“Okay, well, have fun.” I instantly hear how stupid that sounds. Yes, Mitch, have fun sleeping on a cot in the moldy basement of an old church with thirty other unwashed men and women.
But he just smiles again. “I will. It’s taco Tuesday.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s joking. I give a good guffaw and make my way back to the minivan and to Max.
“What did you give Mitch?” he asked as I pulled into traffic.
“Just some leftover cookies. Hey, what did Draper bring today?”
“Nothing.”
This answer isn’t surprising. In fact, it has become the norm. It seems Draper’s mother put the kibosh on his daily show-and-tell antics. The boys club now spends most of its time trading Pokémon cards.
* * *
We pull up to Garozzo’s in Bruce Willis with two minutes to spare. Normally we’d take the minivan, but it’s low on gas. I see my parents sitting just inside the door dressed in their Sunday best, which these days is yoga pants and a blouse for my mother, and beige pants and a blue sweater for my dad. They have probably been here since 5:30.
My mom wanted to cook tonight, but I steered her away from that notion, because, frankly, my taste buds have only just returned after her Thanksgiving gravy. We’ve picked Garozzo’s so dad can have his favorite dish—“Vitello Spiedini Sophia Marie.” It’s veal, rolled with salami, cheese, and pine nuts, grilled, and topped with a marsala sauce. Not my cup of tea, but he loves it.
“Happy birthday, Poppy!” Max jumps onto my father’s lap and nearly knocks him off the bench.
“Happy birthday, Dad.” I give him a steadying hug. I swear I think he’s getting smaller—definitely thinner.
“Jennifer, we were going to send out a search party for you.” My mother makes it seem like we are twenty minutes late instead of two minutes early.
I ignore the jab and let my husband smooth things over by telling her how nice she looks.
We settle into a booth and Vivs comes running in with a bouquet of blue and green balloons trailing behind her. I haven’t seen her since New Year’s Day.
“Sorry I’m late!” she exclaims, even though she isn’t, and makes the rounds hugging everyone before she settles across from Max at the end of the table. My eldest looks tired. This is the busiest time of year at Jenny Craig—all those earnest souls who have pledged to lose weight migrate to the clinic in January to take advantage of the New Year New You campaign. She must be exhausted, but she’s putting on a good face, that’s for sure.
The waitress arrives and asks if we would like anything to drink. Much to my surprise, my mother is first out of the gate asking for a very dry gin martini straight up with olives.
“Wow, Mom! Loudmouth soup? Since when?”
She nods. “It was my New Year’s resolution. I have gin every day now. It relaxes me.”
Well, that remains to be seen. Until now, Kay’s consumption of alcohol has been limited to the occasional glass of wine. It will be interesting to see how a little Beefeater affects her.
Ron orders a bottle of wine for the rest of us and we settle in.
“So, Dad, how does it feel to be seventy-eight?”
“A lot like seventy-seven.” We all laugh.
“I think Laura is going to try to FaceTime us.” Vivs waves her iPad.
“Where is she?” my mother and I ask at the same time.
“I guess we’ll all find out together,” I say. “Oh, Mom, guess what? I’ve raised almost three hundred dollars for the Holy Rollers.”
“Who did you get to donate?”
“I held a raffle at school,” I say proudly.
“As long as you didn’t ask your aunt Barbara. She’s on that fixed income, you know.”
I’m saved from having to admit to my mother that I did ask her for money by Vivs’s announcement that Laura is calling. She pushes a button and starts talking to her screen.
“Hey, Laurs. Perfect timing.” She passes the iPad to my father. “Poppy, look who’s calling!”
My father looks a bit confused, but when he sees Laura’s face he lights up.
“Laura-belle!”
“Happy birthday, Poppy! Are you having fun?”
“Oh, sure. How are you?”
“I’m good. We’re in Düsseldorf.” Her hair has grown out another inch and she looks healthy.
“Are you eating lots of sausage?” my mother asks. Vivs snorts.
“You look a little fat,” Kay continues. Clearly the gin has started to work its magic.
“I’m not fat, Grandma! Where’s Max?”
“Hi, Sissy!” Max pokes his head in front of the iPad. “I miss you. When are you coming home?”
“Soon, I hope. How’s school?”
“Good.”
“Is Razzi still super fun?”
“Yup.”
Knowing this is all the conversation she’s going to get out of her brother, she turns back to my father.
“Poppy, what did you get for your birthday?”
“I got some nice balloons from your sister.”
“Poppy, that’s not your gift!” Vivs assures him.
“Oh, well, I don’t need anything else.”
“I wish I were there to give you a hug.”
“Well, that would be nice. I haven’t had one of those in a while.”
“I just hugged you,” Max reminds him.
“I mean from Laura.”
Laura addresses me directly. “Hey, Mom, can I talk to you in private?”
“Sure.” I take the iPad from my dad as everyone says goodbye to Laura, and walk toward the bathrooms. Luckily, it’s still early and the restaurant is not too busy.
“What’s up?”
“I want to come home.”
My heart leaps with joy, but I play it cool.
“Okay, good. When do you want to come?”
