by Elise Sax
“Isn’t Sweetiekums the sweetest sweetie of all the sweeties in the world?” one person said, making Bridget red with anger.
“I don’t argue that he’s sweet,” Bridget said, trying to keep her temper even. “But we don’t speak to him in those terms, because it degrades his intelligence and makes him believe that he’s not a fully formed person. But he is a fully formed person, even if he’s a baby and doesn’t yet know how to speak.”
The person stared at Bridget as if she had three heads and walked away, carefully.
Even though Bridget had managed to fend off one baby lover, there was a steady stream of other people ready to dose Bridget’s baby with an onslaught of baby talk. Bridget gave her spiel to each one of them, but it was like pushing back the tide or eating just one potato chip.
Impossible.
Poor Bridget. It was hard to be her. Grandma gave her a big hug, and so did I.
“Beautiful day,” Grandma said, carefully avoiding the topic of her baby.
“If I believed in fate or God, I would say that he was shining down on Jonathan, giving him a perfect day for a pivotal moment in his life,” Bridget said.
She gazed adoringly at her baby in her arms. Bridget didn’t only love her son; she was in love with him. Seeing how attached she was to him made my heart full, and I choked up, swallowing my tears before they had a chance to fall.
Spencer gave Bridget a kiss on her cheek, too. I guessed a lot of kissing was normal for a christening. “Congratulations, Bridget,” he said. Spencer was a tall, muscular man and leaning over the baby, he dwarfed him, completely. Spencer seemed almost mesmerized by baby Jonathan. Slowly, he touched the baby’s hand with the tip of his index finger, and baby Jonathan gripped on tight.
Spencer’s eye grew wide, and he smiled wide. He took a deep breath and proceeded to shower the baby with the longest string of baby talk cooing that I had ever heard.
“What a sweetie babykins, lovey-dovey cutie pie,” he gushed. “Does baby waby love his blanky wanky?” His eyes were only for Baby Jonathan, kind of like the love that Matilda and Rockwell showed each other.
He caught me staring at him, and he stopped cooing. A slight tinge of a blush appeared on his cheeks, and I wondered how much he liked kids. I had never figured him as a fan of children.
Or a guy who wanted children.
“There’s a lot of bedrooms in your new house,” my grandmother whispered in my ear. “Like he’s planning for a big family.”
My mouth dropped open, and I stopped blinking. Grandma had dropped a big bomb in my ear. I stared at her, as she slipped away to find the danishes in the back room. I followed her, hoping she would explain what she had just said.
I double-timed it to catch up, but my grandmother was fast when she was on the scent of breakfast pastries. But without her explaining, I already knew that she was probably right. Spencer wanted a big family. He wanted to have children. That’s why he custom-made a gigantic house with a pool and enough rooms to house the Brady Bunch.
But did I want children? I didn’t know. What did I want? I didn’t know. When would I know? I didn’t know.
Besides a cherry danish, I didn’t know what I wanted. It was another question about the foundations on which our marriage was going to be built. Chemistry was great, but was it enough to build a life together on? And what if he wanted children and I didn’t? What would happen then? Would that leave us with a life of resentments?
Oh, yes. I needed a cherry danish.
After two cherry danishes, it was time for the christening. Spencer and I stood next to Bridget in our place as Jonathan’s godparents. I took baby Jonathan in my arms after I wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt, remembering not to coo at him. I was terrified that I was going to drop him because I was sweating so badly, but I managed to hold on tight.
All eyes were on me and the baby. I wasn’t good about being the center of attention, but I loved showing off baby Jonathan. There was a smattering of laughter from the pews and then there was a wave of photo-taking by the guests with their phones. After the picture-taking, half of the church studied their phones and there was a wave of mumbles and murmuring. With the eyes off of me, I instantly relaxed.
The christening ceremony was short. We said a couple of prayers before I handed the baby to the priest, who sprinkled Jonathan with holy water and oil. A few minutes later, the baby was officially named for my father. Success. Bridget held her baby, looking at him with so much love that I was sure he could feel the love through her gaze.
