Funeral with a View

by Schiariti, Matt

  I nearly fell into the bathroom when Catherine opened the door. Once I saw her face, all questions were answered. The EPT in her trembling hand served as confirmation, the plus sign in the indicator window clear and unmistakable.

  “I’m pregnant, Ricky.” A heavy tear broke loose from the pool in her eye and fell to the bathroom floor.

  Everything was not going to be okay.

  CHAPTER 6

  Shock.

  Fear.

  Denial.

  Back to shock and fear.

  I said nothing. Rather than speak, I grabbed Catherine and pulled her to me. Neither of us spoke for the longest time. We swayed back and forth, the silence surrounding us. She lay her head against my chest, and I ran my fingers through her silky hair as her shoulders shook with sobs.

  “What’re we going to do?”

  Catherine sniffed. “You mean, what am I going to do?”

  “Will you—”

  “I don’t know, Ricky. I never believed in abortion, but that was before I got pregnant. Now that it’s happened to me, I don’t know what to think or do.”

  I held her tighter.

  “I’m going to have to call my OB/GYN tomorrow and make an appointment,” she said, pulling away from me. “First thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “It may be a few days.” She grabbed a tissue from the bathroom countertop and blew her nose. “Getting into that place is like seeking audience with the President, and that’s on a good day. With the Fourth of July coming up it’ll be even worse.”

  Shit. The Fourth of July. The picnic.

  “Ricky, where are you?”

  “Hmmm?” She looked at me expectantly. “Oh, right.” I cleared my throat. “I kinda invited my mom over for the Fourth. You know, she’s been busting my balls for so long to meet you and … Jesus. This is a cluster fuck of Class A proportions.”

  “Oh,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I see.”

  “But I can cancel it. Meeting my mom under any circumstances could leave you scarred for life. But with all this going on? Yeah. Cancelling it would be best. We need time to talk about things.”

  She brushed past me and sat on my ratty couch with a deep sigh.

  “No.”

  “Right. You’re right.” I went to the phone. “It was stupid of me to even bring it up. I wasn’t thinking. We’ve got enough on our plates as it is. I’ll call her right now and tell her it’s off.”

  Catherine set her hand on top of mine as I made to grab the receiver.

  “That’s not what I meant, Ricky. I meant ‘no’ as in ‘no, I don’t want you to cancel.’ ”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Really, really?”

  She smiled, and miraculously it reached her eyes. “Really, really. I can’t just closet myself away.”

  I sat down next to her and placed my arm around her shoulders. She pulled her feet underneath herself, nestling closer to me.

  “My mother’s going to love you, you know. Although,” I paused, “I’m not sure the feeling will be mutual.”

  “You make her sound like such an ogre.”

  “Harpy.”

  “What?”

  “Ogres are male. Harpies are female. At least, I think so. Shit, I don’t know. I’m a graphic designer. Mythology wasn’t on the curriculum.” Cat worked at a local bank as an IT consultant, and I doubted she knew much more about mythic creatures than I did. “Anyway, I think she’s too short to be an ogre.”

  “Rick?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “About what you said before you busted out of the apartment like it was on fire.”

  Uh oh. “Yes?”

  “Did you mean it?”

  Before I bolted I told her I loved her. In fact, when I got to the door, I made a point of turning back just to tell her.

  Did I mean it?

  A part of me knew the answer from the beginning. A bigger part of me pushed it aside, trained to think there was no such thing as love at first sight. Silly things like that didn’t exist in the real world. They’re fodder for bad movies, soap operas, and novels. People don’t fall in love after a scant few months.

  So, did I love her?

  Damn straight I did.

  “Yes.”

  Simple.

  To the point.

  One word to dispel any doubt.

  She hesitated. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Really really?

  “Really really.”

