by Erin Mallon
“Unless what?”
“Unless… you are as excited as I am about this thing happening between us, and you think we might be on to something. Plus, I couldn’t help but notice that you said ‘hashtag love is love,’ not ‘hashtag hate is hate.’”
“Ralph. Come on. Clearly, I don’t hate you.”
“Yeah”—he laughs—“I was gonna say, if last night’s escapades are what you do with someone you hate, then Jesus Christ, what the hell do you do with someone you like?”
The train passes, the arms rise, and we start moving again. I feel a weight drop into the pit of my stomach.
“Brace yourself, my friend; we’re heading into the fire. Oh, and if you want some advice? Go easy on using the phrase ‘Jesus Christ’ for anything other than high praise for the man himself. Also, if you don’t mind, let’s not bring up the fact that we had sex last night, okay?”
“Calliope”—he chuckles—“I highly doubt the topic of sex will come up with your parents.”
“Oh, you doubt that, huh?” I give a humorless laugh. “Well, then clearly, you’ve never met Ken and Sue.”
Chapter Nineteen
The moment we pull up to my parents’ house, I see them through the bay windows, scurrying to the door to greet us. By the time we open the car doors, they’re halfway down the driveway.
“There she is!” my mom sings.
“Come here, birthday girl!” My dad is beaming with his arms open wide.
“Whoa, it’s your birthday?” Ralph whispers, looking a bit shook.
“Eh. Sort of.”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me it’s your—”
“Birthdays aren’t a big deal to me. Plus, it falls on Easter this year. And believe me, in this house? Their boy, JC, definitely takes precedence over their lapsed Catholic liberal heathen daughter.”
“Lopey baby, hi!” my mom says warmly as she reaches me and wraps me in a ridiculously tight hug.
“I forgot to mention,” I wheeze over my mom’s shoulder. “They call me Lopey.”
“That’s right; she’s our little Mopey Lopey!”
“Mom,” I whine.
“What? You know you’ve always been a bit of a stinker, my little freethinker.”
“I’m a bit of a stinker,” I tell Ralph with an eye roll.
“No need to tell me,” Ralph replies with a wink.
I give him a dirty look, but he goes right into respectable young man mode and shakes my dad’s hand, so I don’t think it even registers.
“Hi, sir.”
“Call me Ken!”
“Okay. Hi, Ken.”
“Great. Now that we got that taken care of… who the hell are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?” my dad says with mock seriousness. Then he smacks Ralph on the back so hard that he trips forward a few steps.
“I thought you said you told them I was coming,” he says under his breath once he regains his footing.
“I did...” Dramatic pause. “…not. I did not.”
“Lopey doesn’t tell us anything, but it’s no problem, we’re thrilled to have you. Hi. I’m Susan, Calliope’s mother. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m Ralph. Calliope and I work together at the museum.”
“Ah!” Dad exclaims. “You into boning?”
“Excuse me?” Ralph coughs.
“Boning. My daughter is into boning. She’s a paleontologist. Get it?” He nudges Ralph in the rib cage a bit too hard.
Ralph gives a genuine chuckle. “I do, yeah, I get it. But no, Ken, I’m not a paleontologist. I’m an astronomer. I work in the planetarium.”
“Good for you! I know we’re all going to want to hear more about that around the dinner table. Come on, let’s head inside.”
We start walking toward the front door.
“I hope you like ham!” Mom sings. “Oh excuse me, I need to run in and take it out of the oven!”
She dashes inside ahead of us.
“My Suzie Q makes the most bodacious glazed ham you’ll ever taste,” Dad says proudly.
“Actually, I don’t…” Ralph hesitates. “Never mind.”
“‘You don’t’ what? Speak your mind, son.”
“I don’t actually eat ham.”
“Who the hell doesn’t eat ham?”
“I don’t. I’m vegan. Not to mention Jewish.”
“Well, then get the hell out.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Jews killed Jesus, so get the hell out!” Dad bellows from the threshold, pointing a finger toward the car that brought us here.
