by Ashton Lee
“Hadn’t thought about it? What are you telling me, Maura Beth? You’re in your seventh month. Don’t you think it’s about time you did? You don’t want to make some hasty decision at the last second.”
Echoes of the Cara Lynn Mayhew who had existed before mother and daughter had reconciled their differences at the eleventh hour of Maura Beth’s wedding on the deck of Connie and Douglas McShay’s fishing lodge were creeping into the conversation. The same Cara Lynn who had finally seen the light regarding her daughter’s librarian career and devotion to the little town of Cherico, Mississippi, after much needless gnashing of teeth. Was she back with a vengeance now that a grandchild was on the horizon?
“Jeremy and I have tossed a few names around,” Maura Beth told her. “We just haven’t come up with anything definite. We don’t want to be rushed into this, no matter what.”
At which point Cara Lynn had switched tactics as she was quite skilled at doing. “Do you know yet whether it’s going to be a boy or a girl?”
Maura Beth had told her that they did not.
Cara Lynn had sighed plaintively and kept the pressure on. “But why? That way, you could concentrate on names more easily, knowing the gender. I have a lot of other family names for you to consider besides the ones I just mentioned. Wouldn’t you like to have a sense of history included in your child’s name? I’m sure you know that’s a very treasured and respected Southern tradition.”
For some reason, Maura Beth had been unable to contain herself. Perhaps it was a matter of the hormones surging throughout her blood. “So would naming a girl Scarlett O’Hara McShay or a boy Rhett Butler McShay, but we’re not going to do either one of those things.”
That had ended the conversation on a sour note, even though Maura Beth knew the prominent issue of baby names was hardly over. She knew there would be other calls and that she could not solve the problem by being short and sarcastic with her mother. Perhaps The Free Sample Sisters could give one another some helpful insights as they all moved closer to their delivery dates. Some consideration was given at first to dealing with their dilemmas at the next Expecting Great Things meeting at the library; but in the end the idea was nixed for a more private setting—namely a quiet, little dinner at The Twinkle one Sunday evening in November underneath the star mobiles, soothing Diana Krall music, and soft blue lighting.
“What did you tell Parker about our getting together here on your night off? I told Jeremy he couldn’t come along and do any note-taking for his novel, even though he was pretty insistent. I made it quite clear that it was just for us girls,” Maura Beth said, once they were all seated around one of the larger tables and digging into the caprese salads that Periwinkle had whipped up for them.
“I told Parker pretty much the same—just a much-needed session of pregnant girl talk,” Periwinkle said. “He knows we’ve all gotten right chummy, so he didn’t bat an eyelash. But he did offer to help out if I needed it—he’s been such a sweetheart about everything from my moods to my cravings. I told him no—to just let us girls handle it all from soup to nuts.”
“Which we can certainly do,” Elise added, as she speared a forkful of tomato and mozzarella.
“Well, who wants to go first?” Maura Beth asked after a generous sip of her lemon water.
Periwinkle put down her fork and raised her hand. “I would, if y’all don’t mind. As I mentioned to y’all before, my mother is giving me complete and utter hell about this baby on the way, and I’ve been trying to keep it from Parker. How do you go about breaking something like that to your husband, though? That your own mother won’t accept his child—well, it’s our child, really. I’ve lost a lotta sleep over this, I tell you. I’m not the least bit naïve about the world we live in, of course. There are more than a few folks out there who’ll feel the same way my mother does. But it hurts to know it’s that close to home.”
Elise swallowed a bite of basil and tomato and drew back with an indignant expression on her face. “I’m afraid you nailed it, Periwinkle. Sooner or later, everything gets close to home. I’ve told my students that they should just go out into the real world and call their own shots, and I’ve pretty much done that myself. But sometimes there’s a price to pay.”
“Mama Kohlmeyer says I’ll be dragged down by all this— that I’ll find out what it’s like to be black, and it won’t be a pretty picture,” Periwinkle said. “As if she’d know what that was like.”