  “Me, too.”

  ~~~

  Catherine opted not to spend the night.

  “Nothing against you, baby, but I’d like some time to myself. I have a lot to think about.”

  I agreed. I was prepared to give her whatever she needed; time to think, personal space, anything. We had much to discuss, but, as they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Catherine promised to call me after getting in touch with her doctor. After that? We’d figure it out.

  “Ricky, please don’t tell anybody. I want to see what happens with the doctor before I go down that road.”

  “We,” I corrected. “Before we go down that road.”

  Her mouth twitched with a slight grin. “God,” she sighed, looking forlorn in the hallway outside my apartment door. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Hey.” I lifted her chin and looked into her hazel eyes. “It’ll all work out. We’ll deal with whatever happens. Together. And I won’t tell a soul. Promise.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “SHE’S WHAT?”

  Bill’s booming voice reached through the phone and punched me in the eardrum.

  My vow of silence was short-lived. I was scared shitless, and the recent turn of events chipped away at me from the inside. I felt like I’d explode if I didn’t spew to somebody.

  Mom was out of the question. A sexual progressive dating a guy over ten years younger—who, according to her, humped like a jackrabbit on speed—or not, telling her that my girlfriend of less than six months was suddenly pregnant wasn’t high on my to-do list.

  That left Bill, my best friend since the fifth grade.

  “You heard me.”

  “Wow. That blows, man.”

  “Ya think?”

  “She going to keep it?”

  “I’m not sure, Bill. I’m really not. We have a lot to talk about. She hasn’t even made an appointment with her gyno yet, and I won’t even pretend to know what’s involved with that.” I sighed. What a mess. Everything felt difficult, from thinking to speaking.

  “So, you going to stay with her if she does keep it?”

  “Of course I am! What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “Simmer down, Ricky. I was only asking.”

  “It was a dumb fucking question.”

  “Yeah, probably. Just thinking that, you know… if she didn’t keep it, life would be easier for you, both of you, that’s all.”

  “Not even my choice, man. Her body, her choice.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I know. What’re you going to do?”

  “What can I do other than support her and be here for her?”

  “True. So … does this mean the Fourth is off?”

  “No, we’re still having it. Mom’ll be there. With her boy toy.”

  “No shit! How old is this one? What’s his name?”

  “I don’t want to know and I can’t remember”

  “Should be interesting.”

  “Without a doubt. And Bill, we never spoke about this, okay? I promised Catherine I wouldn’t tell anybody.”

  A long pause.

  “Bill? You still there?”

  “I’m here. Don’t worry. I won’t say a word.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The Fourth of July arrived with a vengeance. With the heat index, the weather service predicted it to be over 100 degrees. Nothing like adding sweltering temperatures to the overburdened pressure cooker that was my life.

  I had a lot on my mind, an
d while Catherine handled things with a reserved calm, I’d taken to chewing the shit out of my fingernails.

  Catherine busied herself with the picnic tables and all the trimmings as I hooked up a new propane tank to the grill we had set up on my back patio. Big no-no with the association, but they tended to be more lenient on the holidays. The burners on the Char Broil ignited with a whooshing sound just as I heard a familiar voice from off in the distance.

  “Richard! Richard, honey, we’re here. Jesus, it’s hotter than a virgin’s panties on prom night. Look, I brought potato salad!”

  My mother always knew how to make an entrance.

  “And that would be your mother,” Catherine said. “You were right. She is a little too short to be an ogre.”

  I grunted.

  Catherine met my mother half way and reached for the five pound burden.

  “Here, let me help you with that, Mrs. Franchitti.”

  “Please. It’s Beth, dear. Nobody’s called me Mrs. Franchitti in fifteen years. Glen? Glen!” she called over her shoulder. “Oh, where is that pain in the ass? Glen, get over here and take this potato salad, will you?” Huge, dark sunglasses hid her eyes, and her face was cloaked in a shadow as projected by the brim of her oversized hat, both testaments to her love for Jacki O.

  A short, balding man with a crooked nose and close-set eyes rushed up to us. His Bermuda shorts displayed spindly legs, and reed-thin arms sprouted from a sweaty polo shirt.

  Glen waved. I waved back.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” he said, a little winded. “I was trying to find a spot. Parking’s a bitch in these big apartment complexes. Woops. Pardon my French.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Catherine said, amused. “My father curses with the best of them. Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “Good, good.” Glen hefted Mom’s Epic Potato Salad. “I’ll go put this inside so it doesn’t go bad.”

  Mom clucked her tongue. “Poor man is sweating like a whore in the Vatican. I think he has a glandular issue. He perspires in the shower … whether I’m in there with him or not.”

  “Mom! Please.” I’d made my way over as she handed the bowl off to poor ole Glen, figuring Catherine could use all the support she could get. Besides, I was raised to do introductions. “Mom, this is—”