“I just want to say a few words,” Bridget announced before the guests had a chance to get up. “Religion is evil. It’s the downfall of society, and this country was founded on the principles of the Enlightenment and the Age of Reason and there wasn’t one of our founding fathers who really gave a shit about religion. Sure, they read the Bible, but they didn’t believe in the mythological hocus-pocus of religion.”
There was an audible gasp, and Sister Cyril grabbed the priest before he could pass out. I looked up, expecting to be hit by lightning. Spencer smirked his normal little smirk. About half of the guests were looking at their phones and shooting looks at me, seemingly unconcerned by Bridget’s blasphemy in church. In fact, they didn’t seem to be paying attention to her. They only had eyes for their phones. And for me.
“Even though religion is medieval,” Bridget continued. “I’m so happy that my son got christened in the church today. I love this church, and I love our new priest, who never killed anybody, which is a plus.”
She turned around and smiled at the priest, whose face had completely drained of color, and he kept shifting his feet as if he wanted to escape or leap into the air and pulverize Bridget.
“Well, I’m assuming you never killed anybody. What are the odds, right?” she asked him.
About a year ago, we had issues with a priest who had shot at Bridget. Since then, Bridget had been walking a thin line between being a devout Catholic and a staunch atheist.
“Keep it rolling along, Bridget,” Sister Cyril said sweetly. “The lox and bagels are waiting.”
Bridget nodded. “So anyway, if I believed in God and believed in religion, I would say that this is a perfect moment and that I’m so happy that my son has a good start and is one with the Lord. I would also say, peace of the Lord be with you always.”
The guests put their phones down long enough to respond, “and with your spirit.”
Spencer put his arm around me and kissed me behind my ear. “You’re crying, Pinky,” he whispered. He wiped the tears off my face with his thumb. “My beautiful, sensitive almost-wife. Have I told you recently that I love you?”
I sniffed. “No, you haven’t. You told me that I have a great ass.”
“You do have a great ass. And I love you, too. It was an oversight on my part not to tell you, Pinky. I love you more than Bridget loves the Lord.”
I didn’t know how to take that.
Lox and bagels were served out back in the church’s small courtyard. The fresh air was welcome, even though it was hotter than hell. Bridget, Jackson, Lucy, Harry, Spencer, Grandma, Sister Cyril, and I sat at a table with two of Bridget’s bookkeeping clients, Kevin and Chloe. The priest chose to sit at another table, far away from the blaspheming Bridget.
“I don’t want to put undue pressure on Jonathan regarding his potential,” Bridget said while she chewed on an onion bagel. “But did you notice how aware he was during the ceremony? He understood what was going on. That’s why he was so calm. He knew. He knew.”
“Gladie, I’m so glad you have all of your pubic hair,” Chloe announced out of nowhere. “All these women today waxing it all off in order to look like little girls. But you’re all there. Real big bush.”
Everything bagel shot out of my mouth and landed on Sister Cyril’s face right between her eyes, and a wad of cream cheese flew out of my nose and landed with a splat onto Spencer’s plate.
“I like your pubic hair, too,” Kevin said.
&nb
sp; “No comment,” Harry said. “But you’re very photogenic, Legs. And generous.”
“Uh,” I said.
“What’s going on?” Spencer asked. “It’s like I came in late.”
I had no idea what was going on. One minute we were christening a baby, and the next minute we were focused on my hoohah.
“There’s nothing wrong with a woman expressing herself,” Bridget insisted. “Women have been objectified since the beginning of time. Gladie’s just taking her power back. Don’t worry, Gladie. You can send me all the nudie pics of you, you want. I think that Bella Abzug would’ve approved.”
Spencer looked at me and arched an eyebrow.
“I thought the pictures had something to do with fashion and sizing for new clothes,” Lucy said. “Very fashion forward, Gladie. I mean, except for the backward fashion down there.”
Spencer arched his other eyebrow.
