Look How You Turned Out

by Diane Munier

  "Right," I say. "A united front."

  "Right," he says with relief. Did he think I intended to launch a coup?

  "He'll just feed the cat," I say like, oh come on.

  "And he'll try to pet the cat while it eats," he says. "And he won't wash his hands unless Mom makes him."

  I roll away from him, and we lay side by side, but not touching. I know I need to apologize or give him some reassurance right now that I won't wreck his dynamic with Juney, but my feelings are hurt, and I'm not even sure why. I think he's blowing this out of proportion, but on the other hand…I have no idea how to be a parent. I could ruin Juney. I'm probably already doing it.

  I feel pretty foolish. "I'll text him and tell him, forget it. He thought it was you anyway," I say.

  "It's alright. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. It's no big deal, we just need to talk first like we said."

  "So I shouldn't have said he could feed the cat. What if he gets ringworm now? It'll be all my fault." me

  "He's…he's not going to get ringworm. I over-reacted. I'm just used to calling the shots."

  "Me too, though. I'm used to calling the shots," I say. "I'll bet you're already sorry we got married."

  He laughs, and he's there now, arms and comfort, "Bedilia, you're taking this too far, baby, I am not regretting our marriage. Let's not re-invent that wheel, not ever."

  "Really?" I hate how eager I am for his approval on this, but he's the parent. I'm just the fake parent. I didn't even think of…worms.

  "Bedilia, all I mean is, let's talk it over. I've had him a long time. I don't want him to play us against each other, and he won't be able to help it if one of us says one thing, and the other says something else."

  "Of course. I don't mean to come in and topple what you've got going with him. I really don't."

  He kisses me. "I know that. Just give me a few weeks to get the hang of it…of sharing…Juney."

  "Are you having a hard time thinking of sharing? You know he'll always be yours."

  "No. It's not like that at all. Listen…when you came in the chapel today, I think he gave you the last crumb of himself," Marcus says. "You've not only stolen my heart…but his. It's so powerful…over-whelming for both of us in different ways. We're…at your mercy, baby." He kisses my hand, the ring again.

  "I…I'll uphold you, Marcus. I promise. I may take you down later…when he can't hear, though. I will if you're too…crabby or something. I'm sorry, but I'm an only child too, and Artie let me have an opinion. You may have noticed," I smile.

  He kisses me now. "I've noticed," he says. "I wouldn't change a thing about you, Bedilia. Not a thing."

  But I may need to change a couple of things about me. Then he won't have to worry so much about it.

  When I do fall asleep in Marcus's arms, I wake more than once, dreaming of Juney and gigantic worms. The first thing I'll do when we get home is to make sure he uses bacterial soap.

  I awake a couple of hours later.

  "What is it…what's the matter?" Marcus asks coming to. I'd tried to get out of bed quietly, but I yelped in there.

  "Marcus…I'm on fire."

  "What kind of fire?" he asks sitting up.

  "Here," I say, lightly, and I mean lightly cupping myself between the legs.

  "Oh…a bath? That's what you need," he says to me and then himself, "I'll run it. I'll run a bath." He pats my shoulder. "Stay here, baby."

  I see the father…the cop. He switches between those personas and my lover so easily. How many times he's been awakened from sleep either by Juney or work, possibly Dad even, to handle dilemma or disaster. He thinks clearly right out of a fog. I can already hear the water running in the bath.

  He comes back with a warm washrag. "Here, lay back," he says to me as I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, legs sealed.

  I lay back, a little thrown by what I think he's going to do. He has the washrag folded into a pad. "Open your legs, baby," he says, and when I do, even that causing a sting, he squeezes that rag just a little and warm water rolls, and it feels like pee, but I don't laugh cause it also stings, but that warm-rag-follow-up really works. "You okay?"

  "No," I say shakily. "But thanks."

  He scoffs. "Thanks? I did this."

  "Um…me too," is about all I feel like saying. The rag is helping.

