by Ashton Lee
There was a polite wave of laughter. Then Jeremy said, “Tell them about some of your cravings, Maurie.”
Maura Beth started counting on her fingers and then looked up with an impish grin. “I’ve gotten worse in the second trimester. There’s no rhyme or reason to what I ask Jeremy to go out and get me at The Cherico Market. Cocktail onions, hummus, ripe bananas nearly about to go black, grapes, and prunes. And I don’t mean I crave the prunes for the reasons you’re probably thinking. I just seem to like them on everything these days—cereal, ice cream, you name it.”
“I’ve wandered into Candyland big-time,” Elise said. “Anything sweet will do, but I particularly like jawbreakers, jelly beans, red hots, and any kind of hard candy that I can suck on all day. Even licorice, which I used to despise. Now I can’t seem to get enough of that root beer taste, and I get a huge kick out of looking at my black tongue in the mirror. I feel like a five-year-old at times.”
“That must be a wonderful feeling,” Miss Voncille said, “and I love the idea of giving in to the old sweet tooth. But if I could change the subject for a minute, I was thinking that maybe our next meeting might be in one of the smaller rooms. This auditorium is very nice, and it was perfect when we crowned the Queen of the Cookbooks back in July, but it seems too big for a group this size. It feels too formal having us step up on the stage and look down on everyone. Maybe next time we could all be at eye level with one another. What do you think?”
Maura Beth considered for a few seconds and then nodded. “You know, I think you might be right about that. I didn’t know how many people would show up the first time, so I thought big in case we got an overflow reaction to my publicity. But maybe the boardroom would be perfect for the next meeting. We could certainly fit everyone here tonight around that long table for our discussions. How about a show of hands from you, folks?”
There were no dissenters, and Maura Beth made a mental note to reserve the boardroom for the next gathering.
* * *
After Maura Beth and Elise had exhausted all their second trimester anecdotes, the group was treated to a surprise when Periwinkle and Parker Place asked to step up to the podium. As the recently married owner and pastry chef, respectively, of The Twinkle—Cherico’s most popular restaurant—they embodied success in everything they touched. From Periwinkle’s sophisticated appetizers and entrées to Parker’s luscious sweets, they had cornered the “dining out” market in their small town of five thousand.
Furthermore, their panel van driven by the responsible Barry Bevins delivered everything from tomato aspic to Parker’s grasshopper pie within a fifteen-mile radius of Cherico itself to those who just couldn’t get out on any particular day or night in person to enjoy the subdued lighting, soft music, and star mobiles dangling from the ceiling that had become the restaurant’s memorable trademarks.
It was the folksy, earnest Periwinkle Violet Kohlmeyer Lattimore Place—without her customary wad of chewing gum—who spoke up first. “I suppose you’re all wonderin’ what Parker and I have to say tonight here at this first meeting of Expecting Great Things. Other than we’re always glad to socialize with our best friends and customers, and we’re still trying to get over this wonderful new library that Maura Beth has built for us. You’ve really outdone yourself this time, girl.”
“I never get tired of compliments like that,” Maura Beth said. “Please keep them coming, all of you.”
Periwinkle smiled and then gave Parker a furtive glance, after which he leaned in and said to her almost in a whisper, “Go ahead. Tell them. You can do it. We rehearsed it long enough.”
Periwinkle lifted her chin proudly after his encouraging words. “Well, my Mama Kohlmeyer over in Corinth doesn’t even know this yet, and frankly, I don’t know how she’s going to react when I tell her. You’re the first to hear the news. You’re our guinea pigs. Parker and I thought it over a long time, and it wasn’t an easy decision. We went back and forth about it quite a lot. Should we or shouldn’t we? Well, I should stop beating around the bush and just tell you that we’ve been trying for some time now to get pregnant. I don’t mind revealing that I’m forty-two years old—a few of you ladies out there already knew that—and Parker is fifty-six, so we’re not exactly spring chickens. But the good news is that we’re going to be parents. So when Maura Beth called me up and told me about the support group she was planning, I nearly dropped the phone in the bowl of eggs I was beating to make a frittata for our breakfast. She must have been reading my mind, I thought to myself. That’s exactly what Cherico needed; then I realized that the first meeting would be the perfect opportunity to let our good friends know about this all at once. And then we could keep coming back for more support throughout the pregnancy. Frankly, it was a dream come true.”
