by DW Cee
After reconvening back at Jake’s, we did the grand reveal.
“You guys have no chance against Laney’s brilliant idea.” Josh decided to go help Doug and Laney set up their present.
“I don’t know, little brother. Jane’s idea’s pretty brilliant as well.”
“Why, thank you!” I answered with an appreciative kiss.
“For a response like that, I can kiss your ass some more,” he added, for the enjoyment of no one else but us.
“Why you clever boy, you!”
“Okay!!! Let’s move on from this love fest!” Garret broke us up by walking right in between us.
We started at my house, or better stated, my parents’ house, and all walked up to Gram’s bathroom, which had a huge yellow caution tape X’ing out the door. Gimpy opened the door and we all died laughing at what we saw. They (as in my father and his brothers) had created a throne for Gram to use on a daily basis.
Let me try and explain to you what the throne looked like. The chair looked like a 12th-century king’s throne chair—think Games of Throne, Robb Stark, House Lannister, Stannis Baratheon, and dragon queen, Daenerys Targaryen, all vying, plotting, killing, to claim this chair that only a King or Queen may sit upon. Well Gram’s chair looked identical to such chairs. It was built around the toilet already in existence, and only when you lifted the seat, could you tell that it was a potty. Perhaps a glorified port-a-potty was a more apt explanation.
“Whose idea was this?” I asked. “Uncle Henry’s?”
“Believe it or not, it was Roland’s. He wanted his bride to know that she was his queen. Watch this,” my Uncle Dave explained. “Mom, please pull on the toilet paper roll.”
Gram did as she was asked and a tune of God Save the Queen blared. This was one of the best Mother’s Day gifts we’d seen in a long while!
“All right. To the next gift...” Uncle Henry declared.
I led everyone to the backyard, and the howling began again. Placed on our grassy land was a grandfather clock-shaped coffin for our dear old mom. You all remember that Mom’s a nut for clocks and she collects them from all over the world? In honor of her clock-mania, we fashioned her coffin to look identical to a grandfather clock. It even had a beautiful Omega-like clock face with a working hour hand, minute hand, and even a second hand. On the grave, we had engraved, “Counting down your mortality, Sandra Jane Reid.”
“You see. Mom loves it,” I whispered to Max.
“I see.” Max didn’t know whether or not to believe Mom’s sincere appreciation for the gift. “You Reids have an oddball sense of humor.”
“That must be why I love you so much, Mr. Davis.” That earned me a slap on the rear end. Of course, we were at the end of the Reid trail, who were off to Jake’s house to view Emily’s gift.
We arrived at Jake’s hallway, and he presented to his wife a framed caricature of the twins. An artist had drawn our beautiful Ellie with exaggerated teeth and mouth, huge but gorgeous blue eyes and uncontrolled curls everywhere. She was shown to be yelling the words, “ME! and NO!” Truly, her two favorite words. Even as a caricature, she looked darling.
James was drawn to have a huge forehead, floppy ears and he looked like the road runner, wreaking havoc wherever he’d been. Furniture was turned over, toys were broken, and his sister was in the far background with food on her face from his tornado-like run. It personified him perfectly because that’s all he liked to do these days. RUN!
Then, Jake took us to his office and unveiled an absolutely stunning montage of pictures of his wife. These pictures chronicled their relationship, starting from their second chance in Tokyo, to their wedding, to their honeymoon, her pregnancy, the birth of the twins, life with the twins, and even her pregnancy now. There were a few empty spots, for what I assume was their new addition in a couple of months.
And finally, we were led to Emily’s favorite room in the house, her sitting room, off their bedroom. Here, Jake had carefully restored old black and whites of Emily’s grandparents, her parents, and Emily, when she was younger and created a family tree with pictures rather than names. All our immediate family was on there, even Gimpy, and once again, there were several spots open for more babies in the future. Leave it to my brother to get all the women gushing about his wife’s gift. Never in my wildest dreams, growing up right after an annoying, know-it-all, did I ever imagine Jake as the ideal husband. Laney was on the nose about wanting a husband like my brother.
Next, we moved to Uncle Henry’s home where usually we found the most hilarious gift of them all. Uncle Henry was the jokester in the family, and his kids assumed his gregarious personality. When we got there, we were not disappointed.
“Oh, my gosh! Is that what I think it is?” Aunt Babs shouted. “That tub is my favorite place in the house. How am I to shower in there with that?!?”