  I take over holding the rag so he can check the bath. He stops to put on his boxers then he comes back to me. He scoops me right up, and I have to laugh a little. "Marcus, I can walk."

  "I got you," he says like he just saved me from a building burning instead of a hoochie-coochie fire.

  When he maneuvers into the bathroom, still carrying me, I hiss with relief as he lowers me into the water. It's hot but just right. Oh, he's good.

  "My hair thing," I say, and he disappears for a minute to get one of my bands. He comes in, and I lean forward, head on my knees cause he seems to want to take care of me, and his big hands fumble and try to be gentle as he gathers my hair into a ponytail. Once he does that I reach up and twist it into more of a bun.

  "Lay back," he instructs sinking to his knees. I do lay back, and he has his hand in the water, comes up with the rag which he squeezes and sets on the broad side of the tub.

  "Is this anywhere near normal?" I ask, disgusted with myself.

  He smiles, "It is for us apparently." His arm cuts though the water as he strokes up and down my legs. "It'll get better," he says with all the confidence Google has inspired in him and also a great deal of admiration in his face for my floating appendages.

  "What if it doesn't? What if I'm some defective…reject?"

  He laughs a little. "Don't make me push you under Mrs. Stover."

  "I'm serious…sort of." I know Jessica didn't have this problem. She was probably able to participate ten ways to Sunday.

  Grrrr. But me? I'm already out of commission after one night. What a loser.

  "Hey," he touches me under my chin and makes me look at him, "This will get better. We over did it. That's all. You were a virgin, Bedilia. We need to let your body catch-up. I was a total…glutton," he says, but he's laughing a little.

  "Maybe you could get in…show some moral support?" I say, my chin touching the water as I smile.

  He stands and kicks off his boxers.

  We spend the rest of those early morning hours dozing in the tub. He gets very good at letting more hot water in and lifting the stopper to prevent overflow, with his feet. He also makes a fabulous waterbed.

  Marcus Stover is all around amazing.

  Chapter 57

  Scenes from a honeymoon part 7

  We are tired in the morning. Marcus insists on going out crack of dawn to the pharmacy and bringing home a water based feminine product. He's already an authority on every miracle produced to relieve my burning situation.

  But I am feeling better, so much so that I don't want to put anything down there that it might not like.

  He says he would have talked to the pharmacist, but she wasn't on duty.

  "Wait," I say pulling my sweater over my undershirt. "You would do that?"

  "What?"

  "Talk to a pharmacist about my…," I wave toward the red river valley.

  "Yes," he says like I'm daft.

  "No way."

  "Why would they care? It's their job to know about medications."

  "No. You miss the point. You should care. You should be embarrassed. Right?"

  "My wife needs something…what the hell do I care what people think?"

  That's pretty sweet, like really sweet, but I want to get at what makes this man tick. "You mean you're not embarrassed to have a vagina conversation with a lady pharmacist," I say. "A vagina rash conversation? Come on. That's like, against your kind…right?"

  "Bedilia," he chides me, "don't over-complicate things. There are too many things. Lots of women have these issues."

  I sit on the edge of the bed across from him and pull on my socks. "You think I'm immature?"

  "May
be you're just used to being really private about girl things."

  "Of course, I am. It's normal. Would you buy my Tampax?"

  "You use Tampax? That's actually further confirmation your vaginismus isn't stage one…that and the fact that I've been…in." Big smile then.

  "Yeah…I noticed." I turn more toward him. "You've spent hours on my vagina, haven't you?"

  He smirks, "I've taken an interest…."

  So much for making more love the last morning of our honeymoon. He tells me I need to stop apologizing. Actually, he says he forbids it, and I laugh that off.

  "Listen to me," he says, holding me on his lap, "this one night with you was like an album of snapshots I'll carry around in my memory for the rest of my life."

  I plunk my forehead on his and I'm looking up close at his lips. "Me too."

  "You too?"

  "Yeah. I can't improve on the snapshot thing so I'm latching on like a parasite," I say.