“As soon as I can. I just need money to get to Amsterdam because that’s where my return ticket takes off from.”
“Okay. Is everything all right?” I’m thrilled by her news, but it just seems rushed. “Is Jeen coming too?”
“I … I’m not sure,” she stammers. “Can you Venmo me the money tonight?”
“I’ll do it right now,” I promise her. “But, sweetie, tell me if there’s something wrong.”
“I’ll tell you when I get home,” she promises. “Oh, and I need to make an appointment with Dr. Dale as soon as I get back.”
“Why?” I ask as nonchalantly as I can.
“I can’t go into it now. I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Can’t wait to see you, Mommy!”
My heart melts. I’m such a sucker for that word.
“Can’t wait to see you, too! Let me know what flight you’re on.”
“I will. Love you!”
“Love you too!”
I walk back to the table, a little dazed from our conversation. I see that dinner has arrived.
“Is she okay?” Ron asks with a mouthful of pasta. I’m sure the whole table is wondering the same thing.
“She’s coming home!” I announce.
“When?”
“Later this week, I think.” As I say it I get more and more excited. In fact, too excited to eat the chicken carbonara in front of me. My mind is working overtime trying to envision every scenario in which Laura’s first stop after eight months away has to be Dr. Dale, our ob-gyn. Many ideas flutter by but the obvious one can’t and won’t be ignored.
She’s pregnant.
17
* * *
To: Mrs. Randazzo’s Class
From: JDixon
Re: Be My Valentine
Date: 02/06
Hello, Class!
Can you smell it? Love is in the air! The love for chocolate, that is. Which can only mean that Valentine’s Day is but a week away and it’s time to get ready for the class party.
We will need some prov
isions, of course, so I’ve gone ahead and assigned you each something to bring. You’re welcome. If you don’t like what you’ve been assigned, be sure to bring it up with my co–class mom. Her name is Mandy Idon’tgiveacrap.
Aikinses—water
Lodys—napkins
Tuccis—cookies
Alexanders—cupcakes
Westmans—cups
Browns—plates
Cobbs—fruit
Burgesses—pretzels
Changs—apple juice
Dixons—Kisses (both kinds, for anyone interested;)
The rest of you are off the hook this time around.
The plan is to play Valentine’s Bingo, then Spin the Bottle. Only one of those things is true.
Please send your items with your child on the morning of February 14th.
Thanks, really. You guys do too much.
Jen
* * *
I hope they don’t mind getting assignments. I just don’t have time for the back-and-forth that picking and choosing entails. I’ll be curious to see if I get any response from JJ after I left her hanging for lunch. In my defense, I had a crazy day that day and completely forgot that we were supposed to meet. I was at the hospital with my mother getting her blood work done (which took for freakin’ ever) and there is absolutely no cell service there. When I walked out around 1:30, my phone started to buzz like an alarm clock. I had seven texts and four missed calls from JJ. The last few weren’t pretty.
Hi. Just confirming lunch today. See you in half an hour.
Hi It’s JJ. I’m here at SB. Want me to order for you?
I hope you’re okay and nothing is wrong. I’ll wait a little longer.
Okay. I’ve been here an hour. You have obviously forgotten, because if you remembered and something came up, you’d have texted me, right?
Why are you ignoring me? I just don’t even know what to think of you.
This is why I never liked you in the first place. You really think you are just way better than everyone else.
And finally:
I hope you are dead in a ditch.
I felt terrible at first, but by the time I got to the ditch comment I was reminded why I have always given JJ a wide berth. But since it was uncool of me to forget our lunch completely, I sent her a very conciliatory text and an offer to reschedule any day next week. So far, she hasn’t responded.
It’s actually no surprise that I forgot about lunch. Things are at DEFCON 3 in the Dixon house these days, thanks in no small part to the return of Laura and Jeen.
They didn’t actually come home until a week after my father’s birthday. Laura went radio silent after I transferred her the money to get to Amsterdam, and I didn’t hear from her until she sent me her flight info five days later.
Ron, Vivs, Max, and I gathered at the airport, outside International Arrivals, to meet her. I wasn’t sure if Jeen was coming home with her until I saw Asami and her sister waiting as well. I waved to them, and Asami gave me a thumbs-up. Does she think I maneuvered this sudden return?
Ron held my hand tightly, a reassurance that we were okay after the previous evening’s brief battle over, of all things, ice cream.
He’s been tense about the business for months trying to figure out how to keep afloat while waiting for financing to come through. I really feel I have been doing my part to keep a tight ship, but when Ron opened the freezer after dinner last night and saw two pints of chocolate-chip Häagen-Dazs, he went postal.
“What the fuck is this?” he yelled. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve heard him use the f-bomb, so I was immediately on high alert. So was Max.
“Dad said ‘fuck,’” he whispered.
“Max, go in the living room. I’ll bring you some ice cream.”
He slinked away, and I gave Ron the best stink-eye I could muster.
“Was that necessary?” I asked.
“Do you have any idea how much this shit costs?” He shook a tub of ice cream at me. “Jesus, Jen, I’m busting my ass and all I ask is that you don’t buy designer brands.”
“Can you please just call them name brands? And calm down. My mother brought it over for Max.”
