Valentines on the Edge

by Carol Maloney Scott

  “No, rats were last year. Right, Sweetie?”

  My eyes are willing Marissa to give it back to them. I did a horrible job prepping her for this, and I can’t stop hearing Claire’s words in my head, you’re taking her to meet your parents for Valentine’s Day? And she was just assuming a normal neurotic family…like her own.

  Marissa finally takes a cue from me and says, “My field research involves the correlation between working mothers, especially those with high-powered careers, and the use of drugs in teen girls.”

  Both Reagan and Lori look like they just suffered aneurysms.

  Marissa continues. “Now of course, this type of research receives a lot of criticism from feminist groups. After all, women of our mothers’ generation were told they could, and should have it all. I’m not suggesting that the research will prove that working mothers cause drug abuse, but whether or not the absence of a mother’s involvement in their daughter’s day to day lives has a negative effect on their self-esteem and choices.”

  “Mama, want to see Mimi.” Amelia has chosen this moment to emerge from under the table. Her blond curls are sticking up from static electricity, presumably from rubbing her head on the rug.

  Reagan swallows hard and says, “Mimi is off today, Honey.”

  Kyle finally decides to stop checking his phone and join the conversation, in an effort to defend his family. “Before you ask, Marissa, Mimi is the nanny. But just because Reagan has a big job, it doesn’t mean she isn’t a good mother.”

  “I think it’s time for dessert. I’ll go see if the tray is ready to bring in.” My mother jumps up and grabs my arm. “Justin, be a good boy and help me. I sent the servers home for their big Valentine’s dates.”

  “Why did you bring that girl here?” My mother shakes her head and finally releases the death grip on my arm. “Let me rephrase that. Why did you bring a girl you’ve only been dating for a few weeks to meet this ‘less than easy to get along with’ family? I love my daughter-in-laws, and my older boys, but you know damn well what they’re like.”

  “I know, Mom. Jenna never had a problem with them, but I am seeing why. Jenna was just like them, minus the maternal instinct part.” Lori and Reagan helped to scare her away with that overbearing quality.

  “Exactly. Now I suggest we go back out there, and you step up your efforts to defend this girl before it all goes to shit. Your father and I should just celebrate this occasion alone, like normal people.”

  Well, yeah.

  She finishes loading the many cakes, tortes and pies on the rolling cart with the ease of a woman who worked as a waitress at a diner in Flatbush when she met Eddie.

  “You’re the one who dragged me in here, and left her alone with them.”

  “She can handle them for a minute. Your father must be having a great time—he loves watching a good fight.”

  I follow my mother back to the dining room to hear Marissa say, “No one is saying that working mothers are bad mothers, but there are consequences to how we spend our finite amount of time and attention. The real purpose is to shed some light on the issues of fathers being more involved, and the need for real corporate work/life balance programs, and alternate working situations. Like your friend, Claire. Doesn’t she work from home part of the time? And her husband has a non-traditional career?”

  She turns to look at me, and I suddenly regret ever telling my brothers and their wives about my crush on Claire, when she was still single. Marissa just sees her as a married co-worker and a good example in support of her thesis, but everyone else sees her as a pathetic waste of my time.

  Lori smirks and says, “Oh yes, Claire. The one who can’t have kids, and was afraid to date a younger man?”

  Marissa replies with a confused expression, “Claire has adopted children and she is married to a younger man. Who was she afraid to date?”

  My mother is right. I must take control of this conversation and get Marissa back upstairs as soon as possible, before she asks my mother to move her into one of the other guest rooms.

  “Marissa is just saying that there are many choices, and she wants to have a more flexible schedule when she has children. Or that the study will prove that is best.”

  As I say this, I realize that I have no idea if that’s what Marissa is saying. In the three weeks we’ve been together, we haven’t discussed any of this. And why would we? No wonder Claire thought I must be planning on an insane, impulsive proposal. Our new relationship is being subjected to scrutiny that makes zero sense at this point.

