“Hey Dad,” Dan called from his station at the window. “Check out—” “Close your eyes, Dan!” Rufus boomed, holding up one hand, palm out in a stop-in-the-name-of-love pose, as if he were auditioning to be the next Supreme. Dan was too surprised to do anything but comply. He closed his eyes, his mind racing with the possibilities. Chinese food for lunch? He was starving. An iPod to take to college with him? A first edition of his favorite novel of all time, The Sorrows of Young Werther by Goethe?
“Danny, darrrrrrrling!” A preening, soprano-pitched voice sang out behind Rufus. Dan’s eyes snapped open. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn’t this.
“Mom?!”
Jeanette Humphrey flew into the room like an exotic bird just released from captivity, dressed in a turquoise floor-length sundress and carrying two large brown shopping bags. She threw her long, gray-streaked mousy brown hair over one shoulder, elbowed Rufus aside with an exasperated sigh, and flung her skinny arms around Dan in a cloud of poisonously strong floral perfume. Dan just stood there in a state of shock, his arms like chow fun noodles as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that this was actually happening. What the fuck? Was this really his mother, after, what, ten years? Or was this an acid flashback, like a real-life Howl poem? Oh wait, he had never done acid. What was she doing here?
Vanessa watched with a fascination that bordered on horror as the mythical Mrs. Humphrey proceeded to kiss Dan all over his face, leaving violent tracks of bright pink lipstick smeared across his sunken cheeks.
“How are you, my pet?” Jeanette chirped as she squeezed her son so tightly it looked like he might suffer internal organ damage. “It’s been absolutely ages!” She cupped Dan’s pained, mortified face and led him, zombielike, to the couch. Vanessa had never seen him get whisked around before and with so little complaint. Rufus winked merrily at Vanessa from beneath his white hat, and sauntered through the chipped, oak-trimmed doorway into the kitchen. Vanessa followed him, not quite sure where to go. Rufus pulled out a clear Tupperware container full of weird brown goo that had been shoved in the back of the fridge, peeling back the lid and sniffing happily.
“Redecorating?” His voice boomed as he opened the utensil drawer and rummaged through it. “The curtains look phenomenal! That your golden touch, Dan?” Rufus yelled toward the living room. “This place could use something, that’s for sure.” He pulled out a lime green spatula and began using it as a spoon.
“It could use something—like a wrecking ball!” Jeanette’s voice rang out from the other room. “Or a can of gasoline and a lit match!” She came striding into the kitchen, the blue folds of her sundress flying to and fro, while Dan trailed behind, carrying her bags. Gliding up to Vanessa, she smiled broadly and extended one hand laden with turquoise rings for Vanessa to shake . . . or kiss . . . or high-five? It was hard to tell, the way she was holding it, and finally Vanessa just bumped fists with her like they were old homies.
What up, dawg?
It was so strange meeting Dan’s mom after all this time—it was like looking at a slightly more feminine version of Dan—complete with long brown hair and too much hippie jewelry. “You must be Vanessa,” Jeanette exclaimed, her hazel-blue eyes sparkling manically. “I’ve heard so much about you.” “You too,” Vanessa lied, because in truth, she really hadn’t. As far as she knew, Dan’s mom had disappeared with Count Dracula or Count Chocula or something and was never heard from again.
Dan’s palms were slick with sweat and his wrists trembled under the weight of the bags. His mother. Really, she was the last thing he needed. On top of trying to figure out once and for all whether or not he was gay, he was going to have to play catch-up with this person who had basically abandoned him when he was only eight. Or was he ten? She’s been gone so long he really couldn’t remember. He’d certainly stopped missing her years ago, but now here she was in all her perfumed, turquoise jewelry-wearing glory, acting like her presence was really no big deal. Jesus. Jenny had seen their mom in Prague.Why hadn’t she warned him?
Dan brought in his mother’s packages and placed them gently on the kitchen floor. Vanessa tried to make eye contact with him but his eyes were glued downward, and he was seemingly deep in thought. Or in a trance. Maybe his mother had hypnotized him? Maybe she was a New Age gypsy?
