by Maria Geraci
Mama J looks at it with a critical eye. Of my two moms, I secretly think she has the better taste for this kind of thing. “It looks very nice,” she says.
“That’s an awful lot of dots,” counters Mom.
“Is that your subtle way of saying my butt looks too big?”
This is a mistake on my part because now I have to listen to a lecture on how society places too much emphasis on women’s looks and not enough on their accomplishments. Mom ends with saying, “I just think there are too many dots, that’s all.”
I’m about to change out of the dress when Nick arrives and Mom asks what he thinks. I stand there while Nick’s dark eyes roam over me. For some reason this makes me more nervous than the thought of Nick seeing me naked, which is silly, because he already has.
“Nice dress,” says Nick.
“Try on the other one,” says Mama J. “That way we can compare.”
I change into the “sexy” dress and walk back into the living room, ready for the big reaction.
“That one!” says Mom.
Mama J nods in agreement.
Nick smiles. “That one looks nice too.”
Nice? I have to admit, I’m disappointed by Nick’s response. He has to like this dress better. Doesn’t he? I mean, this dress is stilettos and the polka-dot one is penny loafers, and everyone knows that given the choice, men prefer stilettos to penny loafers. Maybe he’s just trying to be polite in front of my moms. It occurs to me that although I’ve known Nick for years, there’s still a lot I don’t know about him.
I put both dresses away and quickly change for our date. We go to dinner at Louie’s, the restaurant next door to Mama J’s bookstore. Louie’s serves good old-fashioned Italian food and brick-oven-baked pizza and is owned by Nick’s uncle Vinnie (why the restaurant is named Louie’s, I’m not sure). Once we sit down to eat, I realize that taking me to Louie’s is tantamount to Nick’s announcing to his family that he has a girlfriend. Almost all of Nick’s extended family who live in Catfish Cove work at the restaurant, as well as Nick’s older sister, Anna, who acts as the hostess. A horde of Alfonsos come by our table to say hello and slap Nick on the back.
Anna does not seem surprised to see Nick and me together, so I can only assume that Nick has already told his family about us. She kisses me on the cheek and tells me she’s so happy her brother has finally found a “nice girl” (there’s that word again).
This makes me wonder what sort of girl Nick has been dating since his divorce from Shannon. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad bit jealous. I want to make a joke about it, but I don’t want to say anything that might bring up the subject of his failed marriage or Shannon or Ed because I can tell it makes Nick uncomfortable.
After dinner, we go back to Nick’s place, where we basically tear each other’s clothes off. I’m happy to say that Nick seems much more impressed by my new underwear than he was by my dresses. I think Nick’s ancestors must have come from the part of Italy that borders France.
Three hours later we’re both dressed and standing on my doorstep. Nick doesn’t give me a hard time about not staying over at his place and this scores him a few extra brownie points.
The next morning I get up early and accompany Mama J and Walt to Carpe Diem.
Let me tell you about Mama J.
You already know her favorite poet is Walt Whitman, and if you haven’t figured out by the name of her bookstore, her favorite movie of all time is Dead Poets Society. Like Mom, she’s sixty-two, but she looks at least ten years younger. She’s taller than my five foot six and thinner as well. Mama J used to be a runner and she’s still in great shape. She has a master’s degree in English literature and taught at one of the community colleges near Jacksonville before moving to Catfish Cove. I know she and Mom were introduced to each other by a mutual friend and that it was “love at third sight,” as she likes to joke.
Apparently, Mom, who can be a bit intense, initially scared Mama J off. But besides being a little too serious at times, Mom is also one of the kindest, most generous people you’ll ever meet. On their third date Mom gave Mama J a copy of Leaves of Grass. According to Mom, she had no clue at the time that Walt Whitman was Mama J’s favorite poet. They stayed up all night talking and that’s when they both knew they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. I think it’s horribly romantic.