  He kisses me then. "My little parasite."

  He takes pictures of me all over the room, and I take a few of him. We take one together, and we both have these goofy smiles. I send that one to Elaine for Juney with a caption, "See you soon, Precious!"

  It's weird to think my mother-in-law will see me clowning with her baby boy knowing what we've been doing…again, but like Marcus says in so many words…who cares. I have to get over some of my inhibitions. Well, if I think of myself in this room, for example, I've gotten over more than a few.

  We stare out of our big window, our view, and we're looking at the river and the cars. Marcus is behind me, his arms around me, he's bent enough to have his chin on my shoulder, and he's pointing out things he wants to make sure I notice, and I'm doing the same.

  I'm stealing myself to say good-bye to this place. Somewhere inside I think I'm ready to move on and try out this marriage thing for real.

  Chapter 58

  Home again, home again….

  We are eating breakfast at IHOP, which is an expunged version of Billy's, a more respectable version, definitely a more commercial version. It is the forgiven Billy's, the made clean and new Billy's, the soulless Billy's? Hmmm, I'm thinking on that when a text comes through. Connie is saying the puppies are ready. Could the timing be better? Really I've been vacillating ever since I heard about this litter of mutts she is hoping to find good homes for. And she's not the only one. At the restaurant, there's a bulletin board where you first walk in filled with the latest giveaways and for sales, and there's always cute canines on that board.

  My first thought when Connie approached me was, 'Not me. When I'm ready for a dog, I'll get something small, not a Lab mix.'

  But she sends me the picture, and I have to look and oh my gosh she is holding a black one, a male, sweetest thing, a fat baby, little paws looking like white Q-tips or something and that belly. She tags it, 'Are you, my mommy?'

  I make a noise. It's kind of loud. "Connie," I say cause she's killing me here. I'm in love-mode anyway, hearts and rainbows, pastels in the dead of winter, that's me. And now this puppy?

  "What is it?" Marcus asks before carefully sipping his hot coffee. I love the way he sips, that top lip poking out, awwww.

  There's nothing he does that doesn't distract me from whatever I'm doing.

  "What?" he says again.

  Oh. I show him my phone.

  "Oh no," he says drawing out the 'oh.'

  "Marcus. He's perfect. You know he is. No ringworm. And the boy wouldn't be expecting it. He needs a dog. You said he hasn't had a pet in a long time. It will give us all something to start our family with. Something we'll love."

  "We love each other," he reminds me with the patience of Pa Ingalls. "That's why we're sitting on the same side of the booth where you've got me trapped between your," he leans closer still, "hot little body and this wall." Okay, not Pa Ingalls. He stares a little long at my boobs and then my mouth which makes me lick my lips because my cappuccino had foam and you never know.

  I just keep staring and I bat my eyelashes, not that they're as long as his, but I'm trying to work some magic here. I've been feeling a bit like a goddess, like a sex goddess, to be exact. It's amazing to think, I can satisfy this man no matter what my spazz does. I can satisfy this man, put that look on his face like I did this morning. It's a matter of creativity.

  So now, it's like I am woman hear me roar. I mean…my boobs…I'm more aware of them now than when they first made

  a show in eighth grade. Yes they were late, but they did make a show, more of a matinee than a major four-star production, but with him, they seem to get me a round of applause.

  "How am I ever going to say no to you?" he questions, this little smirk on his face as he looks at me.

  Yeah, that dog is ours.

  I laugh, meaning, heck, give me my way all the time then. That's what Dad did, and it works out great.

  Then the waitress comes and refills his coffee and my water and puts the bill on the table.

  "Don't you want a dog?" I say.

  "It's just, two years ago when the beagle ran away, and I had to go look for it, and he insisted on coming with me, and we found him in the road…well, this boy doesn't need more loss."

  I can't believe what I'm hearing. "Marcus...I remember Dad telling me that. But you can't protect him from those kinds of things. I mean…we'll do our best but…give Juney some credit, he's resilient. He shouldn't miss out on having a dog because the last one had an accident."

