Full of Grace

by Misty Provencher

  She’s hijacked my apartment and redecorated it with paradise.

  Sher walks in the front door with an empty plate in her hands.

  “Hi!” she says.

  “Where have you been?” I ask. “You were lying when you said you were hanging out and watching TV.”

  “What’d you think I was going to do? Sit around and eat ice cream without you? That’d be a waste. I told you I wasn’t going to live like this. I made cookies and gave them to your neighbor with all the kids.”

  “I have a neighbor with kids?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Sher rolls her eyes, depositing the dish in the sink. “And I’ve been de-pigging your pig hole all day. I haven’t even gotten to your closet yet. That’s going to take weeks to sort out.”

  “You did an incredible job. I hardly recognize the place.”

  “Well, I have a question for you.” She smirks, leaning on the counter. “When you pee—do you aim? Like, at all? Ever?”

  “I do my absolute best to hit the sink.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” she giggles. “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, after I smelled what you were making all the way down the stairs. And so are all the neighbors. One of them actually commented on it.”

  “Was it the guy from upstairs?”

  “It was a woman. I have no idea who she was. No one’s ever talked to me around here before. You’re cooking is like the pied piper’s flute to the neighbors.”

  “It’s only spaghetti and meat balls.” She rolls her eyes. She opens a cupboard and gets out dishes. I suck up the incredible smells again as she lifts the lid on the bubbling pot and stirs the sauce inside.

  “Where’d you get the mop?”

  “I used Trent’s money. I figured it should be used to clean up some mess.”

  “Good thinking,” I say as she hands me a plate of Heaven. “Very good.”

  All the signs indicate she’s not thinkin of doing anything crazy, being as she was still here when I got home, seems to be settling in, and seems to have spent Hook-and-Lure’s entire guilt fund on food and cleaning supplies.

  “I’ll leave you some cash for groceries,” I tell her. “If you can do this with fifty bucks? I’ll leave you a couple hundred.”

  “You just want to throw your money away every chance you get, don’t you? Fifty is plenty. I got enough for the rest of this week.”

  We sit down to eat. The spaghetti tastes better than any restaurant I’ve ever been to, and it doesn’t stop there. Sher’s got a salad to go along with it and the garlic bread. She giggles every time I take a bite and close my eyes to moan my approval. I haven’t had a homemade dinner since I lived at my mom’s.

  I stuff myself. And then, she gives me cookies. Another thing I haven’t had since I lived at home. I close my eyes as I chew and suddenly, Sher’s lips are on the tip of my nose. I open my eyes and pull her into my lap.

  “Thank you,” she says.

  “For what?”

  “For closing your eyes and going, mmm mmm,” she says.

  I kiss her. And the whole time, I hum, mmm mmm mmm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  THE NEXT DAY IS THE SAME THING. And for the next three days, I come home to a clean house and the smell of food that saturates the stairs and has neighbors I’ve never met, joking with me about joining us for dinner. I’ve learned that there is a single mother, below us, named Starla. Sher makes cookies for her kids every other day and found out that the family has a problem with their bathroom pipes. The man next door is named John, a divorced dad who has his kids on weekends. Sher brought him some left over lasagna from the huge dish she made and suggested that he might be able to lend Starla a hand with her pipes, since the Super has his hands full already.

  While I’m at work, Sher cleans and cooks and plays matchmaker with our neighbors. Our. The plural occurs to me fifty times a day, it seems, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I keep worrying over what Sher planned to do once we got home from the cottage and if she’s done it yet or plans to do it soon. I especially panic when she doesn’t answer her phone, but she always assures me she’s sleeping or she just went out to get something she needed for dinner.

  I call Oscar a few more times and leave increasingly urgent messages, worrying about why he isn’t calling back, but then on Friday afternoon, he finally turns up. I answer his call on the first ring.

  “Holy shit, I was about to call in the FBI,” I say. “Where’ve you been?”

  “I know it, I’ve been meaning to call you back.” O.C. says. He’s got that wince in his voice, the one he has when he doesn’t want to say whatever he needs to say.