When Bill Clinton was caught doing the seminasty with Monica Lewinsky, Mom and Mama J weren’t nearly as upset over his infidelity as they were when they read that he’d given Monica a copy of Leaves of Grass, something he’d also given Hillary when he was courting her.
“I’d leave him just for that,” I remember Mama J saying.
Mom just clucked and shook her head.
Mama J’s family belongs to one of those churches that think you are going to go to hell if you spit on the sidewalk, so you can imagine what they thought when she came out her sophomore year in college. I have never met any of Mama J’s blood relatives, and personally, I don’t think I ever want to.
Mom, on the other hand, had it easier. She didn’t come out until the year I was born, and by that time, according to my aunt Susie (Mom’s younger sister), everyone had already figured it out and it was no big deal. Aunt Susie and my uncle Jack live in Pensacola and we see them as often as most people see their relatives. I have two cousins, Marta and Tom. Tom works for a software company in California and Marta lives in Atlanta and is newly married. I wish I had more family nearby, but I don’t.
Mama J unlocks the front door to the store. The smell of books assails my nostrils. I inhale deeply as the aroma reaches through to permeate the cells of my body.
What do books smell like exactly?
I think the answer to this is different for everyone. For me, who has always equated books with Mama J’s store, it’s simple. Books smell like her. Crisp and clean, slightly inky, laced with love and a whiff of peppermint tea.
I have a shameful confession to make.
Last year I bought an e-reader. The temptation to give in to one was just too great. I think I was secretly hoping I would hate the thing. But I don’t. I love it. It’s instant gratification. Books when I want them, whenever I want them. The thing is, though, while my e-reader is awesome, it doesn’t quench my thirst to flip a page, or run a finger down smooth paper, or stick my nose in a book’s spine and inhale. I read somewhere that one of those famous perfume designers has created a new fragrance that smells like books. His reasoning? To satisfy the public’s craving for the smell of paper in this digital age. Go figure.
I flip on the lights and Walt immediately finds his place behind the counter. I fill his dish with water and he settles in, ready to greet customers who are used to seeing him in the store.
When I was a teenager I used to work here after school and on Saturdays. Once upon a time, before she got it into her head that I should become a lawyer, Mom used to hold out the hope that one day I’d follow in her and Grandpa George’s footsteps and practice medicine. But the sight of blood makes me woozy. The sight of books makes me woozy too, but in the good way.
Mama J reaches under the counter and hands me a book of poetry. I stick the book in my tote and promise her I’ll read it.
I spend the next couple of hours schmoozing with customers and catching up on the newest arrivals. Independent bookstores like Mama J’s are almost extinct, but even in a little town like Catfish Cove, her store has managed to keep afloat. I think it’s because she’s such a keen businesswoman. She knows all her customers by name and remembers exactly what they like to read. She also allows her store to be used for private events.
For example, she has a small children’s section at the back of the store filled with classic children’s literature as well as a small assortment of toys and baby items. The walls in this section of the store are painted pastel green and there are comfy beanbag chairs and an oversize sofa for parents to sit on while they read to their kids. Mama J rents out this section to anyone who wants to host a birth
day party or a baby shower and it’s almost always booked for Saturday mornings. This, of course, brings more traffic into her store and results in more sales. Pretty smart, if you ask me.
This Saturday, Patrice “Tricia” Timmons Elby, whom I went to high school with, has booked the store for a baby shower and the honoree is none other than her best friend of all time, Shannon Dukes Norris. The last time I saw Tricia was a couple of years ago when I ran into her at the Piggly Wiggly while I was on a visit home. She’s married to Ed’s “new” best friend, Casey, who’s originally from Atlanta and settled in Catfish Cove after taking over Tricia’s daddy’s dental practice. Mama J is busy with customers, so I offer myself to Tricia, who is grateful for my help. She’s also particularly chatty today. She reveals to me that Shannon had a difficult time getting pregnant and that she conceived with the help of the fertility drug Clomid. I also discover that this is Shannon’s fourth baby shower. According to her seven sonograms, the baby is a boy and his name is Edward Louis Norris Jr.