  "I know. I was thinking about it anyway, but he didn't seem to mind not having one."

  "I'm texting Connie," I say, my fingers already busy. Then I stop. "You did agree, right?"

  "Sure."

  "I mean you would tell me if…you can say no…if that's what you mean…right?"

  "I think I can manage," he says softly, a big smile as he continues eating.

  "Today? Like on the way home, we can pick him up? We could go to the store, and I'll find out the food and stuff, get all his gear?" My fingers are poised.

  "Yeah. Go for it," he says. I can see now, it's timing. Very important. Right now? This man would consent to about anything. He is mellow, yellow, quite rightly.

  But here's the thing about me, I make quick decisions, and good ones. That's why I was a good office manager…briefly.

  My brain is wired for action. It fires quickly. I really don't mind being told no.

  But you need to have a really good reason if I'm in the mood to take a stand.

  Except in Chicago, when I started to go against my heart like…almost immediately. I got hired, figured out my first week there how to pay down debt and save thousands of dollars a year for the company, then I got noticed…by White, who had been on the panel that interviewed me the second time. He'd seemed amused by me or something, but my work got his attention. Then the surprising invitation to a fundraiser, the assurance I'd be helping out a friend--him. Then the make-out session cause girl can't hold her liquor, then the mortification from that, then the flowers, the rumors, and gossip, the judgment from a few of my co-workers, females, angry females, then another date and Myron seeming like my only friend. And very quickly, a fast decision also made with alcohol, I end up in bed with this man. Twice. And both times—disastrous!

  I started to pull back. He thought I was playing hard to get. So he insisted I meet his family. I was in so far over my head I was panicking. We went out again, and again. He was actually likable, and I didn't want to hurt him. But he wanted romance and sex. And it wasn't happening for me for reasons all wrapped up in the man sitting next to me and polishing off his pancakes.

  Yeah in Chicago, many of my decisions were not so good. They sucked. And life got more and more complicated. So he fired me, and I said I was going home. And he followed—White did. I think he figured I'd come to my senses if I went back and saw the boy I left behind me, and had him, Myron White, to compare him to. Bold move on Myron's part cause it worked all right, just not in the way he hoped. One look at Marcus and I got real.
>
  Pulling up to Marcus's house is exciting. I am holding the puppy who has fallen asleep in the crook of my arm. Marcus and I have been going back and forth on who is going to present our little gift. Without me it wouldn't have happened, he said, but he paid for everything, I said, and we fought about that, and he said there is no me and mine just ours, and I said, "You want my electric curlers then? Okay, I want your badge." And he said of course, that's not what he meant, and he said that's the end of it, carry the puppy.

  It was really a mock-fight, but an exchange of vital information occurs. He sees our money as blended. I haven't even thought about it as I don't currently have much, but yeah, blending is good, but a quick marriage leads to many other quick things, some which are downright embarrassing.

  We bought a big red stocking at the pet store when we stopped there for the doggie's accessories. So I have the pup easily sausaged into that thing, and he seems to love it in there, with his head sticking out and his front paws.

  So we pull up to the house. "Wonder how long it will take him to notice," I say stepping out. We've parked in the street because Elaine's car is in the driveway.

  "Soon find out," Marcus says as the front door is flung open and Juney comes out. "Took you long enough," he says.

  His eyes go right to the target, the small black head bobbing along on his red sweater throne on my arm.

  "What's that?" he says, then a grin and he's coming toward me.

  "That's Bedilia," Marcus says.

  "Noo," Juney laughs and points at my little guy, "that."

  I mock his 'nooo,' a little. "Just dismiss me," I say.

  "Um…there's a dog on your arm," Juney says pointing.

  "Oh, this dog?" I carefully maneuver the stockinged bundle into my hands.

  Juney is already preparing to take him. "We keeping him?" He's excited.

  "We're renting him," Marcus says.

  "We figure two days, you get attached, and we take him back," I add.