“Oh, great, so now we’re taking charity from your mother?”
“Um, no. She brought her grandson his favorite treat.”
“Because we can’t afford to give it to him.”
“That’s a very twisted way of looking at it.” I had kept my voice calm until this point, but I don’t take well to being yelled at for no reason, so I wasn’t going to be able to keep a lid on it for much longer.
Ron’s shoulders sank. He closed the freezer and handed me the Häagen-Dazs.
“They said no.”
“Who?”
“The bank. They won’t give me the full amount.”
I frowned. “How much will they give?”
“Less than half.” I can hear the stress in Ron’s voice.
“Why not the whole amount?”
Ron shook his head. “Not a viable investment.” He made air quotes.
After I delivered Max his bowl of chocolate-chip happiness, we spent the next hour talking through different financial strategies, but Ron kept coming back to his belief that Rolly Schrader will offer to invest.
“I feel like he’s been sniffing around me this whole time, dropping hints but not saying anything.”
“Well, if that’s what you believe, then why don’t you just call and ask him?”
Ron shook his head. “Because if I look like I need the money, he may not want to get into bed with me.”
“Jesus, this is business, not the rules of dating.”
“They aren’t that different. One person is always more into it than the other.”
We finally went to bed without resolving anything, and I could tell he felt bad about the way the whole discussion had come up in the first place. Ergo the strong hand-squeeze while we waited for Laura.
I hadn’t seen my daughter in almost a year so when she and Jeen finally burst through the doors with their luggage piled on a cart I was so overwhelmed with maternal yearning, I swear I started lactating. My eyes blurred with tears and it was all I could do to stay behind the line.
Laura’s body was hidden behind the luggage, so the first thing I noticed was that her hair was pink. Oh Lordy, keep your mouth shut, I said to myself. When she stepped around the cart to run to us, we had a full view of a much more zaftig Laura. The thin girl of yore had been replaced by a wide-hipped, fuller-busted woman. Still so beautiful, but decidedly changed. I looked at her belly area and it was definitely more rounded, but there was no obvious bun in the oven.
I hugged her with all my strength for a good thirty seconds before I would let go and share her. Max got the second hug, and then Vivs grabbed her and they immediately started whispering to each other like they used to when they were young. Finally, they broke free and Ron got to give her one of his famous bear hugs.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeen being fawned over by Asami and her sister. I thought about inviting them over—my parents were at my house waiting—but then I remembered that, God help us, my mother was cooking, so I decided not to expose them to it until they became part of the family. Laura and Jeen gave each other a quick kiss goodbye and we all piled into the minivan.
* * *
On the drive home, we caught Laura up on all the gossip about her friends and our friends and even Max’s friends. She gave us the broad strokes of the last few months of their trip. They had been traveling nonstop, basically driving from gig to gig in a crappy old van that Jeen bought for a thousand euros, and they never knew where they would land next. When I asked about her hair she proudly said, “I decided to do it yesterday!”
After dinner (salted lasagna with salted garlic bread, salt salad, and nine gallons of water) I waylaid Laura outside the upstairs bathroom and led her into my room.
“So, what’s going on?” I asked as we flopped onto my king-size bed and effe
ctively ruined the flocculence of the counterpane. (Not one but two word-a-day-calendar words!)
Laura rolled onto her side and propped her head on her hand. “It’s good to be home.”
“It’s really good to have you home, sweetie. Is Jeen happy to be back too? Are you guys good?”
“I think so. I’ll know more after I see Dr. Dale. When did you say the appointment was?”
“Tomorrow at two thirty. What’s Dr. Dale got to do with it?”
She shook her head and sighed. “You are really going to kill me.”
Stay calm, I say to myself, as my heart starts a staccato rhythm. Just listen and don’t judge. “I’m not going to kill you,” I say with what I’m sure is a strained smile. “Just tell me.”
“I think I have an STD.”
I had been waiting for the p-word, so I really didn’t comprehend what she said to me. “What’s an STD?”
“Mom! Seriously? You don’t know what an STD is?”
I snapped to it. “Oh! An STD. Which one?”
She shrugged. “The one that makes you feel like you’re peeing fire.”
“Sounds like a urinary tract infection,” I told her knowingly. God knows I had enough of those in my twenties.
“It’s also kind of swollen down there too. And it smells bad. I’ve been uncomfortable for weeks.”
Like many mothers, I like to think of myself as Jen Dixon, AAD (Almost A Doctor), but I’m going to leave this one for Dr. Dale.
“Does Jeen have symptoms, too?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. So he’s wondering why I do. I’m hoping Dr. Dale can tell me it’s something I picked up on a toilet seat.”
“Because that happens.”
“Mom, I’m kidding. I just need Jeen to know I wasn’t with anyone else. He gets jealous sometimes.”
“You know you don’t need to prove anything to him, right? Your word should be good enough.”
Laura closed her eyes and put her head on my legs.
“So … you’re not pregnant?” I had to say it. Her head popped up immediately.
“Pregnant! God, Mommy, why would you even think that?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you come home after eight months and the first person you want to see is the gynecologist?” There’s no way I was going to mention the weight.
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