The shower is being catered by Tricia’s sister-in-law, who owns a local company called Fresh Impressions. There are two servers dressed in crisp white cotton shirts and black pants who have set up a table covered with a linen cloth. They will be serving virgin mimosas (in deference to Shannon’s gestational abstinence from alcohol), fresh fruit, bite-size quiches, and caramelized onion tarts. For dessert, there are designer cupcakes, each one frosted in white and decorated with the initials ELN in blue icing. All very Junior League–ish, and chic for Catfish Cove, if you ask me.
I place a stack of presents on top of an end table. The baby shower’s theme is “enlightening the mind,” which means that baby Edward’s library is going to be well stocked. Along with the standard Goodnight Moon and Beatrix Potter, there are plenty of newer children’s works, like On the Night You Were Born and Guess How Much I Love You (a book I’ve fantasized about reading to my own baby one day). Little Edward would be one lucky kid, except that there is no Dr. Seuss in the pile. How can little Edward’s literary education be complete without works from the greatest children’s writer ever?
I’m pondering this in my head when Tricia turns and says, “I just can’t believe you and Nick are dating now.”
“Really, why?”
“Oh, you know. It’s just so weird!” Tricia shakes her head and laughs.
Cognitively, I know what she’s said. But my brain interprets it as Oh, you know, because he’s so hot and you’re so not.
“What’s so weird about it?”
“It’s just funny that after all these years the two of you would hook up. Kind of like fate, or karma or something.”
I freeze. Tricia doesn’t have to spell it out for me. I know she’s thinking about the Dixie Deb Ball. That’s the night Nick and I first danced together. I already told you that the day I won the senior poetry contest was the best day of my teenage life. Well, the Dixie Deb Ball was, without doubt, the worst.
I study her face and come to the conclusion that Tricia doesn’t mean anything negative by her remark. She puts the finishing touches on the present table and looks up to see the door to the store open. It’s Shannon, arriving for her shower. Other than the fact that she looks like she’s about to tip over, she looks very elegant and cool in her sleeveless baby-blue maternity dress.
Tricia places her hand on my elbow and lowers her voice. “Be good to Nick, okay, Emma?” Then she puts on a bright face and goes to greet Shannon.
At first, this strikes me as a strange thing for Tricia to say. I suppose as Shannon’s closest friend, she knows how much Shannon’s infidelity hurt Nick. But Tricia has nothing to worry about. I am no Shannon. I could never cheat on Nick. The idea of it almost makes me laugh.
chapter twelve
Later, I help Mama J clean up. I toss the two designer cupcakes that Shannon insisted I take home with me into the trash. “One for you and one for Nick,” she’d said with a completely straight face that makes me believe Shannon is either the cruelest person on the planet or a complete twit. I’m betting on the latter.
“Some shindig, huh?” Mama J says.
“Do you ever wish you had a baby?” I ask her.
“Oh!” Her soft brown eyes go wide.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t be silly. You have every right to ask that question.” She straightens the cushions on the sofa. “I tried a few times, when you were around seven. But it didn’t take and your mom and I thought it was for the best. She thought about having another baby too, but her practice was so busy and…well, we had you and that was more than enough.” She turns around and smiles at me. “Are you thinking of having children?”
“I need a husband first.”
Mama J raises her brow at me and we both laugh because I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking the same thing.
“Well, I could go that route, but I don’t think it’s for me.”
She places her warm palm against my cheek. “No, that’s not for you, baby. You’re the traditional sort.”
The door to the store opens and we both turn around. It’s Julie, the nice lady who was house-sitting for Frank Monroe. I’d meant to ask my moms about her but so much has been going on lately, I forgot. I grab the sleeve to Mama J’s blouse and whisper in her ear, “Do I know her?”
“That’s Julie Williams. She’s the vice principal at the high school. Why?”
“She was at Frank Monroe’s place. She seemed to know me, but I know I’ve never met her before.”
Mama J looks startled. “When did you go to Frank Monroe’s place?”