Aunt Babs’ bath curtain for her claw-foot bath tub was changed out to a clear curtain with Uncle Henry’s naked image silkscreened on it. This image ran from the top of the shower curtain along the entire length of it and it was disgustingly hilarious. Praise God that he was holding a hanky just large enough to cover the parts that would’ve grossed us all out from here till the end of time!
“Who the hell came up with this idea? It’s hysterical!” Donovan declared. “I don’t know that I needed this visual of the Chief right after a meal, but it’s a brilliant idea.”
“You haven’t seen brilliant, till you see the inside of the curtain.” Doug opened the curtain and called out, “And now...for the pièce de résistance...the backside!”
When he proclaimed the backside, he wasn’t kidding. The inside of the shower curtain had the same picture but of Uncle Henry’s hairy backside. And this time, there was NO hanky covering the pertinent part. When it didn’t gross us all out, we were dying—almost literally—of laughter. Aunt Babs would see her hubby’s backside every time she stepped in her claw-foot bath.
“I will never, ever use that bath tub, ever again!” Aunt Babs said while flecking off the tears of laughter. “Who came up with this idea?”
“It was both our ideas, but Laney came up with the naked rear end idea.”
“I declare Henry’s ass the winning gift,” Uncle Dave said, even before we went to the other three homes. Everyone agreed with his declaration.
“That was an ingenious idea, little girl. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Why thank you, Mr. Taylor. There’s a lot about me you’ll find surprising, if you care to notice.” Laney beamed.
“Did somebody call me?”
“No, Dad. This little girl insists on calling me Mr. Taylor for some reason. I’ve told her that I feel like my father, but she won’t give it up.”
“What’s wrong with feeling like your father? He’s a very handsome man.”
“He’s my stud, aren’t you, Scottie?”
“Ma,” Donovan pleaded. “Please! Don’t start.”
“Don’t start what, Donny? I was just agreeing with this gorgeous young lady. Which Reid are you?”
I hadn’t seen Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, better known as Scott and Jamie Lynn Taylor, since my dad’s birthday party, where we didn’t even get a chance to speak. We used to see them all the time when we were younger. Though they still lived near us, we hardly saw them because they traveled most of the y ear, visiting their children and grandchildren.
“I’m Laney, daughter of Henry and Barbara.”
“My Gawwwd!” Mrs. Taylor practically hollered in her mix of New York / Italian accent. “Last time I saw you, you were in pigtails. When did you grow up to this?” She motioned her hand up and down Laney’s body. “You’re stunning.”
We all laughed at Jamie Taylor’s animated gestures.
“Ma. Calm down.” Donovan turned to us and explained, “I’m sure you all remember that Mom’s Long Island roots appear whenever she gets excited.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Donny. Why can’t you get yourself a young lady like Laney and se
ttle down? You’re the last one, Donny,” she whined to her son. “I want babies, grandchildren like Sandy and Bobby have. Those twins are beautiful. I want grandbabies who will live down the street from me. I’ll move next door to you and babysit every day, Donny.” Mrs. Taylor had both her hands on Donovan’s face and she squeezed his cheeks in varying ways depending upon the degree of her plea. He was immobile to her begging.
“Donny. Listen to your Ma!” Mr. Taylor chimed in.
“Dear God. Not you, too. Both your accents are coming out.”
“Kate’s too old to bring sweet babies into this world. No more Kate, Son. I know she’s sexy. Any man would be blind not to notice.”
“Scottie! How can you talk about another woman being sexy when I’m right next to you?”
“I’m just trying to explain to our son that I understand his attraction towards her. But,” Mr. Taylor turned to Donovan, again, “no more. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s time to get serious. How about one of these Reid girls? There’s plenty of them.” Mr. Taylor looked at us as though he were searching for Captain Crunch cereal in the bread aisle of a grocery store. “What about Janey? I’ve always liked her.”
“Janey is happily taken,” Max answered, placing his arms around me from behind, possessively.
“Okay.” Mr. Taylor just moved on to the next box of cereal. “What about Laney here. You married?”
“No, Sir.”
“What do you think of my son? Isn’t he handsome?”
“I guess he’s all right.” Laney answered nonchalantly. Was she nuts? She couldn’t have been that blind to think Donovan was just all right.
“All right?” The three Taylors sounded like a harmonized chorus.
“My son is gorgeous!” Mrs. Taylor ardently preached to the choir, especially Laney.
“My son is even better looking than I am,” Mr. Taylor said. “Didn’t you say earlier that I was handsome?”
“I did, Sir.”
Donovan also pushed his own cause. “I was told I was even better looking than Henry Cavill. You know...the new Superman?”
Laney giggled. “Mr. Taylor, I think you look like a mousy Harry Styles.”