  “Yes, yes, Richard. I know who this is. Catherine. And aren’t you a sexy little thing? Turn around, dear. Let me see you.”

  Oh, for the love of God.

  Confused, Catherine humored my mother and spun in a circle. Mom appraised her, from her sandals to her white shorts to her tank top and ponytail.

  “Do you work out, sweetie? Such a great figure. That ass is to die for. There aren’t enough spinning classes in existence for me to achieve that body. And I’ve never seen that big a bust on a girl so athletically built before.”

  Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!

  “Moooooooooom,” I said, palm over my face.

  “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Richard. If you were any more uptight your ass could turn coal into diamonds.” Beth Franchitti had stopped editing herself many moons ago. A perk of her age, or a horribly embarrassing personality trait? My money’s on the latter.

  Mom’s behavior never failed to humiliate me, but Catherine thought it was a hoot. She laughed at the lack of decorum and didn’t seem to mind being on display like a prized horse at auction.

  “Richard, look at those fingernails.” The inky black sunglasses hadn’t affected Mom’s eagle vision. “You’ve been biting them again, haven’t you?” She turned to Catherine. “Such an oral fixation on this boy. Always chewing his fingernails over anything that’s got his dander up. Bad test grades, something spilled on the carpet … any time he’d attempt to hide something from me” A sculpted eyebrow appeared over the rims of her Foster Grants.

  I waved off her comment. “How about a drink while I get some food on the grill?” That pacified her for the time being. I dodged a bullet. Sure to be a momentary respite.

  “Glen? Glen!” A breeze almost knocked off Mom’s massive urban sombrero. She grabbed it, saving us all from a lengthy diatribe on how much she’d paid for it and the frequency of her trips to the hair salon. “Where is that man? Glen, please get us a drink before we dehydrate.”

  “Yes, dear,” came Glen’s resigned voice from inside the house.

  “Now, Catherine,” Mom said, grabbing Catherine’s hand. “Let’s go finish setting the table and have some girl talk, hmm? I just have to give you all the dirt on my Richard. Did he tell you about our trip to Miami Beach when he was five? No? Well, he walked right to the water’s edge, took down his bathing suit, whipped out his little mushroom cap, and started pissing right into the water! It was …” They made their way to the apartment, and her voice trailed off. Catherine gave me an amused shrug, looked down at my crotch, and winked as my mother led her by the hand, another casualty of Beth Franchitti’s personal tractor beam.

  A frosty beer was shoved in my face, so close the label blurred.

  “Here,” said Glen, taking a pull of his own beer. “I think you’re going to need this. I think you’re going to need a lot of this.

  I slugged half the bottle in one shot and reassessed the man.

  “Glen? I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  ~~~

  Smoke wafted into my eyes as I finished up the first round of hot dogs and hamburgers. Mom, Glen, and Catherine were at the picnic table with their drinks, talking and laughing. I had a feeling that most of the laughing was at my expense. I hoped Mom wasn’t telling Catherine the story of when I pooped in the pool at summer camp. The thought made me thirsty for another beer.

  As I finished the lukewarm dregs of my Newcastle and considered getting another, I heard the familiar rumble of a Camaro pulling up in front of the complex. I’d know the sound of the car anywhere. It was the sound of hot summer nights driving down the strip in Seaside, looking to ‘bag some babes’ with my best friend.

  “Oh, Lucy, I’m hooo-ooome!”

  “William!” Mom had a tendency to call everyone by their full, given name whether they be family, friend, or foe.

  She quickly got up from the picnic table, almost knocking over her martini, and ran through the browned grass, arms waving.

  “Hey, Beth.” Bill picked her up and spun her around. Touching. She looked like a baby in his arms, not a stretch considering he was a foot-and-a-half taller, and one hundred-fifty pounds heavier. “How are you, hot momma?”

  “William, you flatter me,” she said after he set her down, and swatted his ass. “And I’m doing much better now that you’re here, you sexy hunk of man.”

  They walked back, hands clasped and grins plastered on their faces. I imagined them in a mental hospital together and decided it was plausible.

  “Richard. William’s here!”

  “No shit.”

  “What was that, dear?”

  “Nothing.” I shook Bill’s hand. “Glad you could make it, buddy.”

  “Rick.” He gave Catherine a tense nod. My mother noticed the exchange, and her lips formed a grim line. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, man. You know that.”

  “Well,” my mother said, chipper as ever. “Let’s go get you a drink, William. Your timing is perfect. I was just telling Richard’s little friend all of his embarrassing childhood stories.”

  Bill threw his head back and laughed. “Get to the dump in the public pool yet?”

  Sigh.

  “I was seven-years-old!”

  “Whatever you say, Richard,” Mom said, waving dismissively. “Come on, William. Let’s go sit with Glen and Catherine and have some more fun at Mr. Uptight’s expense.”

  “Music to my ears, Beth.” Bill winked and flipped me the bird.

  Asshole.