“Now, Dan,” Jeanette began, as she rooted through the cavernous bags, pulling out assorted packages and placing them on top of the piles of newspapers covering the kitchen table, “Jenny told me all about your special announcement, and I’m here to help you celebrate!” Vanessa stifled a nervous laugh as Dan’s face turned sheet white.
Rufus held the spatula, piled with what Vanessa was now convinced was dog food, even though they didn’t have a dog. “What announcement?” “Coffee!” Jeanette chirped excitedly opening a large pink box and shoving the contents under Dan’s nose. “Will go perfectly with these.” Dan craned his neck and peered inside. Cradled in white wax paper was a chocolate éclair. Two plump cream puffs nestled on either side of the long, frosted pastry. His face flushed red with embarrassment. Maybe he was just being paranoid or perverted, but that looked a whole lot like a—“It’s a penis!” his mother trilled, as if reading her son’s thoughts. “It’s to celebrate Dan being gay!” Jeanette practically screamed. “The cream in the center is the sweetest part.” She winked.
Um, ew?
“Gay?” Rufus brought the spatula to his lips and chewed thoughtfully. “When did this happen?” All eyes turned to Dan. “Like . . . I don’t know exactly,” he stammered, wishing the parquet floor would just open up and swallow him whole. His mother had traveled three thousand miles just to give him a penis pastry? She was back because he’d come out of the closet? He was going to kill Jenny for opening her little mouth. Besides, what did penises have to do with anything? There was nothing sexual about his conundrum.
Wasn’t there?
Rufus shrugged and took another bite of mustard-brown slop. “And here I thought Jeanie just missed me—ha!” Dan’s hand flew to his chest in an unconscious and totally effeminate gesture. Rufus continued, an insane-looking grin now plastered to his bearded face. “Well, you’ll remember what you’re missing now, won’t you Jean-Jean? And then you’ll be sick of living like royalty in Europe.” He shook the lime green apparatus at her and turned back to Dan. “Does this mean I need to learn to cook quiche?” he asked.
“Anyway,” Jeanette sang out, ignoring her estranged husband as she began pulling what looked like yards of magenta silk out of a large white box. “I brought you some gifts to mark this very important transition into your new lifestyle. Look!” She held up what appeared to be a fuchsia pink jumpsuit with sparkling gold laces up the front. As she excitedly held it up to Dan’s body, it became immediately apparent that it was about ten sizes too small—which was only fitting, since the last present she’d sent had been size-four lederhosen from Düsseldorf when he was ten. Dan closed his eyes again and silently wished that he and Vanessa hadn’t removed the ancient stacks of newspapers today—maybe then the piles of clutter could have fallen down and killed him, if not in his sleep, then in this, perhaps the worst waking moment of his life.
“I knew this would be perfect on you! Can you imagine what kind of splash you’ll make at the Chelsea nightclubs?” We can imagine—and it’s already giving us nightmares.
“I have another gift,” she continued conspiratorially, taking Dan’s elbow and leaning in close, her singsong voice dropping to a low whisper. “But this one is for your eyes only.” Jeanette reached into the hip-length macramé tote still hanging from her shoulder and drew out a large, black-bound book, which she handed to Dan.
He ran his fingers over the gilt label: HOMOESENSUAL: THE
GREATEST GAY LOVE POEMS OF ALL TIME. The book must have weighed over fifteen pounds. Dan stared down at the cover, not sure what to say. It actually was a really thoughtful gift. After all, he was a poet, and he was pretty sure he might be gay. It would do him good to read some gay
poetry.
Still, couldn’t she have just given him a card?
“I figured you might want something more artistic to celebrate your awakening, and I knew you’d appreciate this new European compilation. I picked it up at this delightful little ‘alternative’ bookstore in Paris—they have gay movies, too! I’ll be sure to pick one up for you next time I’m there.” Dan frowned down at the book. Had his mother just offered to send him gay porn? She seemed really excited by the idea of having a gay son, and he hadn’t seen her in at least ten years—why not humor her? He shrugged, picked up the penis éclair, and took a giant bite. It tasted like a Bavarian cream donut.
“Delicious,” he declared, smacking his lips and really camping it up. His mother nodded, beaming with pleasure. Vanessa giggled and dipped her finger into the box to taste some of the cream. “Truly divine,” he added, for their benefit.