  “Everything’s fine,” he says instead. “Just insanely busy. Anything new with you?”

  “New? Not really. Thanks for letting us crash at your cottage. I think it helped us sort some stuff out.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he says with a tightness in his tone.

  “Yeah, I think she’s having the baby no matter what…”

  “Hey, I hate to cut you short,” he says suddenly, “but I’ve got to jump on something here.”

  “No sweat. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Sounds good,” he says and he’s gone. That’s a little weird. He’s acting sketchy and I just hope things are going okay with him and Hale.

  ***

  On Saturday, Sher and I sleep in. I’m still up first and after I’ve showered and changed, I sit on the edge of the bed and give Gina a call.

  “Don’t you know it’s Saturday?” Her voice is hoarse. She’s obviously still stuffed beneath the sheets.

  “It’s ten, Sunshine. Time to get up.”

  “I was the one that told mom to drown you in the tub when you were born. I wasn’t wrong to ask.”

  “Look, do you want to meet Sher or not? I was thinking we could meet at the Coney at noon.”

  “One,” she grumbles.

  “Alright, one.”

  “Now leave me alone,” she says and hangs up. Sher rubs her foot on my thigh.

  “What are we doing?” We.

  “I thought we’d go meet my sister, Gina, for lunch.”

  Sher sits up, pushing the hair back from her face. “You know, I might not have a huge agenda, but you should really ask before you make plans for me. You’re not my sugar daddy, you know. Well, you are, kind of, but you still can’t go ordering me around.”

  I put my hand on my thigh, trap her toes, and tickle them. “You’re right. Do you want to go have the best chili-cheese hot dogs in the world with my sister?”

  “Yes. Duh.” Sher says, giving my fingers a little kick. “And you’re paying, since you didn’t ask me right the first time.”

  “You and Gina are going to get along great.” I laugh.

  “Shut up,” she giggles, pulling her foot away. I lean over the bed and pin her in place by leaning over her hips.

  “I can make you do what I want and it wouldn’t cost me a cent,” I say, pulling the sheets back and dipping my head between her legs. She giggles, arcing a little off the bed, but I land a kiss on the small rise of her stomach. Her grin grows into a smile.

  “You really are happy about having a baby, aren’t you?” she says. I flash a smile at her.

  “Yeah.”

  “Landon,” she props herself up on her elbows. “What are you going to do if it’s not yours?”

  We’ve never really faced that question head on. At least, not together. I shrug and leave another kiss on her stomach.

  “Wait,” she says, grabbing my hand before I get away from her. “Answer me. What happens if it’s not yours?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. Her smile disappears and she untangles herself from me. It’s obvious that I’ve given her the wrong answer.

  “Hang on,” I tell her as she collects her clothes from the one drawer she uses in my dresser. But she doesn’t stop moving and I don’t know what else to say. What I said was the truth. I don’t know what will happen to us. I don�
�t know if she’ll want to stay, or if she’ll stay because she actually wants to or because she needs to, or if I’ll even want to take it all on. I don’t know if I’d be able to let her go.

  So much of what we are is up in the air. I might be a father. We might have a relationship. We might stay together. We might not. I realize that she’s not the only one who needs to get her head straight on what she really wants to do next. I’m going to have to get off the fence myself.

  “Sher,” I say, and she stops before she goes out to the bathroom. She tries to grin.

  “No, Landon, that was a stupid thing to ask. You don’t even know if this is your kid and you’re being really nice about that. I shouldn’t have asked what you plan to do when I don’t even know what I’m going to do. Forget that I asked, okay?”

  “I think we…” I begin, but I see how crushed she is by my uncertainty as she goes into the bathroom and closes the door on we.

  ***

  We’re on our way to the Coney, trying to act like this morning’s bump in the road didn’t eject us from our relationship. My gut feels like I’ve got a mango pit lodged in it, sideways. Sher listens to the radio, motionless. I say that it looks like it’s going to be a nice day. She agrees.

