“That’s cool about the ruby. But the cat’s out of the bag, isn’t it?”
We both glanced at the cell phone. It had gone silent again, and then it gave a little vibration letting us know there was a voicemail waiting.
“It’s only gonna get harder,” he warned. “The last thing you want to do is let your mother spin herself into a tizzy.”
My shoulders sank. “You’re right. That’ll just make it worse. My mother is a category five hurricane on the path to grandmother-hood. Nothing and no one will get in her way. Not even her daughter. I already miss drinking,” I said with a sigh. “I never realized how much I relied on liquid courage.”
“You don’t need it; you have me.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.
“I’ll listen to the voicemail,” I said with great reluctance. I picked up my cell phone and pressed a button. My mother’s voice blasted through the device, making it sound like she was in the same room.
“I’M GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!” she shouted and then the line went silent.
I looked at the phone and then at Aidan. “Was that it?”
“I think so,” he said, equally as confused.
“That wasn’t that bad,” I remarked.
“Yeah, that was subdued for her. I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either.”
My phone chimed with an incoming text. “From my father,” I told Aidan. “Oh. No.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Goldstein is at the Atlanta airport—she’s flying to New York.” Looking at Aidan, I felt my pulse speed up. “Category five just became category six.”
“I need a drink,” Aidan muttered.
“Sibyl Ruth Goldstein Hyphen Kincaid, I could absolutely kill you!” My mother yelled as she wrapped her arms around my middle and pressed her cheek to my stomach.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I got out. When it was clear she had no intention of letting go of my belly, I sighed. “Ma, I’m up here. I’m not an incubator.”
“I wanted to be the first one to hug my grandchild. Three more seconds.”
I rolled my eyes heavenward. Did you know you could be completely claustrophobic in your own body?
Mrs. Goldstein pushed back and then finally gave me a real hug, her scowl diffusing into a beautiful, happy smile. “Your father told me I should’ve waited to get confirmation from you, but knowing you, you were dodging my phone calls.”
“Er—”
Mrs. Goldstein pushed me aside and went for Aidan. “And you—you glorious, handsome son-in-law of mine, get over here so I can thank you for finally getting the job done. That virility tonic from my herbalist was a little Red Bull for your boys.”
Color suffused Aidan’s cheeks as he dutifully bent over to give my five-foot-two Tasmanian Devil of a mom a hug. He shot me a look over her shoulder, and I mouthed, Told ya so.
Mrs. Goldstein let go of Aidan and sauntered into the apartment. “The old me would’ve killed you both for allowing me to find out I was going to be a grandmother via social media. But the new me, the zen me, is okay with this knowledge. I am at peace with it.”
Aidan threw me a look and I shrugged. “So, when’s Dad showing up?” I asked.
“He’s not coming; he’s speaking at that heart conference.”
I swallowed. “It’s just you?”
“Just me,” she chirped.
“And you leave when?”
“I have to be back on Tuesday for my pottery-making class.”
Five days.
Mrs. Goldstein would be here for five days.
“Are you”—Aidan cleared his throat—“staying in a hotel?”
She laughed. “Oh, you silly boy, of course not! I will stay right here on your new pull-out couch. I didn’t want to waste any time commuting, you know. We have so much to get done! This place is in no shape for a baby. We have to start babyproofing immediately. Not to mention furniture shopping for the nursery…” She kept gabbing as she went for her phone to make a list, but I tuned her out. While she was in full on grandmother mode, I looked at Aidan.
“Am I having a stroke?” I whispered.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he murmured, completely dazed. He touched his face. “I can’t feel anything.”
Mrs. Goldstein clapped her hands, turning her focus back to us. “Come on you two. We have a lot to do!”
“Who’s ready for dinner?” I asked.
“I could eat.”
Mom didn’t acknowledge the question. She was too busy leafing through a Ralph Lauren Baby Magazine. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to pick up any books for you before I got on the plane.”
I blinked. Glancing at Aidan, I said, “Can you order the pizza?”