The family that’s gay together stays together!
s takes the wind out of b’s sail
Blair’s pretty blue eyes narrowed, catlike, as she looked at Serena in her cutoff Sevens skirt and white Imitation of Christ tank. The light poured in through the enormous living room windows and bounced off Serena’s angelic blond wisps of hair. She looked predictably, infuriatingly stunning. Even though it was obvious that Serena hadn’t put any effort into her outfit, she was as gorgeous as fucking ever. It wouldn’t matter if she were wearing saggy-butt shorts and a stained wifebeater—she’d probably still get stopped on the street by Patrick Demarchelier on her way home and get put on the cover of September’s Vogue. It wasn’t fucking fair.
Yes, but look who has the boy, honey.
Blair willed herself to smile and maintain her composure as Serena slithered her lithe arms around Nate’s neck. Wasn’t it bad enough that Serena had planted that stupid, three-page love letter in Nate’s car when she could obviously see that Blair and Nate were totally back together? Did she have to show up in Blair’s living room the second they got back to the city, like some scary stalker?
Or like your best friend?
Blair seethed, watching as Serena leaned in even closer to Nate’s body, and Nate gripped her tightly, closing his eyes like he was really enjoying it. Serena nestled in Nate’s arms like she belonged there, like she had always belonged there. Any more of this and Blair was going to scream. She shifted from one foot to another, angrily twirling her ruby ring around her finger and silently shouting at them to let go of one another and notice her standing there.
“Blair, honey!” Blair whipped around as her mother practically pounced on her, while a skinny, bored-looking bleached-blond woman stood behind her scribbling in a fuchsia leather organizer. Eleanor wrapped her arms around Blair, enveloping her in a cloud of Chanel No. 5. Blair squeezed her eyes shut tight and dug her short buffed fingernails into the palms of her hands, tolerating the embrace. “Welcome home!” Eleanor finally stepped back and gestured to the blond woman, who had now taken a seat on the couch. “Ooh, and I’m so glad you get to meet my new friend, Davita Fjorde!” Blair offered the orange-lipstick-wearing blond woman a limp hand, all the while looking over her shoulder as Nate laughed at one of Serena’s annoying little jokes.
“Charmed, Blair,” Davita drawled, tapping one pewter-colored Jimmy Choo slingback against the caramel-and-burgundy Bokhara rug. She didn’t seem to have any patience for family reunions.Well, good. Neither did Blair.
“Now, Blair,” Eleanor began, speaking rapidly—the way she always did when she was worried about something, sweat breaking out in small, jewel-like beads on her brow. She practically pushed Blair onto the sofa. “Davita is here because . . . because . . . well, I’m glad you’re sitting down, because I have big, big, big news!” Blair really didn’t like the sound of that—what could be bigger than Serena manhandling Nate right in front of her? They had finally stopped hugging, but were now paired off in the corner of the room, whispering. Serena’s delicate, bell-like laugh grated in Blair’s ears like the whine of a chainsaw.
“I’ve invited Davita and Serena to help plan a going-away party for you and Aaron at the Met the night before you leave for college!” Eleanor grabbed Blair’s arm, squeezing tight with excitement, her eyes glassy and bright. “That’s just nine days away!” Davita grabbed a clipboard from off the coffee table. “Let’s see . . . so far we’ve got fabulous gift bags full of Kiehls and Frédéric Fekkai products, and of course flower arrangements by Robert Isabell—I was thinking stargazer and Casablanca lilies, but that may be too bridey for your taste . . . truffles from La Maison du Chocolat, a tower of cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery. And I thought it might be really cute to run a red carpet outside and down those fabulous Met steps. . . . Blair? What do you think?” Davita frowned, her leathery skin crinkling. Her face looked like it was about to peel off in layers, like a withered onion.
Blair couldn’t concentrate. She continued to stare at Serena and Nate, willing Nate to turn around and notice her. Hello! Remember me? Your girlfriend? The girl you just spent a month alone with on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic? The girl you said you loved about eighty thousand times? What the fucking fuck was going on?
“. . . and it’s all for you, sweetie! Well, you and Aaron and . . . the rest of the family too! Because . . . we’re moving to Los Angeles!” Blair’s head whipped around to face her mother. “What?” She suddenly felt like she was choking. “What are you talking about?” Eleanor’s smile wavered for a moment and she reached up, patting her sleek, golden bob to compose herself, her six-carat Harry Winston diamond wedding ring sending glittering reflections across the room.