It took a while for all the “Congratulations!” and other words of approval to die down, but when they did, Parker took up where his wife had left off.
“I only wish my dear mother, Ardenia, could have lived to see this. As you all know, she died last year unexpectedly but was a devoted member of The Cherry Cola Book Club until the end. She loved the food and the companionship, especially since she couldn’t even use the library when she was a little girl growing up. Like just about every mother I’ve ever known, she wanted me to settle down and give her some grandchildren more than anything in the world. She was always on me for that the older I got, and I wasn’t trying to be obstinate about it. Honest, I wasn’t. I just hadn’t found the right woman until I came to work for Peri at The Twinkle, and then being around each other as much as we were, we just clicked while we were whipping up food to sell to people. I guess we just found the right recipe.”
“I think life works out best when you don’t press too hard,” Periwinkle said with a smile in her voice. “Just keep your eyes and ears open and let it all fall into place. Call it a blessing, call it whatever you want. It will happen when it happens.”
“Even if it seems to take forever,” Parker added. “Things weren’t easy for my mother growing up during the time of segregation and Jim Crow—and I even got in on the tail end of it—but she did live long enough to see things get turned around. I’ll never forget that morning she gave me a big hug and sent me off to school that first year of integration to Miss Voncille Nettles’s homeroom at Cherico High.” He paused to point out his favorite high school teacher sitting next to her husband, Locke Linwood. “I found only acceptance there, but my mother and I had no way of knowing that before the fact. It was a tense time for me.”
“You were an apt pupil regardless,” Miss Voncille said, giving him a perky little salute. “I never tire of telling you that.”
“With a little help from you, I was; and here you are today still supporting people with your genealogical research and attending this meeting.” He paused again and collected himself. “The fact that Peri and I live in a world here in the millennium where a mixed marriage such as ours isn’t such a big deal anymore pretty much shows how far we’ve come. So we look forward to future meetings of Expecting Great Things because we both really are expecting great things out of this pregnancy. For us, it will be a brave new world. Any pregnancy is, for that matter. I think we need to embrace the wonder of it all and enjoy every minute.”
Parker’s little speech set off a wave of polite applause; then Periwinkle took her turn again. “Looks like we’ve got the book club baby express headin’ our way full steam ahead. The beauty part is we can bounce our various experiences off of one another and be all the wiser for it. We don’t ever need to feel alone in this, and I think that’s a wonderful service to offer the general public.”
“Well said,” Maura Beth added. “I think Expecting Great Things is off to a great start, and I can’t wait to see what lies ahead for all of us.”
4
Ill-Fitting Genes
Elise could sense something of significance was in the air. After four months of living in the lodge with her generous relatives, she could always tell by th
e way her aunt Connie became even more solicitous than usual. Not the ordinary “what do you want to eat for supper this evening?” kind of solicitous. But the other kind, full of thinly veiled small talk about the importance of family, how much it meant to everyone to stay connected and that sort of touchy-feely thing. Tonight was no exception as the two of them sat on the sofa enjoying the warmth of the late-October fire in the great room, while Douglas had decided to retire early. Or, Elise speculated, had her aunt asked him for a little alone time with her by the fire? She leaned strongly toward the latter, Douglas being the gentleman and good husband that he was.
“I thought that was just a lovely meeting this evening at the library,” Connie was saying, her hands folded properly in her lap. That was another clue that something akin to a lecture was on the way—the overly composed demeanor. “Maura Beth certainly has a knack for bringing people together, doesn’t she? It felt like one big, happy family in that auditorium, just like The Cherry Cola Book Club always does. Creating something like that in such a short time is nothing to sneeze at. It’s really a gift when you think about it. I know I’ve said it before to you, but there’s nothing more important than family.”
