or other at least once every twenty-four hours, but get this: the other day, we were sitting and watching TV in her room, some political talk show on cable, and this moron starts spouting off at the mouth about women’s rights and before we knew it, we were both yelling at the TV and telling the moron in no uncertain terms where he could stuff his whacked ideas. Of course, two minutes later, some other moron came on, only Nedra agreed with that moron while I didn’t, and we ended up yelling at each other, as usual. But, oh, well.

  She still refuses to tell me much about her Secret Lover, which is driving me crazy. But it is her life, after all. And what—or who—she does has no bearing on mine. So I’m keeping my mouth shut.

  Although my ears and eyes are wide open, believe me.

  As for the Nick-and-Greg saga…well, there isn’t anything to tell, really. I haven’t seen or heard from either of them since the night of the Great Dog Food Caper, for which I’m profoundly grateful. Not that that doesn’t keep me from thinking about both of them. Or talking about them, which I’ve been doing for the past half hour or so to Terrie and Shelby, who’ve met me for lunch at some little Greek eatery around the corner from the store. Which—the store, I mean—is a whole ’nother story that I do not feel like getting into right now.

  “Girl,” Terrie says, waving a forkful of spinach pie at me, “I cannot believe you actually have two men drooling over you. Although, frankly, I’d’ve been tempted to castrate one of them. And I don’t mean Nick.”

  “You’ve never even met Nick,” I point out.

  “True. But I have met Greg.”

  We’ve already been updated on the Davis Crisis, which, after two more dates and one heavy petting session, is still Status Unresolved. I have to say, however, that Terrie seems to be enjoying her misery an awful lot.

  My situation, of course, is more of a dilemma than a crisis, although instinct is telling me it would just be easier to wipe the slate clean and start over than try to figure out any of this mess.

  “So let me see if I have this straight,” Terrie says. “You’re hot for Nick, who you don’t really know, although you think you might like him, even though you don’t think there’s any real possibility there.”

  I think about this, stuff a stuffed grape leaf into my mouth, and nod, noticing that Shelby, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet through the entire meal, has barely touched her moussaka. Then I add, “You forgot the ‘he scares me’ part.”

  “Uh-huh. But you’re also saying you’re not sure you’re as out of love with Greg as you thought you were?”

  I sigh. “I don’t honestly know what I am. I mean, it didn’t make sense to stay in love with him if it was really over. And I know, I know, I should want to see his spleen nailed to the wall. But God, Ter—you should have seen his face. I mean, if he’d been the least bit arrogant or anything like that, I would’ve shown his sorry butt the door, I swear.” Yum…a Greek olive hiding under the lettuce. “Anyway, if I screwed up, I’d sure want someone to give me a second chance. I mean, we do have a history.”

  She gives me a look. “Girl, I’ll take hot over history any day. Besides, I somehow can’t see you walking out on somebody the way he did.”

  I give her a look back. “I walked out on Nick.”

  “Not on your wedding day.”

  “Well, okay, that’s true. But I still hurt him. Or at least, ticked him off.”

  “And you don’t think this man who, by your own reckoning, has probably boinked dozens of women, hasn’t ticked off one or two of them?”

  “Don’t confuse the issue,” I say, although at this point, I’m not sure what the issue even is anymore. “Anyway, as I was trying to say, I’m not overlooking the fact that Greg screwed up. I haven’t changed my mind about that, just because he’s giving me those sad, puppy dog eyes. It’s just…”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, would the two of you just shut up!”

  Terrie and I—along with patrons at the tables on either side of us—turn and gawk as Shelby, whose face has gone very red.

  She looks from Terrie to me, then back again, her fists clenched by her plate. “Do either of you ever really listen to yourselves? God! I mean, between the two of you, you’ve got three really fabulous men after you! And you can’t make up your minds what to do with them? Don’t you get it? You can do whatever the hell you like! You’re free as birds, every option in the world open to you, men eating out of your hands, treating you like gold, and…and…”

  Shelby jumps up; Terrie and I both clamp onto the table so it doesn’t tip over. She grabs her purse, slams down her napkin, says, “You two are the most self-absorbed, fucking stupid women I’ve ever known in my life!” and storms out of the restaurant.

  “I’ll pay,” Terrie says, fumbling for her wallet. “You go after her.”

  I tear out of the restaurant, then stand in the middle of the sidewalk, hoping Shelby didn’t get into a taxi. Of course, the sidewalk is jammed with people and I have no idea which direction she went, but somehow, I catch a glimpse of blue Laura Ashley flowers a half block to my right. Not even three-inch heels keeps me from racing through the crowd to reach her, grabbing her just as she’s about to step off the curb without looking.

  With a startled gasp, Shelby whips around. Her face is streaked with tears.

  “Let me go!” she shrieks, trying to jerk away from me.

  “Forget it, Shel. Jesus, honey—what’s wrong?”

  “None of your business!” She yanks her arm from my grasp and takes off across the street, still against the light. Tires screech; horns blare; Shelby plows ahead.