  Is my biological clock ticking? I do envy my brothers, Brandon, and all the other young fathers I know, but I’m not desperate to impregnate someone. I do want a family, but it never dawned on me that just because Marissa isn’t a part of the corporate world, that her career choice is any less time consuming. And she is going to enter a doctoral program in the fall. She’ll be close to thirty by the time she’s done, and I’ll be thirty-five. What the hell was I thinking? One look at her blond hair and brown eyes makes me remem…no, I was not attracted to Marissa because she looks like Claire.

  All eyes are on Marissa as she stammers and replies, “Well, actually I don’t know if I want any children.”

  “Marissa, please open the door. I look like an asshole standing in the hallway.”

  Through the door, she yells, “I need to cool off. Go downstairs and rejoin the over-achieving, baby-making bitches! Maybe one of them has a sister!”

  This is not going well. After Marissa’s declaration about not wanting kids, all eyes turned to me. Even my father was no longer getting a kick out of the sparring, and I was afraid that Lori was going to go into labor. They all know I want a family—especially after Jenna and I broke up because she was too focused on her career to even think about getting married. Let alone babies.

  Fortunately, Amelia wet her pants, and Reagan had to change her, and Lori joined her, obviously to talk about Marissa and speculate as to why I can’t find a normal woman who fits in with the family, despite my good looks and charm (hey, I’m only quoting others).

  My brothers looked at me with a mix of disgust and sympathy, and went off to the living room and great room, separately, to answer their many important e-mails and messages.

  My mother just patted my hand, and my father said, “Kid, you should have taken her out to dinner at home like a normal guy who just started dating a girl. If I had brought your mother home to meet my family this soon, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

  That would have been one way to avoid this mess.

  Instead, I am trying to get Marissa to at least argue with me in the same room, without the whole family hearing that Justin has screwed up again in the women department.

  “Please let me in. I’m sorry.” I lean my head against the door and almost fall on my face as she abruptly swings open the door.

  “And another thing…” Her finger is in my face and she’s holding her hairbrush like a weapon.

  “Are you packing? Please don’t leave.”

  “You know, I was packing but I don’t even know how to get out of here.” She sits down on the bed and throws the brush on the floor.

  I tentatively move towards her, now that she’s not brandishing any weapons.

  “Marissa, I’m sorry. I don’t visit that often, and I forget how snobby and bitchy my sister-in-laws can be. My parents are so much better when they’re not around. It’s like they created monsters with my brothers, but they didn’t mean to. By the time they got to me, they tried harder to be less indulgent. That’s why I’m the only one who isn’t a self-important dick. Why do you think I hide my wealth?”

  She looks up and says, “Oh, Justin, it’s not that. Yes, they’re horrible, but now that I’ve calmed down, it’s almost comical. It’s not your family’s wealth, or even snobbery, that bothers me so much. I can see that you’re on the fast track for a wife and kids, and I don’t know why you would have presumed that I will want any of that any time soon. I’m only twenty-three and
my career plans are going to take time to get off the ground. My research is very important to me.”

  “I know it is.” I sit next to her on the bed, but give her enough space, so she doesn’t feel like I’m moving in for the kill. I’ve been accused of using my charm to get what I want in the past. So basically being a smothering jerk.

  That makes me think of Claire, and how she jokes with me about my charm. It’s so ironic and unfair that one of the world’s best mothers is infertile, and those bitches downstairs are popping them out like rabbits, and Marissa may just choose to stay childless.

  “Marissa, I respect your choices. You’re smart, and beautiful. We’ve known each other such a short time. I don’t want to make decisions based on the future when we’ve barely gotten started.”

  “Neither do I, but all you talk about is people you know who have kids.”

  “I do that?”

  “Yes, you do. You could easily find a woman who wants children, and not all women who choose motherhood as a full-time job are airheads. You have a lot of options.”

  “Listen, I really like you, and I’m drawn to you. And we have fun together. So right now, this is the option I want, if I can have it.” I take her hand and instead of pushing me away, she squeezes it back.