I shrug. “Last time I was in town. I thought he’d be a good way to get to Trip, but he was on vacation.”
Julie approaches the counter. “Well, hello there!” She and Mama J exchange a few pleasantries and I find out the reason I don’t remember Julie is that she only moved to Catfish Cove a few years ago.
“Did you hear from Frank?” Julie asks me.
“Yeah, I did.” I hesitate, wondering just how much I should tell her. Julie seems genuinely interested, so I decide to be honest. “He kind of shot me down. Told me not to call him again.”
“You talked to Frank Monroe?” Mama J asks me.
“Not really. I left him a voice mail asking him to get in touch with me. He left me a message basically telling me not to call him again.”
Julie frowns. “That doesn’t sound like Frank.”
This is practically the same exact thing Nick said to me.
“It’s no biggie,” I say. “I’m going to see Trip at a charity event in a couple of weeks, so it all worked out.”
Julie looks like she’s on the verge of saying something more when Mama J interrupts by telling her she has a book that just came in that she’s certain Julie will like and the two of them take off down the aisles in search of it.
I head to the Piggly Wiggly to pick up groceries then drive to Nick’s place. Frank Monroe’s house is on the way, so I can’t help but drive by. There’s an SUV in the open garage that wasn’t there on our previous trip to his home, which leads me to believe that Frank must be back from his big fishing trip. I consider stopping to knock on his door. Maybe meeting me in person will change his opinion about nosy reporters.
But just as I pull up behind the SUV, I see a man walk out the side door of the house. Although he looks slightly older than the pictures in the auto repair shop, I immediately recognize him as Frank Monroe. He glances my way curiously.
You know how people describe that funny sensation they get in their stomach as butterflies? I always think of it as crawling worms. Yeah, I know. Pretty yucky. I feel like a long skinny two-foot worm is trying to wiggle its way out my belly button right now. I panic and stick my head out the car window. “Sorry, wrong house!” He gives me a friendly wave and I back out of his driveway as fast as I can and drive to Nick’s.
Nick is in his front yard, pulling weeds. He looks sweaty and hot and utterly delicious. I have the makings of dinner and plan
to cook for us, but before I can put the groceries away, Nick grabs me and pulls me into the shower with him.
Let me tell you about Nick.
He is sexually more adventurous than any guy I’ve dated, which is probably not saying a whole lot, but still. He is a perfect combination of rough and gentle. He doesn’t push me to do something that doesn’t feel right. And just as important, he doesn’t think that because I was raised by two lesbians, I am some sort of sexual wild woman. I’ve dated a few guys who were sorely disappointed by their own ignorant assumptions about me.
Before Nick, I thought sex was like the cherry on top of the whipped cream of a good relationship. Now I’m beginning to think it’s more like the ice cream. I cannot be very French about sex right now and practice moderation. Excess is what it’s all about. Nick makes me feel sexy. And I haven’t felt that for the longest time. I think Nick is like a drug. If I could bottle him, I’d be a millionaire.
Nick and I are in bed, naked.
I prop my chin on the heel of my hand and look down into his face. His eyes are shut like he’s sleeping. Unlike most people, I find it hard to sleep after sex. I know it’s supposed to relax you but it has the opposite effect on me. It winds me up. I think about what Tricia said to me at the store and this time I can’t help but smile. I think Nick would agree that I’ve been pretty darn good to him today.
I also remember what his sister, Anna, said about me last night at the restaurant.
“So your sister thinks I’m a nice girl?” I ask, pretending not to notice that Nick is trying to sleep.
“You are a nice girl,” Nick murmurs.
“Is that why you like me? Because I’m nice?”
Nick cracks open an eyelid. “Are we seriously going to have this conversation?”
Ben’s advice pops into my head. Don’t overanalyze.
So I say, “Okay, change of subject. I almost stopped at Frank Monroe’s place this evening.”
“Yeah?”
I tell Nick about my near encounter with Trip’s uncle.