Elise’s scowl became even more pronounced. “I don’t mean to offend you, Periwinkle, but it seems your mother isn’t very good at putting herself in your shoes. All my life I’ve heard that our grandmothers are supposed to be very understanding about what their daughters are going through since they’ve been there and done that themselves. They’re supposed to be an enormous part of the support structure, not put up obstacle courses. They’re the ones who are supposed to spoil your child the way you never can.”
“Apparently, there are exceptions, depending upon who you marry,” Periwinkle said, her voice tinged with bitterness.
“Or who you don’t marry,” Elise added, sounding no more enthusiastic. “I have to tell my parents that I’ve done this on my own without a man in sight, and there’s a part of me that can’t seem to find the right words when they come to Cherico for Thanksgiving. Looks like both you and I are keeping things from people, Periwinkle.”
“That’s what this session is for, ladies,” Maura Beth said. “I’ve got my mother breathing down my throat on baby names, and I realize that doesn’t seem half as serious as artificial insemination and racism, but maybe we can come away from this dinner with some suggestions that will make our lives easier.”
* * *
Over Periwinkle’s entrée of baked chicken with sun-dried tomatoes and roasted asparagus, there was a breakthrough of sorts. It was Elise who seized upon the concept first.
“We’ve all got to stop being afraid,” she told the others. “It’s unbecoming to women who’ve accomplished what we have. Maura Beth, you’ve built a wonderful, state-of-the-art library that was long overdue for this little town. Periwinkle, you’re running Cherico’s most successful restaurant, bar none. I love the mood you’ve set for us tonight. And I’ve got tenure at the University of Evansville teaching Women’s Issues. Even more importantly, we’ve all chosen to bring new life into the world with all the unknowns and risks that are involved in that. Now, we’ve got people coming at us who don’t seem to be on the same planet as we are half the time. Well, we’ve just got to stand our ground and stop being so timid. Here all these years I’ve been telling young women to take the world by the horns, and I’m not following through the way I should. I’ve got to face my parents once and for all and tell them that this is the way my life is going to be. If they accept what I’ve done, then maybe we’ll all be one happy family. But if not, I’ll just have to be strong enough to accept that, too, and go on my way without them.”
Maura Beth was quick to pick up on the theme. “And Jeremy and I have just got to tell my parents—and his, if necessary—that we will name our children what we want. We can take their suggestions under consideration, but in the end, it’ll be up to us. It’s our lives, not theirs.”
Periwinkle remained silent, and the others could see that she was still greatly troubled by her predicament.
“I guess your task is a whole lot harder,” Elise said, turning toward her. “I can certainly empathize.”
Finally, Periwinkle came to, managing a weak, little smile. Alone among the three, she had been toying with the delicious food she had prepared. “The first thing I have to do is level with Parker. I think what’s been holding me back is that I’m so ashamed of my mother’s attitude. Parker’s dear mother, Ardenia, would have been a lot more accepting, I truly believe. I had just begun to get to know her before she died unexpectedly last year, but she’d been through enough growing up in the Jim Crow South that I’m sure she wouldn’t have turned her back on our grandchild. There was no place in her
heart for hate, even though she had every reason to harbor it. So I’ve been dragging my feet because of all that.”
“You should absolutely trust Parker,” Maura Beth said. “You shouldn’t be going through any of this alone. Let him know how your mother feels and take it from there. If it means you’ll both have to be that much stronger for each other, then you might as well start now—the sooner, the better.”
A sense of relief spread across Periwinkle’s face. “You’re right. I’ll tell him as soon as I get home. This can’t wait another minute.”
“Don’t sound all sad and defeated when you tell him, either,” Elise said. “We’re not responsible for the way our parents feel about things. Sometimes, they’re not even responsible for the way we as their children feel. At any point in time, anyone can make up their own mind. The three of us are getting into something that’s totally unpredictable over the long haul. We’ve got to be brave and responsible and realize that the point of all this is not simply reproduction. It’s a lifelong commitment.” Elise paused with a wicked smirk in spite of herself. “I guess I sound like I’m lecturing one of my classes, don’t I? Sometimes I can’t help it. It’s what I do for a living.”