  “I like you, too. A lot. But I need to get out of this nuthouse.”

  We both start laughing as she imitates Lori’s pregnant waddle and Reagan’s bug-eyed look every time she hears something she doesn’t like.

  I mock my stuffy brothers, who talk like they’ve shoved their iPhones up their asses so they can have quicker access to the calls of their minions.

  All the joking leads to other things, and in no time we are in bed while the rest of the Scotts are downstairs, probably taking bets on how quickly Marissa is going to dump me.

  Marissa turns to me with her sexy, tousled blond mane and says, “You realize we are only avoiding the inevitable? I mean, I can’t say for sure that I never want to be a mother. But if I do have kids, it’s not going to be for a while. I have to be sure you want me for me.”

  As I survey the beautiful woman in front of me, I am absolutely certain that it’s Marissa I want, and not anyone she resembles. As long as I keep her in Richmond, we’ll be fine, and maybe if she saw healthy family role models, she would be more likely to want kids. Not to push her, but just to see both sides.

  Either way, we have plenty of time.

  “Hey, what happened to you guys?” My asshole brother, Cody, winks and Kyle makes a stupid bewildered face, as if he can’t imagine what we’ve been doing. They’re just jealous that they live with crazy, stressed out, pregnant…

  “Oh, Justin. I love your Facebook page. You’ve reposted so many cute pictures of Amelia.” Reagan smiles as she turns the laptop on the coffee table towards me and Marissa. Apparently they are posting pictures of our fun, romantic family Valentine’s Day disaster already.

  “Yeah, well she’s a cutie.” I can’t resist grabbing my little niece into a hug when she smiles at me. Crap, maybe Marissa is right. But it’s my niece, for God’s sake. Aren’t there any children in her family?

  Lori shovels cake into her mouth and says, “We wanted to tag Marissa in some of tonight’s photos, but we can’t since we’re not her friend. My genius husband thought we could do it if we found a picture where she was tagged. We did find this one of you two on vacation, but it looks like you accidentally tagged your girlfriend by the wrong name.”

  Lori must be the spawn of Satan. I can’t believe they let her work for a toy manufacturer. She should be leading a coven of witches in ritual…

  “We’ve never been on a vacation.” Marissa scowls at me.

  Why the hell didn’t I keep her upstairs? In bed. Where it’s safe.

  “Are you sure you’re not mad? You’re not going to secretly delete my number from your phone after I drop you off and never see me again?”

  Marissa turns off the radio and sighs. “Justin, I told you I understand. So you went on a business trip with a colleague and you had fun. And she looks somewhat like me. And your sister-in-law is a bitch. We’ve covered all of this.”

  “Okay, I just wish you would say more. I’m used to women who talk things to death. Your silence is eerie and foreboding.”

  I smile and grip the steering wheel tighter. We got up early and left first thing this morning, citing Sunday traffic on 95 and pressing work issues at home. Really, I just wanted to get the hell out of there before anyone else could further fuck up my fledgling relationship.

  Lori damn well knew that picture was of Claire—Marissa is more than fifteen years younger and she also has a lot more on top, and Claire was wearing a bikini, so not much was left to the imagination. I should never have put that boating picture on Facebook, but Claire said it was fine.

  And it isn’t even a problem that Marissa saw me in a picture with another woman. I’m not a monk and we’ve only been dating for three weeks. The problem is that I didn’t want her to feel like I asked her out because she’s a younger version of the woman I want, and can’t have.

  So far we are still dancing around this issue.

  As if reading my mind, Marissa shifts in her seat and turns towards me. “I know this is about the fact that Claire and I look alike. But I don’t care. At all.” She moves her mouth slowly and distinctly to emphasize her lack of concern.

