by Claire Adams
“I did, actually,” Eric tells her. “We used to have a Chilean rose tarantula when I was a kid. That thing would urticate every time we’d go to feed it. It was a pretty foul-tempered thing.”
“Oh, how nice,” my mom says, looking at him ever so briefly. She looks back at me, saying, “You know, I think the nurses are after my sugar free gum.”
She gives an exaggerated nod of her head, and I’m trying not to laugh.
This is actually about the best case scenario. Not only is she being semi-polite to Eric and me, but she’s got some color back in her face. She’s already looking healthier.
“Eric,” my mom says, “I’m wondering if I could impose upon you for a favor.”
“Sure thing,” he answers. “What can I do for you?”
“I keep asking the nurses to bring me a diet cherry cola, but they always seem to come back with a diet cola, no cherry, or a cherry cola, no diet. Last night, one of them came back with a diet cherry soda that wasn’t even a cola. I was wondering if you might have the sense enough to bring me the right thing for the first time since I’ve been in this hospital,” she requests.
“Not a problem,” he says. “Did you want a can or a bottle?”
“It doesn’t matter, dear,” she answers. “Thank you.”
He walks out of the room and I sit next to my mother’s bed.
“You’re sleeping together, aren’t you?” my mom asks.
I’m a teenager again, coming home in the passenger’s seat of my then-boyfriend’s Camaro, asking him to just keep driving for a little while longer.
“Why would you say that?” I ask.
“Well, for one thing,” my mom says, “he’s g-r-e-g-o-n-s-e-u-s, gorgeous.”
“You do know that’s not how you spell gorgeous, right?” I ask with a chortle.
“What did I spell?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Something like gregonseus.”
“Well, that’s not a word, sweetheart,” my mom says. “You really should have paid more attention in school.”
I’m hoping that we’re past her question and onto something else, but that’s a hope that never seems to see fruition.
“You are, aren’t you?” she asks.
“I’m what?” I ask, just going for that last-ditch possibility that there’s still time for me to avoid this conversation.
“You’re having sex with him,” she says. “I may be your mother, but I was a young woman once. I know the signs.”
“What are the signs?” I ask.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says. “Answer the question.”
“Mom, I think it’s just the drugs talking,” I answer.
“So you’re not having a relationship with him?” she asks.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I answer.
“What would you say?” she asks. “Remember, if you don’t tell me, I’m just as happy watching my nature program.”
She lifts a finger toward the television which is on some ultra-violent prison show.
“Mom, what are they giving you for the pain?” I ask, smirking.
“You can’t have any, dear,” she answers. “You know, if I was your age, I wouldn’t waste a minute with that man.”
“Really?” I ask. “You don’t like him?”
“What?” my mom asks, “Why would you say that?”
“You just said that you wouldn’t waste a minute with him,” I remind her.
“No,” she says, “I meant that I would be bent over the arm of the couch with my pants around my—”
OMG.
“Is there any way I could get you to not finish that sentence?” I interrupt with a shudder.
“Do you love him?” she asks.
“Can we talk about something else?” I return.
“If you don’t, that’s okay, sweetheart,” she says. “I just want to know that you’re well taken care of.”
“I like him,” I tell her. “I think love is a ways off, though.”
I was lying to myself…to my mom. I hoped the questions would stop by saying that.
“Is there potential for it?” she asks.
I was wrong.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, “maybe.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she says. “The two of you would have the most beautiful grandchildren. Don’t you think?”
“I really haven’t given it that much thought,” I answer.
“No,” she says. “I was talking to him.”
I spin around and sure enough, Eric’s in the doorway with a bottle of diet cherry cola in his hand.
He pretends like he doesn’t hear the question and, opening the bottle and handing it to my mother, he says, “I think this was the last one, but if you like, we can pick you up some from the store so you have them while you’re here.”
“That’s very kind of you,” my mom says and I know the smile on her face is in reaction to the hot redness of my face. “I was just asking my daughter if she thought the two of you had a future together and she didn’t seem to have a clear answer to the question. I was hoping maybe you might.”
It’s been so long since I’ve dated anyone that I’d forgotten about her little gambits with my significant others.
She did something similar with Will when I was in high school, only that time it took the form of asking him whether he had any useful knowledge about the female anatomy. After he left and I demanded an explanation, she just told me that it was a character question.
When I pressed her on the subject, she said that there was no right answer. If he said yes, he would be admitting that he’s either slept with me or some other floozy (she made sure to include the word “other” before the word “floozy) before he and I got together. If he said no, then he was an idiot. The truth, she said, was in how he answered, not what he answered.
“I don’t know,” he says. “The relationship’s still very new, but I’m hopeful.”
He looks at me and then winks. And that’s all it took to fill my body with warmth.
“And what are you hoping for?” my mom asks.