Ralph’s eyes widen for what has to be the hundredth time since we’ve arrived, and we’ve been here less than five minutes.
“Oh, I’m kidding, you cute son of a bitch!”
Dad jerks Ralph into the house and promptly elbows him in the ribs again. I see Ralph sneak a hand to rub his side this time.
“Dad? Can we go easy on the assault, please? Also, not everyone gets your humor, so maybe we could ease Ralph in a bit.”
“Sorry, but I do not ease, Ralph. I’m a full-throttle kind of guy. Just ask my wife.” Mom returns, and Dad punctuates his already inappropriate-for-company statement by nibbling on her ear.
“Oh, you!” Mom responds flirtatiously.
I give my dad a disapproving look.
“Mom? Has Dad been drinking already? It’s not even noon.”
“Honey, leave him alone. It’s a holiday. Ralph, we’re a shoes-off household. I hope you don’t mind,” she says as she shuffles off her flats and slips on some fuzzy slippers.
“Nearly thirty years married to this woman, and we’re suddenly a shoes-off household.’”
“Sweetheart, I read that article that said—”
“That ‘the E. coli tracked in on our shoes can lead to intestinal infections.’ I know, I know.” He turns and smiles at Ralph. “My honey here is worried about my intestinal tract.”
“If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is,” I say.
“Well, I don’t mind a bit,” Ralph responds and proceeds to line his loafers right up on the shoe rack along with the rest of the family’s. It seems he goes with the flow in every situation.
“Looks like I’m the last to arrive. So, where is everyone?” I ask.
“They’re all in the family room. Come, Ralph, we’ll give you the tour.”
“He doesn’t need a tour, Mom. We can just—”
“Alright, now careful going down these stairs, Ralph. That second step, there is wobbly. Ken’s been meaning to fix it, but—”
“I’ll get to it; I’ll get to it. Hard to do home improvement projects when this lady here keeps me so busy servicing her. I’m sure you know what I mean, Ralph.”
“I don’t…” Ralph stutters. “I mean, I’m not really sure I—”
“Don’t give him the opportunity to explain because he will!” I hiss.
“Well, you see, Ralph. It’s a holiday weekend...”
“Aaaand he’s explaining.”
“And this lady here sure knows how to get in the Easter spirit. I’m just an old guy doing his best to keep the erection in resurrection if you know what I mean.”
I catch his elbow this time before he jams it into anyone’s body again.
Ralph seems to have shifted from shock to marvel. “Wow,” he breathes in wonder at my father.
When we get to the bottom of the stairs, Mom shouts, “Lopey’s here! Everyone, come see Lopey!”
Silence.
“She brought a boy!”
Within five seconds, two brothers, a sister-in-law, two infants, and a Scottish terrier sock slide their way to attention on the laminate flooring. Well, the infants are being held, and the terrier isn’t wearing socks, though I wouldn’t put it past my mother. Barna
bas has a whole armoire filled with doggy apparel. No joke.
All eyes are on my… Why am I using a possessive pronoun? My… what? My friend? My date? My… Ralph?
“Hi… everybody.” Ralph gives a wave.
“Everybody? This is my friend Ralph.”
Friend. I go with friend. Feels safe to go with friend.
“Ralph, this is my little brother, Mark.”
“Hey, man,” Mark says.
Manly handshakes ensue.
“My big brother, Scott.”
More shakes.
“My sister-in-law, Becca.”
“I’d shake your hand,” Becca apologizes. “But…” She gestures to the two babies in her arms.
“You’ve got your hands full, I see.” Ralph smiles brightly. “Beautiful babies. Twins I’m guessing?”
“Aw, thank you. Yup!”
“That’s my niece, Luna and my nephew, Hart,” I chime in. “They’re three months old.”
“Three months?” Scott admonishes. At least it feels like an admonishment. “Calliope, they’re nearly ten months. We’re starting to plan their first birthday party.”
“Oh, geez, really? I’m sorry. I’ve never been good at gauging people’s ages. Babies, kids, adults…”
“Give her a bunch of dinosaur bones, though, and she can date them to a T, right baby girl? Down to the Mezozoey or the Curvacious” Dad says.