  I glance at her, but keep my eyes mostly on the road, since we are in a traffic jam in the northern Virginia area. “That’s great. I mean…she doesn’t look that much like you. You just have similar coloring…”

  She raises one eyebrow and says, “Okay, let’s not push your luck here. She does look like me, but I get it. You have a type. Lots of people have specific features they like in the opposite sex. You should see Jason.”

  Jason. She called me Jason by mistake when we met, and I asked if there really was a Jason, and if he was out of the picture. She answered yes to both questions, and I haven’t mentioned it since.

  “Uh, huh. Jason. Yep, I remember when we talked about that. He was a teaching assistant when you were an undergrad? Messy breakup. He’s in a Ph.D. program in Baltimore now, near your parents. They liked him, right?”

  “They did, but who cares? My point is that we both have good taste, and have been attracted to similar looking people. All that matters is the present. You and he do share a lot of features, though. But a few vary, and I’m sure Claire beats me in some areas, too. For instance, her hair is blonder than mine.”

  She turns the radio back up and closes her eyes, as the sun streams through the car window, lighting up her already glowing complexion.

  What the fuck does that mean? What varies? Features? I decide to let it go. She’s not mad at me, and maybe she’s right. I really can’t compare Claire to Marissa in some areas, because Claire and I never made it that far.

  Of course with Jason… No. Who cares about Jason? I’m sure I’m not a replacement for him. I asked her out, after all. She’s just toying with me in retaliation for the Valentine’s weekend from hell. It’s actually pretty funny.

  This traffic is such bullshit. Now we are at a compete standstill. My phone beeps and I grab it before we start crawling along again.

  “Hey, Happy Valentine’s Day! So how was the trip? My sweetie came through for me. Lunch tomorrow to debrief?”

  Claire. She’s funny, too. Although I don’t think she even realizes the possible double entendre of ‘debriefing,’ and I will refrain from teasing her about it.

  Yep, I will keep the conversation away from my briefs, and undergarments in general. Given our very platonic relationship, and her recent history with finding another woman’s panties in her bed, it’s not the best topic, even in jest. Thank God for her a reasonable explanation surfaced and she bought it.

  I’m glad to hear Brandon didn’t screw up this time. She deserves the best. And he’s the one for her.

  Really, I’m sure of it. And Marissa is very likely to be the one for me.
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br />   Tapping my fingers to a song, I gaze over at Marissa, snoozing as we begin inching forward again. It feels like we’ll never get home at this…

  Hey, wait a second…what things vary? What areas does Jason…?

  I glance down at my lap, and hope she’s referring to hair color.

  THE END

  Amanda’s White Lie

  “Amanda, there is no such thing as debtor’s prison.”

  Cecilia licks her fingers as she finishes icing the pink and red cookies. The combination of her ‘I love cats’ apron and her black spiky hair and blood red lips are striking, yet confusing. She used to be the bad co-worker at Bella Donna Press. Stealing men, lying, and scaring the crap out of people, especially me. But now she’s all butterflies and unicorns since she went on of those meditation retreats where you find yourself. It’s like the Evil Queen from Snow White was transformed into Mary Poppins.

  “I know this in theory, but they could sue me. I spent all last night looking up the bankruptcy laws, and it just isn’t easy to do anymore. And I’m not a drug dealer, so it’s not like I can get my lawyer to give me a new identity.”

  I twirl my chestnut brown hair in my fingers while I watch Cecilia destroy my kitchen, in an attempt to cheer me up and divert my attention from a huge and growing problem.

  “You and Marcus need to stop watching Breaking Bad. It’s putting terrible ideas into that innocent little head of yours. Go back to the Disney movies. I’m going to watch Aristocats tonight with Binky and Snowball. You can’t go wrong with the classics.”

  She has a point, except I think she may be taking this cat thing a little too far.

  Before I can speak up, she continues, “I know you won’t want to hear this, but maybe you should talk to your uncle. He has money, no kids.”

  “Never. He would be so disappointed in me. He thinks I am a perfect child and his little princess.”

  “It’s not like you killed anyone. You just bought way too many shoes.”