“How’s your treatment going?” I ask, knowing it to be a futile exercise.
“The doctors are hopeful,” my mom says.
I did kind of open the door for her on that one.
“Thank you for the cola, dear,” my mom says and for a minute, she stares off at the TV.
A doctor comes in the room, but doesn’t say anything. He just checks her SATs and walks back out again as quickly as he entered.
“When I was Jessica’s age,” my mom tells Eric as she continues to stare at the television screen, “I never thought that I was going to meet the right man. Then,” she says, turning toward me, “your father came along.”
“That’s very—” I start, but my mom isn’t done.
“Then I knew I was never going to meet the right man,” she howls.
Eric and I look at each other uncomfortably for a moment, waiting for my mom to stop laughing.
Finally, she catches her breath and says, “Your sister was here earlier. Did you hear that insect she’s been dating managed to slip one by the armed guards?”
Eric cocks his head, not understanding, but my answer to my mom’s question clarifies things well enough, “Yeah, she told me she’s pregnant.”
“Now, there’s a grandchild I already know is going to need some counseling,” my mom says. “It wouldn’t be so bad if your sister’s boyfriend wasn’t such a twat.”
“Mom!” I exclaim and Eric quickly turns away, unable to hide the fact that his shoulders are sharply moving up and down.
“He is, dear,” my mom says. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who’s that high-strung, and I raised you for crying out loud.”
“I think your daughter is wonderful,” Eric says, finally able to contain himself.
“Which one?” my mom asks. “The one that carrying twat seed or the one that’s so caught up with work, she forgot to have a life?”
“I planned on having a life when I was younger, Mom,” I tell her, “but you did a pretty good job convincing me that nothing I ever did was going to be good enough.”
I’d hoped that the conversation wouldn’t devolve into this, but I really should have known better. Even from her hospital bed, my mom’s still the queen of nastiness.
“It made you try harder, though, didn’t it?” my mom asks.
“It made me feel like I couldn’t do anything right,” I tell her. “It made me think that the best I could ever hope for was that a man would take pity on me and save me from my own stupidity!”
“Now dear,” my mom says, “do try to not raise your voice in front of the help.”
“The help?!” I exclaim.
Eric’s eyes are wide, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I will have you know that this man is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time and no, I don’t know where our relationship’s going, but he’s a decent person and he actually cares about me enough to try to help me feel better when I’m worried about you and your bullshit!”
“So, you think this is going to be it for you, do you?” she asks.
“That’s way over the line,” I tell her. “He’s my boyfriend, and I’m not going to sit here while you talk about him this way. Come on, Eric, we’re going.”
I stand and march to the door, but a sound from my mother’s bed stops me in my tracks.
Boiling, I spin around to find her with a wide smile on her face and laughter coming out of her throat.
“What is so funny?” I ask.
“You never did understand,” she says, laughing. “I’m not the demon you think me to be, dear. Now sit back down and let’s talk for a minute.”
“I don’t want to sit back down,” I tell her. “I’m glad the surgery went well, and I hope you can get back home soon, but—”
“Jessica?” Eric interrupts.
“What?!” I yell, turning back toward him.
“I think I get it,” he says.
“Get what?” I ask.
“He’s your boyfriend, dear,” my mom says behind me.
“I hardly think that’s a call for you to make,” I start, but then it hits me.
My mom just gives words to the thought, “Well, you said so yourself. Didn’t you?”
I guess I did.
“Sometimes people need a little pressure to realize what they want and what they feel,” my mom says. “You were always a little tougher to crack than your sister. It’s a good thing Eric’s here, otherwise you might have just thought I was being cruel for the sake of being cruel. Say what you want about how you feel, dear, but you just stood up for him in a pretty profound way. You don’t usually do that sort of thing unless you really care for someone.”
“Even if that was your goal the whole time,” I tell her, “that doesn’t mean you have the right to talk about people that way.”
“And you’re still defending him,” my mom says and starts making kissing motions with her mouth.
“Come on,” I tell Eric and I storm out of the room.
He follows me down the hall, but I’m to the elevator before he catches up.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I’m angry and I’m frustrated and I’m embarrassed—okay, mostly I’m embarrassed.”
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know,” I tell him. “Well, I could have thought through introducing you to my mother a little more carefully.”
“Hey,” he says, “if nothing else, I think we just had the talk.”
I look up him and, as the elevator doors open, he smiles and takes my hand.
“I think I’d be okay with being your boyfriend,” he says.
“Romantic as always,” I scoff and we get on the elevator.
Chapter Eighteen
A Constellation of Little Surprises
Eric
We pull up to Jessica’s parents’ house and sit out front, the car still running.
“I realize that we probably should have had that talk in private,” she says. “In my defense, I kind of tried to do it before we got to the hospital.”