“True. And it’s Cretaceous, not Curvacious.”
“I like my version better,” he says right before he smacks my mother on the ass.
“Alright,” Mom says as she shoos him away. “Everybody can have a seat in the living room. I’m bringing out some appetizers in just a few minutes. Ralph, can I get you a drink?”
“Just a water would be great, thank you.”
“Nonsense! Get the kid some vodka.”
“Dad, he asked for a water.”
“Ah, I’m dining with a buncha weaklings.” He scoffs, then follows my mother into the kitchen.
All of us ‘kids’ plop down on the late 90s floral sectional sofas and put our feet up on the old-school oak coffee table.
“Having fun yet?” I ask Ralph.
“You know what?” he says as he wraps his arm around me. “I actually am.”
Chapter Twenty
I come out of the bathroom to find Ralph perusing photos on the shrine of Lopey. Each of the three kids has a wall devoted to photos of them.
“Uh-oh,” I say.
“I’m guessing this little girl is you?”
“Yup, anyone with freckles and pigtails would be me.”
“Why are you dressed like a child bride in this one?”
“That was Lopey’s First Holy Communion.” My mother is suddenly beside us, holding a bowl of mashed potatoes and oozing pride from her voice. “Do you remember that day, Lope? The first time the Lord entered you through your mouth?”
Ralph whispers in my ear, “Does your mom always sound so sexual when she talks about Jesus?”
“Always, yes,” I whisper back. “Yeah, Mom, I do remember. A super special day. A bit different from the other time the Lord entered me at my confirmation because that time it was through my ass.”
“Calliope!” Mom scolds.
“What is wrong with her?”
“Oh, my God!”
“Why does she say things like this??”
Both my siblings and even my sibling-in-law have opinions on my wisecrack, it seems.
“Sorry, Mom. Didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Just thought I was picking up what you were putting down, homegirl.”
Dad breezes by, holding Suzie Q’s famous spiral ham on a big platter. “Your mother can’t help it. She’s a highly charged being and just can’t shut off the sexy.”
“Dinner is served, everyone!” Mom says. “Let’s all gather around the table.”
I guess we’re dropping the subject. Fine by me.
We all get settled in our seats and immediately take hands. Ralph looks confused.
“Grace,” I whisper to him.
“Ah, right,” he whispers back.
“Do the honors, sweetheart?” Mom asks Dad.
“Gladly, my dear. Dear Lord, thank you for rising from the grave and granting us eternal life this Easter and every Easter. Really swell of you, Big Guy. Thank you for my bodacious wife, my amazing children, including Birthday Girl Lopey Loo who we’re so happy to see, my incredible daughter-in-law, two brilliant little grandbabies, and the additional joyful surprise of having astronomer Ralph thrown into the family mix today. I have to praise you like I should.”
“Did he just quote a Fatboy Slim song?” Ralph whispers in my ear.
“I believe he did, yes.”
Dad wraps things up with his classic “God’s neat, let’s eat! Amen.”
“Amen,” we all respond.
Everybody starts digging into the food.
“So. I have a question for you, Lopey,” Dad starts.
“I’m sorry to cut you off,” Ralph boldly says, “but why the nickname Lopey?”
I decide to take this one before anyone else can.
“Calliope got turned into Liope, which somehow got shortened to Lopey. Also, I’m just lucky, I guess,” I say with a bit of bite in my tone.
“Well, that and she’s always been so mopey. The rhyme scheme worked out nicely, so it stuck,” my older brother, Scott, offers.
“Did you ever think that maybe I wasn’t mopey? Maybe I was misunderstood?”
“Yeah. Okay.” My younger brother, Mark, scoffs.
“Oh, like you’ve always been such a peach!” I retort.
“Peachier than you, lady!”
“I dunno,” Ralph says. “I don’t see Callie as mopey at all. I just see her as a passionate person who isn’t afraid to go after what she wants.”
There’s silence for a moment, then a resounding familial chorus of “Oooooh Callie.”