“Mousy Harry Styles??? Who, me, or my father?”
“You!” She pointed at Donovan.
“How can you call me mousy? And who the hell is Harry Styles?”
Donovan was getting all huffy-puffy with Laney’s insult. He wouldn’t let Laney off the hook. I took out my phone and pulled up an image of Harry Styles and showed it to Donovan. “Here you go, Monsieur Ratatouille.” Everyone cracked up.
“So if my son’s not good looking enough for you, Laney, then who is?” Mr. Scott Taylor asked with a rascally smile.
“Donovan Taylor is plenty good looking, but I prefer a bit more of a manly look.”
I saw Donovan and his mother about to pass out while the rest of us choked on our laugh. Jake was loving this the most.
“Explain, Delaney Reid!”
“I like the weathered look,” she mused. “You know, the Harley Davidson, beautiful tattoo, five o’clock shadow, mussed-up hair, look. You, Mr. Taylor, look a little too cleaned up. You’re the James Bond when he’s at the casino. I prefer the James Bond when he’s firing his Walther PPK, all cut up, with dirt on his face. That’s what I prefer.”
Donovan’s face gentled. “You truly are full of surprises. No Prince Charming from Cinderella?”
“Prince Charming from Cinderella with a few tats, riding a Harley.”
“You should,” Max whispered in my ear, “learn to embrace my bike, like Laney.” Then he turned to Laney. “You want a ride on my bike? It’s here. Maybe Josh can take you.”
Laney all of a sudden turned shy. “Maybe next time, Max. It’s a really cool bike. It’s a Switchback, huh?”
“You speak Harley?” Max brightened up as though the manager at the Harley Davidson store offered him a 50% discount on a new bike.
“Some...I considered buying one last year, but Mom wouldn’t let me. She said it was too unladylike. Don’t tell anyone but I’ve saved up money to buy a Harley. You may see me on one when you visit me in London.”
Who on earth was this girl? Wasn’t she the Disney princess who forced all of us to play with dolls, have tea parties and dress up like Barbie princess fools? Where did the motorcycle, tattoo and five o’clock shadows come from, and when the hell did my cousin grow up?
“This is the girl for you, Donny my boy! You need to marry this girl and she can help you get rid of that metrosexual side. Real men don’t take so long picking out their clothes and styling their hair every morning. Ever since he was a child...”
“OK! Pa. Enough, already...”
“What’s all the fun, here? What’s going on?” Mom and Aunt Babs joined our group.
“Babs,” Mrs. Taylor called out in her thick accent, “Whatcha gonna do with all the money your kids earned you?”
“Jamie!” Aunt Babs hugged our guest. “You look phenomenal. How’d you lose so much weight?”
“Pole dancing.”
Donovan spit up his drink and started choking. Laney pounded on his back and Jake positioned himself to give him the Heimlich, but Donovan waved him off.
After making sure her son wasn’t going to die, she continued. “I got a pole in my bedroom and started getting private lessons. My Scottie loves it...”
“Maaaaa!” Donovan pleaded. “I give up. I’m going to the other side of Jake’s yard. I’ll see you before you or I leave.”
“Bye Donnie.” Mrs. Taylor called out. Max and I walked away soon after when the conversation turned a bit too risqué for our taste.
“I love your family.” Max said sadly. I went from sitting on the bench next to him to sitting on his lap. “I hope I’ll be able to recreate something this magical with my own family.”
“What is your mom doing tomorrow for Mother’s Day?”
He didn’t answer me.
“Tell me you’ve at least offered to stop by the house or take her out for a meal.”
“I’m afraid to see my mother, especially after that last dinner.”
“Max. I know she’s more mommy dearest than June Cleaver, but it’s a day when we celebrate moms. You have to at least see her. Can I call her and invite her to dinner with us tomorrow night?”
“You really want to do that after what she did to you, to us, last time?” He doubted my sincerity and I, too, wondered what the hell I was doing offering to walk back into the lion’s den.
“Yes. I think between you, me, and your brothers, we can have a peaceful meal with your parents.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“I am...in so many ways...” I added suggestively.
We left the Mother’s Day festivities to create some festivities of our own, across the street in my bedroom.
May 13, 2013 All That It’s Cracked Up To Be...
What possessed me to invite Max’s parents to dinner was beyond me. I thought since we were all on our own on Sunday, I’d be the bigger person and suggest dinner with the three brothers, me and the parents. I didn’t exactly invite Hannah, but I supposed she would be there as well. As a buffer, I begged Nick, Doug, and Evie—who was in LA brunching with her parents—to join us.