  “Dammit, Shelby!” I dodge three bikes and a Checker cab to reach her again. She speeds up, her little Pappagallo flats giving her a decided advantage. Who knew she could make tracks like this? Still, my legs are twice as long as hers; I close in, vising her wrist so she can’t get away. People looking at us probably think we’re having a lover’s spat. Like I care.

  Panting, Terrie—who’s wearing shorts and Adidas, the jerk—catches up to us, grabs Shelby’s other wrist. “Okay,” she says, “you gonna tell us what’s going on, or do we have to beat it out of you? And trust me, I can take you without even breaking a nail.”

  But Shelby isn’t smiling. In fact, her face is crumpling even as we speak. “Why should I even try telling you two anything? You just wouldn’t get it, anyway.”

  “Listen, you little twerp,” Terrie says, “you’re the one who’s gonna get it if you don’t cut out this shit and tell us what the hell’s going on.”

  “Yeah,�
�� I say.

  She looks from one to the other of us, then spits out, “I’m pregnant again.”

  Judging by her ravaged expression, my guess is this is not a happy event. So I doubt she’d understand the nasty little “Not fair—how come she gets three when I don’t have any?” stab of envy that just shot through me.

  But, hello? This isn’t about me?

  “But…” I say, knowing I’m treading dangerous waters, “I thought Mark had a vasectomy?”

  Shelby just looks at me.

  “He didn’t?”

  “It didn’t take,” she says, thoroughly disgusted. “So much for giving your med school buddies your business.”

  She turns and starts walking down the street, but not fast enough to be construed as an escape attempt. Terrie and I shrug at each other and follow. Shelby stops at another restaurant, this one with outdoor tables.

  “Oh, God, I need cheesecake,” she says, eyeing a waiter’s serving tray as it zips past. “Come on. My treat.”

  “Whoa.” Terrie peers at both of us over her sunglasses. “Do you realize what this moment signifies?”

  Shelby and I look at each other, then Terrie. Her mouth twisted, Shelby says, “What? That I said the ‘f’ word?”

  “Well, yeah. That, too. But do you realize that this is the very first time you’ve called a Bitch Session?”

  “This isn’t—”

  “Sure it is. Come on.”

  Shelby throws me a wide-eyed glance as Terrie takes her arm and steers her inside the barrier that separates the restaurant from the street, plunking her butt down at a sidewalk table the size of a bottle cap.

  I sit down directly across from Shelby so I can’t stare at her still-flat tummy and ponder the tiny life beginning to form inside.

  Amazing. For all our determination to rise above biology, in the end, it always wins, doesn’t it? No matter how good we get at ignoring our wombs, eventually we can’t even hear ourselves think over the chant of our rapidly aging eggs going, “Where’s the sperm? Where’s the sperm?”

  Survival sucks.

  Anyway, as I said, this isn’t about me. Or Terrie, either, whose expression probably pretty much matches mine. Guess her eggs are shrieking their little hearts out, too. But Shelby’s cheesecake is a good two-thirds demolished before she finally says, “Sorry, guys, for going off on you like that.”

  We both make appropriate demurring noises.

  A little smile plays over Shelby’s light pink lips, then she shrugs. “Damn hormones.”

  “And…?” I say.

  Her eyes lift to mine.

  “I’ve seen you through two other pregnancies, Shel. What happened back there was a lot more than hormones.”

  Another bite of cheesecake disappears, but not before I see her eyes go all glittery. “There are times when I envy the two of you so much I can’t stand it.”

  Terrie and I exchange startled glances, then say, “Why?” at the same time.

  “Why? Because you’re free. Because you can go and do whatever you want without having to answer to anybody else, that’s why. Because you don’t have two little kids sucking you dry every day. Soon to be three little kids. Oh, God—” She presses a trembling hand to her chest. “That sounds so horrible.“

  “But, honey,” I say, “you wanted kids.”

  “I know, I know. And I suppose, at some point, I’ll want this one. I know this makes no sense. You know how much I love my kids. And Mark. And I’m not saying that just to try to convince myself I do. But I wish…” A sigh spills out. “I wish I’d stopped to think things through a little more, that I’d taken more time for myself before I started having children. That I’d maybe explored a few more options.”

  My brows lift. “As in…?”

  Another sigh, then a tiny laugh. “Who knows? Something. Criminy, I never even lived on my own, did I? I mean, I thought I knew who I was, what I wanted before I got married, but…” She waves her hands. “But that’s water under the bridge. What’s bugging me now is that, oh, months ago, I realized how much I miss my work. How much I miss going to work and talking to other adults about something besides potty training and ear infections. I know this sounds so petty, since I have so much to be grateful for, but…I was so sure that being a mommy would give me this incredible sense of fulfillment as a woman. And God knows, there are times it does….”

  Watery gray eyes bounce from Terrie to me. “But it’s not enough. And now there’s another one coming, which means that part of my life’s been put on hold for another five freaking years, and I don’t want to resent my family for needing me, but I do. And it’s making me sick.”