“Cyrus’s real estate company just landed a huge contract in L.A.—they’re building a luxury resort in Malibu! Isn’t that fabulous?” Eleanor waved her hands excitedly in front of Blair’s stunned face. “And with you and Aaron off to college, it’ll be a fresh start for baby Yale . . . who really should be raised properly—with a real backyard she can play in.” Eleanor grabbed a stack of blueprints from the coffee table and shoved them on Blair’s lap. “Look at these plans for the new house! Your bedroom will be here, with its own terrace, and Yale’s is going to have a sleeping loft for the nanny and—” “Jesus Christ, Mom!” Blair yelled, swatting away the blueprints. “Los Angeles? Where people die from earthquakes like every day? You raised me in Manhattan—without a backyard! What’s wrong with Central Park? This is our home!” Davita stiffened at Blair’s little outburst and stalked out of the room, clutching her jewel-encrusted cell phone. She was paid to plan parties, not navigate family drama. Serena and Nate were still chattering away obliviously in the corner, staring deep into each other’s eyes. The greatest catastrophe of Blair’s life, and they didn’t even notice?
“Yes, dear, I’m well aware we raised you in Manhattan, but we were innocent new parents,” Eleanor answered, distractedly surveying the plans for the new house. “We just didn’t know any better!” She tried to make her voice a bit more soothing. “Please be happy for your family. I promise you’re going to love it. If you’ll just look at these blueprints, you’ll see we’re going to have a swimming pool and everything. And oh!” She jumped up and grabbed a photo from the coffee table. “I forgot the other surprise—even your father is coming over from France to celebrate!” she exclaimed, shoving a photo under Blair’s nose. “With these darling Cambodian twins he’s adopted with that sweet Giles.” Blair looked down and tried to focus on the photograph. Her tan, handsome father sat smiling happily, a pink bandana tied around his neck, two decidedly Asian-looking babies cradled in his overly worked-out arms. Blair stared down at the photograph uncomprehendingly, feeling nauseous. Babies? Her father had adopted babies from Cambodia? What, was one beautiful, Yale-bound daughter not enough? Was she not enough for anyone? “Really, Blair,” Eleanor continued, “I think Giles is just about the best boyfriend your father’s ever had!” Blair jumped to her feet. For the first time in her life she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Los Angeles? Cambodian twins? She couldn’t fucking believe
her family would do this to her. This was supposed to be the happiest time in her life! It was supposed to be all about her and Nate, heading off to Yale with no more distractions, just smooth sailing all the way from now until they climbed into her brand new bisque-colored BMW and drove away, leaving her crazy family behind.
In the corner, Serena laughed again, and Nate ran his hands through his wavy, salty hair. Clearly they were in their own little world, with no clue what the hell was happening to her. Blair clutched her stomach. Projectile vomiting was a distinct possibility. Her family was seriously moving? What would it be like on Thanksgiving or Christmas break? She’d be in L.A. with her stupid family, hiding out in their bomb shelter or wherever the fuck people went during earthquakes and Nate would be . . . here.With Serena.
She heard her mother calling after her as she clutched her stomach and ran down the hall to her old bedroom. Baby Yale was lying in her white wooden crib, her head topped with a Mohawk of strawberry blond peach fuzz. She smiled delightedly at her big sister as if to say, “What’s all the fuss about?” Blair went over and picked her up, glad to see her chubby little friend after almost a month away. Then she noticed that Yale was wearing a tie-dyed onesie with the words CALIFORNIA DREAMIN’ stenciled on the front of it.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Blair whisked her tiny sister over to the changing table, yanked off the offending article, and replaced it with the adorable pink DKNY onesie she had bought for her at the DKNY flagship store on Madison Avenue. Yale giggled as Blair tickled her in all her favorite spots.
“There.” She dropped the tie-dyed onesie into the airtight Diaper Genie, where it would be lost forever. “Much better!” Yale clung to Blair’s shoulder as Blair carried her over to the celery-colored cashmere throw rug to play with blocks.
Don't You Forget About Me Page 3