My mother set the magazine down on her lap. “Sibby, now that you’re pregnant, you need to pay attention to your diet. You can’t live off of pizza and M&M’s. You need a balanced diet. Lots of grilled chicken and spinach. Red meat you can have once in a while, but it has to be cooked well-done.”
“Blasphemy.”
She ignored me. “No more soft cheeses. And do you have any oysters? You should throw those out immediately.”
“Ma, when have I ever had oysters in my refrigerator?” I demanded.
“How about pizza tonight? And grilled chicken tomorrow?” Aidan asked, ever the peacekeeper.
“I suppose that would be fine,” my mother allowed, turning her attention back to the magazine. She dog-eared a page, and I wondered what ridiculous outfit she was hoping to send to my unborn child.
“Pizza is on the way,” Aidan said a few minutes later, setting down his cell phone.
I curled my feet under myself and reached for the blanket resting on the back of the couch. Aidan helped cover me and then scooted close. My mother watched us from the matching chair with a smile on her face.
It was like my mother had taken an extra dose of quirky. This hadn’t been the first time she’d shown up announced. A few years ago, she and my father had made an unexpected trip to New York. I’d filled them in that not only had I split from my boyfriend of two years, but I’d also lost my office job. I’d presented Aidan to them and admitted I was a waitress in an Italian restaurant. Once they’d gotten over their shock, they’d been incredibly supportive.
“So, I didn’t know you were in a pottery class,” Aidan said, trying to diffuse the strange tension in the room.
“Oh yeah. I started…three weeks ago? It’s super fun. I get to be creative and drink wine while doing it!”
“Cool,” I said.
“Yes. And the teacher is a young sculptor with a firm tuchus.”
My eyes widened. “I’m glad for you?” What was I supposed to say to that?
Mrs. Goldstein laughed, taking in my expression. “I’m married, Sibby, not dead. I still have a very healthy sex—”
“Who wants a beer?” Aidan interjected, standing up. “I’m getting a beer. OJ for you, Sibby?”
“Sure. I like to live on the edge,” I said. “Mom?”
“I’ll have a beer, too. It sounds nice.”
My mom was a wine type of woman, and vodka martinis when she went to weddings. Told me they made her feel wicked and dangerous. I could count on my hands how many times I’d seen my mother drink a beer.
Shaking my head, I wondered if I’d fallen into a parallel universe.
“Great, I’ll be right back,” Aidan said. He went to the kitchen, which had an open floor plan, but at least he’d escaped. Marginally.
“I’d like to talk about what this grandchild will call me.” Mom set aside the magazine and gave me her undivided attention.
“I thought you wanted to be called Bubbe?”
“Bubbe sounds so…old. And German.”
“Your family is German,” I pointed out.
“My family is also French. I was thinking Grandmère.”
“Ohhhhhh-kay.”
“Or Grand-Ma-Ma. Emphasis on the second syllable.”
Yep. Parallel universe, indeed.
“Would you like the kid to speak with an English accent when it calls you ‘Grand-Ma-Ma’?” I asked, tone dry.
I heard Aidan choke on a laugh.
“Let’s not call my grandbaby a ‘kid,’ okay? Let’s come up with a unisex nickname.”
Aidan returned with our drinks. He handed my mother a pint of beer and then set the glass of OJ on a black slate coaster. “I like that idea.”
“What idea?” I demanded.
“We need a name to call the baby while it’s in utero,” my mother went on. “No more calling it ‘kid’ or ‘it.’”
“Oh, I see. You want to give it a cutesy nickname,” I drawled.
“Exactly.” Mrs. Goldstein beamed.
“How about peanut?” Aidan suggested.
“No.”
“Sprout,” my mother suggested.
“Veto.”
“I got it,” Aidan said in excitement. “Nugget!”
“Hell n—”
“Oh! I love that!” My mother clapped her hands. “Nugget! Yes! I have a grand nugget! That’s the cutest thing ever!”