“Wait a second. Wait a second,” I said. The nonsense was starting to make sense. “Wait a second. Wait a second!” Rummaging through my purse, I took my cellphone out and studied my texts. Somehow, instead of sending my sexting pictures to Spencer, I had sent them to the entire guest list for my wedding.
The entire town was coming to my wedding.
I sexted the entire town.
The world spun around, and I saw stars.
The entire town saw me naked. That was so much worse than seeing my pink underpants.
Spencer took my cellphone out of my hands. “Holy shit, Pinky,” he said, smirking his little smirk. “Did you send out a new wedding invitation?”
I yanked the phone away from him. “Technology sucks!” I yelled. “I was sending it to, to, to…you.”
I stood up, as if I had gotten stung by a bee.
“Oh. Now the text from my mother makes sense,” Spencer said, slapping his forehead. “I knew she thought you were ditzy, but the whole floozy thing came as a surprise to me.”
“What?” I said, clutching my purse to my chest.
“Danger, darlin’,” Lucy told Spencer, dabbing at her lips with her napkin.
“She thinks I’m ditzy?” I asked Spencer. Of course she thought I was ditzy. How could she not think I was ditzy? But a floozy? A floozy?
“She’ll get used to you,” Spencer insisted. “And you’ll show her eventually that you’re not after my money.”
“Oh, damn,” Sister Cyril said. “He went there. And they say nuns are crazy for never getting married.”
“Your mother saw me naked,” I said, finally understanding the ramifications of trying to lay on the sexy for Spencer. “The whole town saw me naked.”
“With your leg lifted on the rim of the bathtub,” Kevin said. “That was my favorite picture.”
“I gotta go,” I said to no one in particular. I spun around, trying to figure out where the exit was. “There’s a matter of life or death. So, you know, I have to go.”
“Don’t go, darlin’,” Lucy said. “Nobody cares about a photo or two.”
“I do,” Kevin said. “I have a new screensaver thanks to Gladie.”
My grandmother squeezed my arm. “If I were your age and looked like you, I would never put on clothes,” she told me.
I gave Bridget a hug goodbye. “Congratulations, Bridget. It was a beautiful ceremony. I have a life or death thing I have to deal with.”
“Someone’s dead?” Lucy asked, hopefully. “You need help?”
“No, you stay with Bridget. Nobody’s dead,” I said.
Humiliation was my middle name. I had gone through a lot. But I couldn’t deal with this at Bridget’s christening breakfast. I mean, my foot up on the rim of the bathtub, and they all saw that.
I stumbled toward the fence and found a gate. After a few tries, I got it open and walked into the alley behind the church. I didn’t have a car, and it was sweltering outside. I would have to walk home and get my car and hope that I didn’t melt on the way.
A hand touched my shoulder, making me jump in surprise. It was Spencer, and he turned me around. “Pinky, where’re you going?”
“It’s a work thing. I have to…”
My voice drifted off, and I couldn’t make eye contact. “Oh, Pinky. You’re breaking my heart.” Spencer wrapped me in his arms and pulled me close. I rested the side of my head on his chest and inhaled sharply. He smelled so good. Like expensive cologne, lox, and Spencer. He ran his fingers through my hair, and held me tight with his other hand.
“We’re about to be married,” he said. “Christening on Wednesday, Fred’s wedding on Thursday, and our wedding on Sunday. Four days until it’s you and me forever. Some people would be nervous. Some people would be getting wedding jitters.”
“Second thoughts.”
“Second thoughts. Is that what you’re feeling?” His voice was smooth and soft, as if he was talking to a mustang that was debating whether to be tamed or continue being wild. Like a horse ready to bolt out of its paddock.
“No, I’m not having second thoughts. But I bet some people would be.” I wasn’t having second thoughts about marrying Spencer. Just the idea of losing him made me feel indescribably sad. “There’s a lot of rooms in the house.”
“And you’re worried about my mother visiting and using one of them. I swear to you that with her Mahjong group and her furniture-making class and making my father crazy, she’ll be too busy to stay with us. She’ll never visit. Twice a year, tops.”