Elise turned to her aunt and smiled pleasantly, reasonably certain of where the conversation was headed. “Yes, I was very comfortable with everything that took place. It all made me feel more connected to . . . well, I don’t know what. But I did feel better about my pregnancy. I felt the support from everyone there, and that was supposed to be the purpose of the meeting in the first place. I was particularly surprised by the input from the men. It wasn’t what I expected.”
“Take my word for it. All men are not chauvinists. For instance, your uncle Doug isn’t.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that. I’ve always loved Uncle Doug. He’s always given me the best advice.”
“And he loves you. We both do.”
A brief, awkward period between the two of them followed. Only the logs on the fire that Douglas had so carefully chopped for the season offered up their crisp, crackling noises to break the silence.
Then, as Elise had surmised, suddenly there it was, and she steeled herself for the onslaught. “Yes, everyone pitched in tonight, but there’s something I have to tell you,” Connie said. “You can’t put this off indefinitely, you know. Part of our agreement to let you stay here with us until the baby was born was that you let your parents in on your pregnancy. Susan and Paul have a right to know, and not in a last-minute phone call from me once you’re out of the delivery room. You just can’t exclude them this way. That’s the sort of thing they may not be able to forgive in the end, and I know that’s the last thing you want. It’s the last thing any of us want.”
Elise looked and sounded resigned. “I know that, Aunt Connie, but I can’t seem to gather up the courage to call them. You don’t know how many times I’ve picked up my cell intending to follow through. I’ve been so critical of everyone else when it comes to the subject of marriage and children, though. I’ve busted up more than one family gathering at Christmas or on the Fourth of July. I can even recall a time or two when people practically ran out of the room covering their ears when I got on my soapbox the way I sometimes do. I never pulled my punches, and now here I am trying for a family on my own terms. Do I have the right to ask people to understand? ”
Connie patted her niece’s hand gently. “Yes, I think you do. All that lecturing you did is in the past. Everyone understands that you’re a strong woman with strong beliefs, even if they aren’t conventional. You tell me all the time how you encourage your female students to stand up for themselves and do the right thing. Take some of your own advice. You’ve chosen this route to motherhood, and nothing is ever going to be the same. But I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: You can’t keep your parents out of the loop. I can’t tell you how much Douglas and I enjoy spoiling Melissa when she comes to visit us here in ‘Cherry Cola,’ as she calls it.”
Connie paused and briefly chuckled, eyes cast to the ceiling. “That’s how the book club got its name, you know. Melissa couldn’t pronounce Cherico. Anyway, she’s our only grandchild, and we consider her one of the biggest perks of growing older. Now, let me guess. Are you by any chance afraid your parents might turn their backs on this child of yours because none of us will ever know who the father is? Do you think they won’t ever approve of your ‘single mother’ status? Is that what this stubbornness of yours is all about?”
At last they were getting down to it, and Elise couldn’t hold back. “Well, isn’t that a possibility? I’ve never taken their advice about anything, and I couldn’t wait to break out on my own and escape from their privileged life in Brentwood.”
Connie stopped smiling and stared her niece down. “You can call it what you like, sweetie, but it’s a life that paid for your extensive education and ultimately enabled you to obtain tenure at the University of Evansville. Your father was a well-respected professor of psychology at Vanderbilt all those years, and your mother is a savvy businesswoman. Things don’t happen in a vacuum, you know.”
“I realize that much, and I don’t want you to think that I’m ungrateful,” Elise said, somewhat sobered by the facts that had just been presented to her. “But getting back to what you mentioned before, isn’t it a possibility that my parents will have trouble accepting my child? I wouldn’t blame them, actually.”