“I know!” Aidan agreed.
“Pierogi!” I shouted.
They both looked at me. Aidan frowned. “You want a pierogi? I can run out and get you—”
“No, I don’t want a pierogi. I refuse to call my unborn child a nugget. We live in a Polish neighborhood; I want the nickname to be ethnic, okay? Pierogi.”
My mother blinked. “You can’t call a baby a pierogi.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “My uterus, my rules.”
Chapter 16
#fuckkale #fuckallthekale #notarabbit
The next morning, I woke up alone. Aidan didn’t have to be at the bar until three, and he’d promised to spend most of the day running interference between my mother and me.
I loved my mother. I did. In small doses. Very far away. She usually traveled with my father who somehow counteracted her energy. He was like a human version of Benadryl. He calmed my mother, in a way no one else could.
Four days and counting.
“Aidan?” I called, rolling out of bed. I padded my way into the living room. The pull-out sofa was put back together, the bedding folded up and stacked on the chair.
My mother and Aidan were nowhere to be found.
They must’ve run out to grab breakfast, letting me sleep. I went into the kitchen intending to make coffee. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find it. I frowned. I knew we hadn’t gone through it all, but when I opened all the cabinets, I found only empty shelves.
Except for the lone box of mint tea.
“What the hell is this?” I demanded.
There was no caffeine in my apartment.
Did my mother throw it all out?
Didn’t she know how dangerous that was?
I looked in the refrigerator. Empty too except for a carton of orange juice and a plastic to-go cup filled with green sludge.
Time to find out what the hell was going on. I located my phone and shot off an all-caps text to Aidan. He called immediately.
“Hey, Sib,” he greeted. “Sleep well?”
“Yeah, great,” I groused. “Aidan, where is all the caffeine?”
“We threw it out,” he said, confirming my suspicions.
I took a deep breath, striving for calm. “Why?”
“Because caffeine isn’t good for Pierogi.”
And so it had begun, I thought darkly.
“And all the food? Where’s all the food?”
“It was all processed junk,” he said. “Mom and I are at Whole Foods. We’re just finishing placing our order.”
“Order? What order?”
There was the sound of shuffling, and then my mother’s voice came through the phone. “Whole Foods delivers. We’re getting you and Pierogi a lot of healthy foods. Wheatgrass, kale, Brussels sprouts, peas—”
“I get enough peas when I order Aloo Mater Gobi every week,” I interjected.
“Balance, Sibby,” she reminded me. “Organic chicken breast, organic turkey breast—”
“Bacon? Please tell me you at least got me some bacon.”
“Too fatty.”
I was slowly losing my will to live. No caffeine? No bacon?
“And I got you every type of herbal tea they have. So you’ll have plenty to drink in the mornings. We have to keep you hydrated!”
“Fantastic,” I muttered.
Mom didn’t even register the sarcasm. She’d gone down the Grand-Ma-Ma rabbit hole.
“We’ve got one more stop to make,” Mom went on, “and then we’ll be home. In the meantime, drink the kale smoothie in the refrigerator.”
“Is that what that is?” I demanded.
“It’s good for you. It’s got coconut oil, protein powder, kale, and mango. The mango makes it sweeter.”
And yet it still didn’t look appetizing.
“See you in a bit!” She clicked off.
I stared down at the cell phone in dumb shock. When I came to, I went to my favorites list and pressed Annie’s name. While it rang, I grabbed the kale concoction.
“Hello?” came Annie’s sleepy voice.
“She took my caffeine,” I stated.
She yawned. “Who?”
“My mother.”
“Mrs. Goldstein is in town? Why?”
I told her about the Instagram photo exploding my social media. Annie had deleted all social media apps from her phone, saying it was so she could refocus her life. I knew it was so she wouldn’t stalk Caleb.
“Not only that, she hijacked Aidan! They’re at Whole Foods, buying every organic herbal tea in existence. And I’m about to drink a kale smoothie!”
“Ew!”