“Give yourself some credit,” Maura Beth said. “Let’s give ourselves credit. This is why we got together tonight, and I think we’ve given each other some courage and inspiration.”
“Let’s be sure and keep each other posted and tally up all our triumphs, shall we?” Elise added.
“Sounds good to me,” Periwinkle said. “Meanwhile, anyone for dessert? It’s one of Parker’s grasshopper pies. I have a sneaking feeling our babies will want to lap up all that sugar. Or at least we can always blame it on them.”
6
The XY Factor
Jeremy sat lost in thought with his lukewarm black coffee in the Cherico High School teachers’ lounge. It was hardly an inviting space—too cramped, too few chairs, a couple of tacky flower prints on the institutional green walls that were reminiscent of a cheap motel. But it was all that was available to escape the constant pressure of trying to elevate the teaching of high school English to another level, one that his superiors up in Nashville and here in Cherico had never appreciated. He had yet to get approval for one of his proposed student excursions to the literary meccas of the South, whether it was Faulkner’s Oxford, Capote’s Monroeville, or Welty’s Jackson. All were well within striking distance of Cherico. He had always been told that buses were never available for such a purpose, though they were always gassed up, vacuumed, and ready to go for the football team’s many road trips throughout Mississippi and even up to the small towns of West Tennessee. Still, he continued to fight for his vision of “Living the Classics in the Real World.” He firmly believed it would be a game changer for his students if it ever came to pass. According to his vision of the world, millennials needed some extra help, and he was determined to provide it.
Then there was the matter of the Great American Novel he had been attempting to write since his honeymoon in Key West—an exercise in distraction if ever there was one. He had changed the title at least five times as he siphoned off bits and pieces of his wife’s pregnancy to blend in to the high concept of his work. Yet, it still wasn’t gelling for him, and his frustration was growing exponentially as his Maurie entered her third trimester. Lately, he had gone back and forth about a fiction versus nonfiction approach to the project but had resolved nothing in the end.
“Yo, Jeremy!” a deep male voice boomed, bringing him out of his reverie with a start.
He looked up to see that his husky cohort, Alex Brandon—he of the receding hairline and angular features—had entered the room and was standing over him with a cup of coffee, snapping his fingers. “You looked like you were in another world there.”
Jeremy saw no reason to play games with his American history–teaching friend. “Maybe I was. I don’t feel I’m getting the job done these days, and I was trying to work out a way to make things better.”
Alex sat down beside him and took a sip of his coffee. “What are you talking about, man? Your students love you. At least that’s the buzz I hear all the time. Hey, and all the teenybopper girls swoon over you, they say. I wish I had your good looks and a wife like Maura Beth to come home to.”
Jeremy just shrugged. “Stop. You’re always running yourself down. Everybody has problems. For instance, I think I have the worst writer’s block in the world right now. Wish there were some sort of literary laxative I could take for it.”
Alex chuckled after sipping his coffee again. “You and your images. I don’t see why you’re having so much trouble when you can come up with material like that.” There was an awkward silence, even though Jeremy managed a smile and a nod in his friend’s general direction.
“By the way, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something for a while now,” Alex continued. “Do you have a minute?”
“That’s why I’m here in the lounge taking what little downtime I can. What’s on your mind?”
Alex put his cup down on a nearby table littered with worn magazines and briskly rubbed his hands together. “Well, it’s your sister you’re always talking about. You’ve intrigued me with your descriptions of her. Or maybe I should say that I’ve let my imagination run wild about the possibilities. I’ve never met someone who actually went down to a sperm bank and withdrew a deposit, so to speak. Do you think maybe you could arrange to have me meet her?”
Jeremy looked taken aback. “You actually want to meet Leesie? You want me to set you up with her?”
“I wouldn’t call it that exactly.”