“I really can’t see that happening. How could they embrace Jeremy’s child and not yours? The two will still be cousins, no matter what. That would be downright cruel of them to make any distinction, and that’s not who they are. Think about this long and hard. Half of the genes in Jeremy’s baby will come from Maura Beth—someone who is not a McShay. And half of the genes in your child won’t be from a McShay, either. Good heavens, I’m not even a McShay, I married one. We’re all half of one thing and half of another, for that matter. If you’re going to get really technical about it and if you go back far enough, we’re all eventually related. That puts all the rest of it to bed, really.”
Elise’s surprise registered in a riff of laughter. “Now that halfway sounds like something out of the Bible, Aunt Connie. You know, the ‘so-and-so begat so-and-so’ prose that goes on and on and on for pages until you’re practically cross-eyed. I never in my wildest dreams thought you’d go there.”
“Well, try this on for size. Time is of the essence. I’ve invited your parents down for Thanksgiving, and they’ve accepted. We need to get this out in the open once and for all, and I think you’ve got to trust your parents’ judgment. I don’t see them going off the deep end because you’ve chosen a different route to parenthood than most people. It’s not like you were careless, or this was something you didn’t want and some no-good rascal looking for a good time walked out on you. You’re letting your imagination get the best of you. Give Susan and Paul some credit for being adult about this when they see you’re obviously pregnant.”
Elise did not respond for a while, letting the fire temporarily mesmerize her. She was glad for the warmth, and it was somehow reassuring. “I know you’re probably right, of course. Maybe what we ought to do is have you give me a pep talk just before they walk in the door, and if I start showing signs of wimping out and falling apart at any point, you step in and rescue me.”
Now it was Connie’s turn to laugh. “For Heaven’s sake, sweetie, you’re not a stray at a shelter. You don’t feel that way about yourself, do you?”
“Of course not.”
Connie pointed to her niece’s baby bump with a delighted expression on her face. “I know it must seem like it, but this isn’t going to last forever. You literally won’t be able to keep this inside too much longer.”
“You do have a way with words, Aunt Connie. No one should ever get on your wrong side.”
Connie offered her hand, and the two of them shook on it. “Well, maybe I can help you find the right words when the time comes. We could work up an act and do a bit of rehearsing right up until
Turkey Day.”
“You make it sound like we’re in vaudeville or something. Connie and Leesie. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Well, why not? You could be the straight man—or woman in this case. And I could keep the howlers coming. Now that doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”
“I suppose not. Maybe it won’t be so hard if I pretend that we’re both in a play. I do have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Sweetie, the longer you live, the more you’ll feel that way about life. We all have our roles, and there are always people watching. What you hope for is a little honest applause every now and then.”
* * *
Periwinkle couldn’t remember when she had ever been so nervous about anything, even though her visits to her mother in Corinth were always a trial. Life with her Mama Kohlmeyer in general had always been a standoff. Perhaps that was why Periwinkle and Maura Beth had become such good friends from the very beginning. Both had never been the daughters their mothers had expected. With her red hair, freckles, and library director ambitions, Maura Beth had both puzzled and disappointed Cara Lynn Mayhew and her New Orleans socialite pedigree.
In a different way Mama Kohlmeyer and her daughter, Periwinkle, had done battle over the years. While Periwinkle had been the quintessential tomboy from a very early age, her mother was the ultimate girlie-girl growing up, prone to playing with makeup, her Easy-Bake oven, and trying on dresses and shoes later in life when she went shopping up in Memphis. Periwinkle wanted none of that. She would rather have played baseball in the backyard with the neighborhood boys, where she outran and outpitched them—much to their chagrin. She had saddled them with the onus of “losing to a girl,” and that was a hard thing to forgive.
“Sometimes it almost feels like I have a son,” Mama Kohlmeyer had once told her daughter in a fit of rage. They had been arguing over what kind of clothes a lady should wear in public, and the jeans that Periwinkle was fond of trotting out were beyond the pale to her mother’s way of thinking. Periwinkle had never forgotten the remark about her being a son. The truth was that they were just two different types of women—they had never been a good fit nor comfortable companions—and clothes were the very least of it.