  By the time we reach the Coney, all the fun has gone out of the whole idea of meeting Gina. I just want to time-travel back to the bedroom, grab Sher’s foot and make love to her again, instead of opening my big mouth at all.

  “So this is the famous, Sher,” Gina says, standing up from the booth to shake Sher’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” Sher says, but Gina frowns as she lets go of Sher’s hand. Gina, being Gina, knows there’s something up.

  “What’s going on here?” she asks, ping-ponging her finger between Sher and me.

  “Nothing,” Sher says quickly. “I’m sorry…I’m just…tired.”

  “Of him?” Gina snorts. “Already? Now that I can understand. My little brother can wear a girl thin. Have a seat, Sher.”

  Sher slides in and I bookend her, in case she thinks of bolting. She dumps her purse between us, to stop our legs from touching.

  “Okay, so don’t make me get out my crystal ball,” Gina says. “What’s the matter this morning?”

  And Sher instantly caves to Gina’s comforting powers and psychic ability.

  “You probably know everything, right? The baby might not be his,” Sher begins and the tears well up as her lips pull down into a miserable frown. Then, she lets loose with a stream of confessions that could blow Gina’s hair back if my sister weren’t the absolute Queen of Keeping It Cool. “We were talking about what will happen if the baby isn’t his, but he doesn’t know the answer. I don’t blame him. I don’t! But I never asked him to stick around! I was going to get rid of it. This was a surprise to me too! It wasn’t like I was trying to trap him. I didn’t think we’d be anything but a one-time thing. I was just looking to dump my virginity because I was lonely and Hale was gone and he was amazing…if you’ve ever seen him in a tux, you know what I mean. I knew we weren’t meant to be together. He’s…you know…look at him! He felt so guilty and I didn’t want him to feel guilty. I just wanted one good night, you know? A good night, once in my life, because all I ever get are Saturday nights with the kids, and I love them, but I never even got to be a teenager. He’s tried, he’s really tried to do some nice things, and it’s not like that’s his fault—but I tried to fix all of this and he didn’t want me to and now I’m stuck and…” Sher finally takes a breath and bursts into tears. Other customers are trying not to be obvious as they stare at us, over their hot dogs and plates of fries.

  Gina leans over and pulls a wad of napkins from the metal holder. She reaches across the table and hands them to Sher, who slumps, embarrassed and weeping, in the corner of the booth. When the waitress comes to the table, I order water for all of us, plus a Coke for Gina.

  Then, I’m useless.

  I sit with my hands folded on the table in front of me, convicted, and hoping to God that Gina can help sort this out. Sher dabs her eyes and tries to stop sobbing. The gagging snorts have people at other tables glancing over, but I return glares that eventually give us as much privacy as we can have, in the middle of a semi-full restaurant.

  Gina reaches over the table and puts her hand over Sher’s.

  “Landon’s got a penis, honey,” she explains. “It puts him at a disadvantage when it comes to sensitivity.”

  “What?” I gape. This is my sister, who’s supposed to be helping me, and on my side.

  “It’s true. You have a penis,” Gina says. I lift and drop my hands on the table, helpless.

  “Yeah, but I’m sensitive!”

  “I’m not saying it’s your fault that you’re limited,” Gina reasons. “You know this. I’ve told you before.”

  “You are really not helping.” I run my hand down my face.

  “Shush,” Gina says. “Just sit there and look pretty while we talk. Sher, if you have help, do you want to have the baby?”

  Blotting off her tears with a fistful of napkins, Sher nods behind the white bloom. “I think so.”

  “Then that’s your life. That’s the thrill, the living that you’re after. The other stuff? You’re not missing out on anything. Do you really need to date a bunch of morons? Isn’t the point of dating to find the right one anyway? And if you find the right one, couldn’t the memories you make together be better than bumbling around, having adventures alone?”

  “I didn’t think about it like that.” Sher sniffles. Gina sits back on her side of the booth, giving Sher a warm grin.

  “Nothing’s ever guaranteed, but you never know.” Gina moves her gaze, fixing me with a long stare. “Maybe you two should give it a try. It might be worth it.”