“I know.” I sniffed. “It’s the only thing left in my house.”
“Are you gonna try it?”
“I’m starving,” I admitted. “So I don’t think I have a choice.”
“I need a video of this, please.”
“Stand by.”
I hung up with Annie and then situated my phone so I was in the frame. Tying my hair into a messy bun, I tried to make myself presentable. I grabbed the smoothie and pressed record.
The video of me choking down a smoothie the color of the Wicked Witch of the West had one thousands views by the time Aidan and my mother returned. Not even the viral validation was enough to make me benevolent. I didn’t forgive them for throwing out the coffee—or the Mint Milanos, though I had a sneaking suspicion the two of them shared the rest of the bag for breakfast, leaving me de-glutenized.
Aidan set two big shopping bags with the Barnes & Noble logo onto the coffee table. “Look what we got!” he said in excitement. He made a tower of baby books.
There were some I recognized and some I didn’t.
“This one is supposed to be really good,” Aidan said, handing me the thickest. “Each week will tell us the size of Pierogi.”
“Using fruits,” Mom interjected.
I gave them a thumbs up, suddenly feeling exhausted. It could’ve been the lack of caffeine, or it could’ve been that I felt completely steamrolled.
Wasn’t I a person outside of this baby? It was like the moment I’d found out I was pregnant, my wants and needs had been pushed aside, all to make room for…Pierogi.
Okay, I had to admit the nickname was kind of adorable.
My mother held up The Complete Book of Baby Names with a smile. “I’m gonna put a few of these on your bedside table.” Mom nearly skipped to the bedroom, her arms loaded with baby books. As soon as she disappeared, I was on Aidan immediately.
“I thought you were on my team,” I whispered.
He frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You ditched the coffee without telling me. You didn’t even ask for my input.”
“Your mother said—”
“Is my mother having your baby?” I snapped.
He backed up, instinct to preserve his
man-bits kicking in. “No.”
“Who’s having your baby?”
“You.”
“Any more big changes, you run by me first. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Sibby? What color was your pee this morning?” called my mother.
Aidan froze.
“Is she trying to make our marriage sexless?” I demanded.
My chastised husband opened his mouth to speak, but my mother’s voice sounded again. “And your poop? Did you poop this morning?”
Four. More. Days.
The next morning, I snuck out of the apartment at 6 a.m. to hit up the closest Starbucks. Both Aidan and my mother slept like the dead, so it was easy to get past them.
Now, I was waiting for the tired barista to finish my Pumpkin Spice Latte with a dollop of whipped cream.
“Here you go,” she said, setting it on the wooden ledge next to the espresso machine.
“Thank you!” I took off the lid and breathed in the delicious aroma of syrup and sugar.
Mama was about to get her fix!
“Drop it!” boomed a voice—way too loud for the early morning crowd at Starbucks. I turned slowly, my mouth hanging open. There stood my mother, wearing a stretchy black exercise suit.
A few bleary-eyed patrons sitting in chairs and sofas turned with their morning coffees. Some even appeared more awake due to the spectacle unfolding.
“How did you know I was here?” I demanded.
My mother marched over and snatched the latte from my grip. “I heard you tiptoe past me. You’re not as quiet as you think you are.”
“I’ve done some reading, Mom. I’m allowed to have one cup of coffee.”
She held up the latte. “This is not black coffee. This is sugar and chemicals and—”
“And it’s delicious,” I bellowed, finally losing my temper.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Sibyl Ruth!”
“Don’t treat me like a child! You threw out everything in my cupboards! You got Aidan on your side! You’ve even got me calling this baby Pierogi! I have no self-respect left!”
“Ladies,” the cashier said in a placating tone, “maybe it’s best if you—”
“Shut up!” my mother and I both yelled at her. She blinked and then her mouth trembled. Great. On top of going through caffeine withdrawal, I was also making a twenty-year-old barista cry.
Tales of a Sibby Slicker (The Sibby Chronicles Book 2) Page 11