“No one calls her Callie.” My mom seems confused by this turn of events.
“Oh, well, she said it was okay, so…” Ralph responds matter-of-factly.
“We actually named her Calliope to honor the muse of all muses,” Mom says. “Calliope, the muse of epic poetry.”
Ralph smiles knowingly. “I thought so! Beautiful name.”
“We’re a family of writers,” Scott says proudly.
“Yeah, who no longer write…” I mumble under my breath just loudly enough for Ralph to hear. At least I think so. Did my mom hear me? She’s giving me a look. I choose to ignore it for now.
“I’m Mark, as in Twain.”
“I’m Scott, as in F. Scott FitzGerald.”
“And I’m named after a muse,” I say. “You know, so I can inspire the men to write while not doing anything of value myself.”
“Calliope, that is ridiculous!” Mom scolds. “Why do you choose to see the negative in things? We named you Calliope so you would always—”
“You know, sometimes I can’t believe I actually got away with it,” Dad interjects with what seems like a non sequitur.
“Got away with what?” I ask.
“Naming your brother Scott FitzGerald.”
“What was wrong with naming me Scott FitzGerald?” Scott looks nervous, and knowing my father? He should be.
“Nothing! It’s a fantastic name. See, Ralph…” I’m not quite sure why he’s directing this story at Ralph, but okay. “Our last name is FitzGerald. And I always thought it would be a hoot to have a son one day who I name Scott, so anytime his name comes up with his enemies, they’d say something like ‘Who are you talking about, Scott FitzGerald? Oh, ef Scott FitzGerald!’ Get it? You get it?”
“Are you fucking serious?!” Scott says, incensed. “That’s why you named me Scott?”
“Yes!
You knew that! Everyone knew that!” Dad says, seeming sincerely surprised by his reaction.
“Oh, Ken,” Mom says. “You should have told me.”
“I thought I did! Ah well, nothing to be done about it now. So Lopey, the question I had for you…”
“Yes, Dad, what is it?”
“There’s a dinosaur called Kentrosaurus?” he bellows.
“Uh. Yeah. There is.”
“How have you not told me this before now? That’s my namesake! My name is Ken,” Dad reminds Ralph. “You should always call me Ken.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Ken. You mentioned that a few times.”
“Good, good. Lopey?” Dad looks at me like I’ve done him a serious wrong.
“Sorry, Dad. Guess I just didn’t spot the connection between you and a prehistoric herbivore before.”
“Well, get me caught up, baby! What did that fella look like? He was one of the sexy ones, wasn’t he? Tell me he was one of the sexy ones.”
“I don’t know, Dad. Which dinosaurs would you say were the sexy ones?”
“Uhhhh… Brontosaurus with that long and girthy neck?”
“Ugh, the word girth is the worst.” Mark nearly gags. Poor guy is only eighteen, so he still lives in the house with our parents and all their antics. It can’t be easy.
“T-Rex with all that male dominance?”
“Dad, you do know that there were female Tyrannosaurus Rexes too, yeah?”
“Huh. Course. Never thought about that, but yeah, I guess there would have to be, wouldn’t there?”
Does my father actually look embarrassed?
“Don’t feel bad, Ken,” Ralph says. “When I was a kid, I thought all dogs were boys, and all cats were girls.”
“Come on, no, you didn’t!” I say. He kicks me gently under the table and gives me a look that seems suspiciously like a “be nice, Calliope” look, one I’ve been getting from nearly everyone I know since I was a kid.
I address my dad. “Kentrosaurus is a cousin of sorts to Stegosaurus. You know Stegosaurus, yeah?”
“Course! The guy with the bony plates all down his back.”
“Right. Yeah, so Kentrosaurus looked somewhat similar to Stegosaurus, but instead of plates, he had huge spikes down his lower back and hips.”
“You hear that Suzie Q? Kentrosaurus has a huge spike on his hips. We know a little something about that now, don’t we?” And when my father punctuates his sentence with a single pump of his hips in my mother’s direction, I actually vomit in my mouth a tiny bit.