  Gina just throws it on the table like that, right out there, in the open. Like Sher and I should just jump into marriage, babies, and planning our 50 anniversary party. Gina stares as Sher and I both squirm on our side of the booth. It’s a damn good thing that the waitress comes back with our food.

  “The chili cheese fries are mine, darlin’,” Gina says, giving the waitress an up-and-down glance and flashing the girl a smile. “Everything else is for the happy couple.”

  ***

  Things are a little weird the rest of the weekend. I think Gina nailed it, but it also put both Sher and me on the spot. It’s time to make decisions about what we’re going to do next, besides have a baby together. It’s a pile of elephants in the room. And while I’m aware of the pile that seems to trumpet with every discussion we have, it also seems to be standing on Sher’s giggle button. She absolutely loses control, giggling and turning crimson at anything I say to her. I’m not really sure why she’s so embarrassed and edgy around me all of a sudden.

  By Monday morning, she’s ratcheted up her giggle to a decimal that could shatter glass. Most of her responses to me delete words altogether and substitute giggles, till she chokes on them. We brush elbows in the car and her skin raises up in a garden of goose bumps. Her blush is so frequent, she looks sunburned most of the time.

  “Is something wrong?” I finally ask on Monday night. She just giggles, shaking her head.

  On Tuesday, I try a different question. “Why are you so giggly?” But all I get is more giggling, to the point that I want to rip her giggler right out.

  Wednesday, there is no dinner wafting down the stairs when I come home, but Sher actually meets me at the door with a twitchy smile. And a bucket full of giggles.

  I don’t know how much longer I can handle it. After I’ve changed out of my work clothes, I decide to get down to it with her. I ask questions, and wait for the giggling to subside after each, but keep on task. The smile eventually falls off my lips and I ask with a straight, sober face, “What is going on with you, Sher? What’s changed?”

  “Changed?” she manages to ask between giggles. She chokes, then goes into spasms of coughs. I think it almost kills her, but I still wait for a real answer. But when she
recovers, she just giggles again.

  “Sher,” I say. “Would you stop giggling and talk to me?”

  She burbles up a few more giggles, but then she goes silent. It’s a silence I haven’t heard in days, besides when she’s sleeping.

  “What’s going on with you?” I ask again.

  “There’s something I did,” she says. She begins to giggle again, but this time her brow collapses half way through and her eyes fill.

  Oh no. This is bad. I can feel it in the pit of my stomach. I wait for her to tell me that she’s been screwing Trent in the afternoons, while I’m at work. That she’s been using intravenous drugs. That she’s not answering the phone because she can’t stand the sound of my voice anymore. I wait for the other shoe to drop, right on my gut.

  “Tell me,” I finally say.

  “I did something with Oscar,” she says. The skin around my eyes tighten. What the hell is she talking about?

  “What did you do with Oscar?”

  “He helped me.” The damn giggle.

  “Stop,” I growl. “Tell me. What did Oscar help you do?”

  “I went to the clinic,” she says. I stumble backward and sit on the couch. The blood drops into my feet, except for the stuff that makes my ears pound. It can’t be true. My best friend wouldn’t have helped her get rid of what might be my kid. He just wouldn’t. But she’s saying he did, and I’m going to heave all over the floor.

  Sher brings a Manilla envelope from off the kitchen counter. Long and wide, business-like, it’s the size of a document. Sher’s name is written at the top. She sits down beside me, her thigh running along the edge of mine, and if I wasn’t paralyzed by what she just said, I’d get the hell away from her. She holds the envelope out to me, reaching across her knee to mine. She balances it there.

  “He helped me pay for the paternity test,” she says, followed with her tight-rope giggle. “Well, he paid for the whole thing. I told him it’s only a loan, I’m going to pay him back. But I told Hale, and she talked to Oscar, and he didn’t want to get into our business, but I told him it’s important. If this isn’t your baby, you’re off the…” she pauses, sucking in her top lip before she carefully rephrases it. “You can make a real choice. You don’t have to raise someone else’s kid, not knowing.”