  Terrie and I both reach out, take her hands. It doesn’t matter that I don’t completely get why this is upsetting her so much. This is my cousin and my friend, and she’s confused and hurting. Thus, I hurt for her, as I have since we were little.

  “Have you talked to Mark about how you feel?” I ask.

  She gives a little “hmph” that’s supposed to pass for a laugh. “Oh, right. Like he’s going to understand. He gets to go out to work every day, have his life, come home to clean kids, gourmet dinners, sex three times a week…hey, for him, life is perfect. How could he possibly understand how I feel?”

  A single tear tracks down her cheek. Terrie hands her a napkin to blow her nose. “Let me guess. You haven’t told Mark about the baby yet, have you?”

  Shelby shakes her head.

  “Why not?”

  She wipes at her eyes, looking like a helpless, scared little girl in her cute flowered frock. “Because I’d only do this. And if it’s one thing I’m not anymore, it…it’s a c-crybaby. Oh, God, all this talk about women having choices…it’s all bull…s-shit. Yeah, you can choose whether or not to have children, but once you have them, that really narrows those choices down. At least it does for me.”

  “So…why don’t you see about putting the oldest two in day care?” I say. “It’s not as if you and Mark can’t afford it.”

  But she shakes her head, a stubborn little knot forming between her brows. “They’re my babies. I didn’t have them to let someone else raise them.”

  “Now, see, that’s what’s bullshit,” Terrie says, just as I’m beginning to see the light myself. “For crying out loud, sugar, giving your kids an opportunity to explore their world without Mama hovering over them isn’t relinquishing your responsibility for their care. Do you have any idea how many women would kill to be able to give their babies that kind of opportunity?”

  Then I see it, in Shelby’s eyes. That sense of being trapped. By circumstances, by her own fears, by the impossibly high standards she’s set for herself. And I realize that nothing either Terrie or I can say will make one shred of difference. Because, no matter what choice Shelby makes, she’s going to beat herself up about it.

  And I think, well, hello, that’s what women do. We’re all neurotic twits, scared shitless of making the wrong decision. Look at Terrie, afraid to continue seeing Davis, unable to stop seeing Davis, doomed to feeling like crap no matter what choice she makes.

  And then there’s little old me. Go for it with Nick? Yeah, well, intriguing possibility, but not a practical one. Reestablish ties with Greg, who, whether I like it or not, still tugs at something inside me I can’t even completely define? Mmm…not sure. Forget about both of them, which as I said before, would probably be the wisest choice? Nope. Don’t much care for that one, either.

  Nick is right. We do make things complicated.

  Twenty minutes later Terrie and I put a slightly calmer Shelby in a taxi, then stand with our arms crossed over our middles, watching the cab blend in with a hundred others streaking north. Then she slugs me and puts out her hand.

  “Told you she was unhappy. Now fork over five bucks, honeychile.”

  I’m still pondering all this when I get back to the apartment that evening after work. I don’t think I totally agree with Shelby about the freedom thing, even though I finally understand what she’
s saying. Somewhat. I suppose taking care of three little kids under the age of five would scare the pants off me, too. Still, I have to admit it would be nice not to have to wonder “Where is this relationship going?” ever again. A blissful state I’d thought had been within reach mere weeks ago.

  Which being unmarried and childless is not, despite Shelby’s conviction that I’m completely free to do whatever I want. Oh, yeah, I really chose to spend my days watching my brain slowly rot in this dead-end job, to move back in with my mother. I haven’t chosen to feel this…unsettled, as though my life’s been put on hold just as much as Shelby feels hers has because of the kids.

  God. Listen to me. I mean, things could be worse, right? A lot worse. Okay, so I’m in limbo, both physically and emotionally. But, as Terrie would say, ain’t nuthin’ gonna happen for the better with a negative attitude.

  So…is it kosher to say I’m positive I’m thoroughly confused?

  I drop my keys on the hall table, kick off my heels. Nobody greets me, although I can hear Nonna banging stuff around in the kitchen. I presume Geoff is in there, keeping an eye on things. Where the rooster is, I do not know and do not care.

  I stop in my room long enough to change into a pair of shorts and a tank top, then pad barefoot to the kitchen. The day hasn’t cooled off any, so the fans are still going in the living room and kitchen windows. My grandmother is wearing a loose white T-shirt—mine—over a pair of hot pink capris—also mine. Which probably accounts for the fact that, instead of hitting her three inches below the knee, they hit her three inches above the ankle. The black orthodpedic shoes add an interesting twist to the look.

  She glances over from the stove—where else?—and gives me a sheepish smile. “I wear these while clothes are in laundry. You do not mind?”

  I shake my head, going for the dog’s leash hanging on a hook in one of the cupboards. “Color looks good on you.”

  “You think so? Oh, you don’ have to take out the dog, your mama, she took him out before she left.”