  ~~~

  “Glen? Glen?”

  Mom and Glen’s interactions reminded me of National Lampoon’s Vacation: “Russ!” “Right here, Dad.” She yelled for the poor bast
ard even if he was right on top of her.

  “Yes, dear. I was just coming back from the bathroom.”

  “Oh, there you are. Let’s go back and freshen up our drinks and get some more of that potato salad. I don’t know where the boys put all this food. Catherine, are you sure I can’t you a drink? Something other than iced tea?”

  “No thanks Mrs. … Beth. I’m not really a big drinker.”

  I took that moment to choke on my hot dog.

  “Richard, maybe if you actually chewed your food you wouldn’t have choked, mmm?” Her mouth formed a humorless line again. “Right, then. Glen and I will be back in a minute, won’t we, Glen?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Bill broke the silence once Mom and Glen were out of ear shot.

  “Not a big drinker? You could’ve fooled me,” he mumbled.

  Catherine shot daggers at him. He went back to his hamburger.

  “Ricky, your mom is a trip.” Catherine’s good humor returned having adequately cowed Bill. “I can’t believe she was a Vegas show girl.”

  Ugh. Don’t remind me. You were probably wondering where my mom’s liberal sexual attitude came from? Well there you have it. Apparently what happens in Vegas does not always stay in Vegas. I’m living proof of that. Long story short, Dad was on vacation, met my mother, bedded my mother, love at first roll in the hay. She followed him back to Jersey. The rest is history.

  “She’s not as bad as you made her out to be.” Smiling, Catherine rested a hand on my knee.

  “She’s an acquired taste. Sort of like ipecac syrup.” I nodded at Bill. “He’s used to her by now. It’s a wonder she hasn’t jumped his bones yet. Ever see The Graduate?”

  “What can I say? She has good taste,” Bill said through a mouthful of chips. He took a sip of beer. “Glen’s a nice guy. A bit weird looking, and sheepish around her, but hey, that’s nothing new. Anyway,” he shrugged, “they seem to be really into each other. Good for Beth.”

  “Speaking of meet and greets,” Catherine chimed in, “I guess I’m going to have to introduce you to my mom and dad and my sister sooner or later.”