“Then exactly what would you call it? Are you writing a term paper just for the fun of it or something?”
Quizzical lines broke out across Alex’s prominent forehead while he shook his head vigorously, saying nothing.
“Is it the curiosity factor? Because let me tell you, curiosity killed the cat. I hate to use a cliché like that, but in this case it fits.”
Alex frowned and leaned in, patting Jeremy’s knee. “Okay, pal. I took into account the part about her being a big-time feminist and all. But she still intrigues me. So, could you arrange for me to meet her or not?”
Jeremy took a moment, eyeing his friend skeptically. “Do you mind my asking—what’s your end game in this? Please tell me you’re not looking to make Leesie fall for you with all she’s got on her plate. Take the hint. She didn’t get pregnant the conventional way, and the reason is because she doesn’t want a man in her life. Trust me on this one. When she accidentally caught Maurie’s bouquet at our wedding last year, she threw it right back and demanded a do-over.”
Alex glanced at the ceiling, obviously working on a mental picture. “That’s kinda funny, now that I think about it.”
“I suppose it is in a way. Classic Leesie, and I should know. But then it ceases to be the least bit funny when she comes at you and launches into one of her blistering, feminist diatribes. You don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those, believe me.”
“Maybe not. But give me some credit. I’m no thin-skinned wimp. I’ve been through a rejection or two in my time and gotten up off the mat. So, will you at least let me meet her?”
Jeremy hesitated, pouting and frowning at the same time. “I’ll talk it over with Maurie and see what she says about it. But frankly, I don’t think the two of you would have much in common. I know my sister, and I don’t want to ruin our friendship by putting you in harm’s way.”
“Good grief, man! You make it sound like she’s a terrorist or something. I’m starting to think you’re scared of her.”
“No, not at all.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
Exasperation was beginning to creep into Jeremy’s voice. “Look, it’s true that we’ve gone more than a few rounds about politics and religion over the years. But she can be terrifying at times. I know what I’m talking about. She didn’t even want to come to my wedding at first because she doesn’t bel
ieve in them. She insists they’re all about men exploiting women and that particular line of thinking. Everything boils down to XX versus XY for her. In her universe, the former combination is basically good, the latter, not so much. She even teaches a course up there at the university called The XY Factor. Now, I’m not going to come right out and say it should be called Man-Bashing 101, but there’s no shortage of female students who sign up for her lectures semester after semester. It seems it was something she was born to do. Plus, she had no trouble at all getting tenure, so I have to conclude that she’s pretty damned good at what she does. I may not agree with everything she believes and advocates, but my sister is a pretty formidable woman.”
Alex seemed to be wavering a bit, backing away ever so slightly. “Well, I didn’t know that part about the XY course. You kinda left that out before. So you say she didn’t want to come to your wedding at first. But she obviously did because of that bit about throwing the bouquet back. What happened? ”
Jeremy flashed back to that moment of genuine surprise when his sister had shown up at his doorstep the day before the wedding, driving all the way from Evansville after having previously and emphatically R.S.V.P.’ed in the negative.
“Actually, she broke down and did come after all. Without my knowledge, Maurie had written her a very convincing and welcoming letter that changed her mind about the whole thing. I think Leesie even allowed herself to have a good time in spite of herself. The two of them have been pretty tight ever since, especially now that they’re both pregnant at the same time. After all, their children will be first cousins. There’s even some little group they’ve formed that has them all shopping at The Cherico Market together every Wednesday—she and Maurie and Periwinkle Place. Something about sampling free goodies. That’s why I think I’d better run this past Maurie first, if you have no objection.”
“Go right ahead, and I hope she decides in my favor.”
Jeremy was still looking at Alex as if his brain had slipped out through his ear and fallen on the floor. “You should be careful what you wish for, my friend. Let’s just leave it at that for now. Except that I think you’d be way better off pouring your time and energy into that new Algebra I teacher with the long legs. No way you haven’t noticed her. You can see all the boys turning their heads as she walks down the hall with that little wiggle of hers.”