I wasn’t thinking about his mother. But he had a point. “What if you won’t love me because your mother doesn’t love me?”
“My mother’s crazy about you. She just doesn’t know it, yet. It’s a territory thing, Pinky. You crossed the DMZ. You’re not a skanky model. You’re a skanky matchmaker. You’re the real deal. You’re under my skin. It’s got her worried.”
“I’m not skanky.”
“C’mon, Pinky. Let a guy dream, will ya?”
“Okay. I’m skanky.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Thank you. Listen, I don’t give a fuck about what anybody thinks about you. I’m set in my ways, Pinky. Nobody can sway me. I love you. I’m crazy about you, and I’m locking this thing down on Sunday and nothing’s going to stop that. Till death do us part, Pinky, and unless you kill me, that won’t be for a long time. I’ve got the cholesterol level of a twenty-year old triathlete.”
I wiggled my arms around him and squeezed him tight. I didn’t correct him about my concerns about the extra bedrooms. There was time later to talk about babies, and for now, I was happy to know that Spencer loved me for more than my ass.
CHAPTER 8
Isn’t the word MATCHMAKER the most beautiful word in the world? Matchmaking is matching one soul with another soul, with the express goal of creating love for eternity. How could anything be more beautiful than that? You’ll have matches who will kvetch. You’ll have matches who are real putzes. At those moments, you’ll wonder if I lied to you about the beauty of matchmaking. But I’m not lying. Keep your eye on the happy ending. Keep your eye on the match, their two souls bound together in love. A good match is everything.
Lesson 4, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
After Spencer drove me home to pick up my car, I drove to Matilda’s. Her apartment was as hot as usual. She opened the door before I had a chance to ring the doorbell.
“I was watching through the peep hole,” she said and pulled me into the apartment. The fans were going, but the windows were still closed so that Matilda’s neighbors couldn’t spy on her while she spied on them. “Would you like a sandwich?”
“No, thank you. I just ate. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Matilda handed me a pair of binoculars. “I was up all night. Well, you know, I’m up all night every night. But last night I was up all night watching Fanta and her husband.”
My giddy enthusiasm for voyeurism had dissipated, now that the entire town had seen naked pictures of me. It was one thing to spy on others, but it was a totally different t
hing to be spied on.
I was about to give her a lesson about privacy, but Matilda was hell-bent on telling me all about Fanta and her husband, Chris. “They were arguing on and off. That’s nothing new, but this time she gave as good as she got.”
Despite my recent humiliation, my ears perked up. Nosiness was my biggest talent.
“I watched them for hours,” Matilda continued. “There was some yelling, some knick-knack throwing, and a bunch of passive-aggressiveness. And then it happened.”
I scooted forward in my seat. “What happened?”
“I went to the bathroom.”
“You went to the bathroom?”
Matilda nodded. She had a far-off expression, like she was reliving going to the bathroom in her mind. “My bladder was ready to burst. I couldn’t hold it. So, I went to the bathroom.” She pointed toward the bathroom. “When I came back, I checked the oven in the kitchen to make sure I hadn’t left it on. Yesterday, I discovered that I had opened all of the mail and then put it back into the mailbox. I don’t remember ever opening it, though. Rockwell says I have too much on my mind and that’s why I’m having these episodes.”
She seemed to think about that for a moment. She chewed on her lip, and I realized how worried she was about her so-called episodes. Matilda shook her head and looked at a vase of roses on the dining room table.
“Rockwell sent me flowers,” she said, smiling. “He’s always thinking of me.”
“I like roses,” I said. Spencer hadn’t given me a lot of flowers during our relationship, but he liked to bring me home chips and root beer about three times a week.
“Anyway,” Matilda began again. She was very pretty, and I was happy to see that her eyes, which had been cloudy with worry, were now bright with excitement. “I was in the kitchen, checking the oven knobs. That’s when I heard the noise.”
“What kind of noise?”
“A boom. No, it wasn’t quite a boom. It was more like a whap. A loud whap.”