“It’s all right,” I chuckle. “All things considered, I’m just glad it happened.”
I lean over and slowly press my lips against hers, but only for a moment.
“I have to warn you about my dad,” she says while looking into my eyes.
“You know, your mom really wasn’t that bad and you warned me about her. I think I’ll be all right,” I answer.
“She’s the more overtly abrasive of the two, but my dad is by far more protective. I’m just saying stay on your toes. He has a way of trapping you in an uncomfortable situation before you’re even aware you’re in it,” she says.
“I’ll just be my usual charming self,” I tell her. “That usually works pretty well for me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Just remember that I warned you.”
I’m not going to lie, I am a little nervous now, but I’m just here to help her collect her things. We probably won’t even be here that long.
We get out of the car and I follow Jessica up to the door.
“Just think about everything you’re about to say before you say it,” she says. “Better yet, think about everything my dad says before you decide to say anything back.”
“Jessica,” I tell her, “it’s going to be fine. I’ve met the guy before and he seemed nice enough then.”
“Yeah, that was before he got all curious about the nature of our relationship,” she sighs. “Well, here we go,” she says and opens the front door.
We walk in and she calls out to her dad, letting him know that we’re here.
“I’ll be down in a minute!” he shouts back from somewhere upstairs. “I thought you said you were going to call first!”
“Shit,” she says. “I kind of forgot about that. My dad’s one of those guys who thinks that boxers are appropriate attire in the home. The family’s used to it, but just in case he comes around the corner with his gut hanging out, I just want you to be prepared.”
“I’m sure it’s endearing,” I tell her.
We stand in the entryway, Jessica says to “minimize the chances of coming into view of hanging brain,” and a few minutes later, there are footsteps coming down the stairs.
“I was already getting dressed when you came in,” her father says as he comes into view, thankfully fully clothed. “Ah, Eric,” he says. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you again, too, sir,” I respond.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” he asks.
“I did not,” I answer. “Your secret’s safe with me?”
“What secret?” Jessica asks, turning alternately to me and then to her dad and back to me while fidgeting with her watch.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I tell her. “How are you doing tonight, sir?”
“Oh, call me Harold,” he says. “Do you like cannabis?”
There’s a question I didn’t expect.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I can’t say that I’ve tried it.”
“Would you like to?” he asks.
“Dad…” Jessica moans.
“Right,” Harold responds. “Well, you said you wanted to come by and pick up some stuff. What did you need?”
“I just wanted to grab some things from my closet,” Jessica says. “Eric’s going to give me a hand—we really don’t have that much time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Harold says and turns to me. “Early morning tomorrow, huh?”
“What? No,” I answer.
Jessica elbows me in the arm.
“What?” I ask, turning toward her.
“We’re just going to head upstairs real quick,” she says to her dad. “I’m sorry we can’t stay longer.”
“Well, maybe your friend here can keep me company w
hile you’re upstairs getting things together,” he says. “How does that sound, Eric?”
“That’s fine with me,” I answer and Jessica elbows me again. “What?”
“I’m going to need his help carrying stuff,” Jessica says. “Do you mind?”
Harold, who had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, moves to one side so we can walk past. I don’t know why Jessica was elbowing me, but assuming Harold doesn’t follow us up the stairs, I plan to find out.
We get to the room and, with Jessica’s dad still on the main level, I close the door and ask, “What the hell were you elbowing me for?”
“The second one was because you should know from what I was telling you that it’s not a good idea for you and my dad to sit down and chat until you two get to know one another better,” she says. “The first one, that’s because you basically just told him that whatever our plans are tonight, we’re planning on waking up together in the morning.”
“I did not,” I defend and think back to the conversation, trying to piece together how she could have gotten to that conclusion.
“Whatever,” she says. “Let’s just grab the stuff and go before this gets any worse.”
She walks over to the closed closet door and opens it.
“What the fuck…?” she says in a half-whisper.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, coming up behind her.
“They’re gone,” she says, her voice shaky. “They’re all gone. They got rid of them.”
“Oh, I’m sure they didn’t get rid of your stuff,” I tell her. “Why don’t we just ask your dad if he knows where your boxes are and I’m sure he’ll know where to—”
“You don’t know my mother,” she says. “I know you think she’s some brilliant, altruistic woman who just happens to have a particularly grating technique of proving her point, but she really is about the most hateful person I’ve ever met. God, I feel like such a bitch saying that with her in the hospital.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m sure they’ll turn up around here somewhere. Let’s just go ask your dad.”
There’s a particular reason that I want her to ask her dad about this, but I promised him I wouldn’t give it away.
“You don’t get it!” she says, tears welling up. “Every single thing I ever won, every time I ever did anything I was proud of, that woman just kept knocking my feet out from under me about it. I told her not to touch my boxes.”
