A Mother to Embarrass Me (12 page)

I jumped to my feet again, fast as anything, but curved over too. I was nose-to-nose with him. “I did not know you were in my house talking to my mother until I heard you.”

“And you listened.”

“Of course I listened,” I said. “You were talking about me.”

Outside, a bird—not a red bird, I'm sure— sang a song. A hot breeze tried to breathe past Christian.

“You are a deceiver,” Christian said. “If I am, so are you.”

“I had to listen,” I said. “I had to. But you didn't. You saw me run out of there.” I flung my arm toward my house, nearly jabbing Christian in the eye. He ducked out of the way just in time. “You saw her ruin my life. My whole life.”

Now I turned and took three baby steps, till I
was nose to nose with the wall. I heard Christian move too, but I didn't look around.

“I'll never be able to leave this place. Ever. I'll have to grow old here.” I raised both arms, and my fingertips brushed the ceiling first and then the walls. “I'm so embarrassed.”

Now I could cry. Now I was
going
to cry. Right here in this little room, with Christian breathing down my neck, I was going to cry a lake of tears.

“I know what it's like to be embarrassed,” Christian said.

I turned, sniffing, batting my eyelashes to keep the tears back. “You do?”

He nodded. “Sure. I was horrified. I didn't want you to hear those things I said.”

Christian and I were so close I could smell the spearmint of his chewing gum. We were so close I could see the dark blue of his eyes. We were so close I could have kissed him right then and there. My heart fluttered.
Oh! I… wait a minute. He is cute.

I looked away, toward the tiny tea set on the little table. “I'm sorry for listening in on you that day,” I said.

There was no sound in the playhouse now, except for the yard noises that drifted in through the open windows: crickets and the one bird that kept whistling.

“Well,” Christian said. “I'm sorry too.”

It was then that I heard the whine of the
ambulance as it came down the street, getting

louder and louder. “Listen,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “It's an ambulance. So?” “It's coming here,” I said. And with that, all

bent over, I pushed Christian aside and ran.

I rushed to the house just in time to see two EMTs hurrying down the stairs with a stretcher. I heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Folks, please back up. We need room to work here. Please.”

Mom lay on the floor in the theater with a crowd of seventy-five gathered around her. I had to stand on the buffet table to see this, there were that many onlookers. Christian climbed up beside me.

From my perch I could see a few bald heads, a bunch of kids, a lot of grown-ups, Mary—grinning her head off—Mom on the floor and Dad kneeling beside her. Only my father looked worried.

“Hi, Laurie,” Mom said when she saw me above everybody else. “Guess what? My water broke.”

“During the party?” I asked, but she couldn't hear me. The crowd was talking.

“Isn't this wonderful?” one woman said.

“And what a day to have a baby. During the charity game with LaVell Edwards coaching.” This was a guy.

“I'm so glad I came,” said Mrs. Fangle, a lady who goes to our church. “I love a new life.”

Then someone said, “I feel faint,” right as the paramedics managed to cut a hole through the spectators.

“Please let us through,” one of the paramedics said. “People, please let us through.” He knelt, crooked, beside my mother. “I need some room to maneuver,” and then, “Oh, Mrs. Stephan. How are you?”

“I'm having a baby,” Mom said. “A baby! Isn't that wonderful?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the paramedic said. He smiled like nothing else. Apparently he hadn't seen the commercial. “I just saw your commercial back at the station. You know, the one for Rocky Mountain Fitness Center?”

By now the second guy had made his way through the group. “Yeah, Mrs. Stephan. You looked fantastic. My wife's pregnant and now she's planning on joining the gym because of you. She called and told me so.” He turned to the crowd and addressed everyone. “Only very close
friends can be here now. The rest of you leave, please.”

No one budged. “We're all good friends,” someone said.

“That's right,” Mom said. “They're all wonderful friends. Aren't I lucky?” Mom clasped her hands under her chin. “A new baby, a beautiful daughter”—here she pointed at me—“and all these friends.”

“I feel faint,” a squeaky voice said.

“Then we'll all just have to clear the room,” the second paramedic said. “Everybody please leave.”

“Aww,” someone said, disappointed, as the crowd began to shuffle away.

“That's not fair,” Maggie said. I waved to her from the table as she went past.

Mary, though, climbed up beside me, the remains of sliced meats and potato salad at her feet. “You're back, Laura,” Mary said.

I nodded, then gave her a fake smile. “I told you the commercial was going to be awful.” It was true. For days I had worried her about the will-Mom-wear-a-towel-only problem. I would have been luckier if she had. Why, this had turned out to be a showing, an unveiling, a peep show, for heaven's sake.

The room cleared out except for Dad, Mary, Christian and me. And the paramedics, of course.

“Let's get you up and check your vitals, Mrs. Stephan,” the first paramedic said.

“I feel queasy.”

“Dad?” I said from the table.

Dad looked at me, face white as a cloud. “Hi, honey,” he said, then he fainted dead away.

On August 13 at 5:43
P.M.
Kyra Leigh Stephan was born, with a revived father sitting hunched in a chair. I know 'cause I was there, standing beside my mom as it all happened. It was pretty cool, especially after they got Kyra cleaned up and wrapped in a blanket. I was the third person to hold her, not including Dr. MacArthur and the nurse.

That evening at about seven-thirty I went home to pack a bag so I could spend the night with Mary, while Dad—still recovering—took care of Mom and Kyra Leigh. All three of them would be home in twenty-four hours.

“I don't want to be long from you, Laurie girl,” Mom had said as I walked out the door with Mary's mom.

All the way home Mary and Mrs. Wolf chatted about how beautiful Kyra was (they saw her through the glass) and how lucky I was to have a new sister.

“I know,” I kept saying. And I meant it. A sister. A sister for me. A small bundle just for me.

At my house I promised Mary that I'd hurry on over. She wanted to stay with me, but there was something I had to do. Something I had to do alone.

Quick-like I packed a few things, including books, for the night's stay. Then I made my way into Mom's studio. Soft evening light poured in through the windows as I looked at all Mom's art.

There were statues of me and of Noah's ark, animals included. There were statues of girls reading and parents together with a child. And then, on her worktable, I saw her most recent piece, the new baby.

In that warm evening light I looked at the clay statue, so close to being done. All Mom had to do was add a few finishing touches.

I picked up the clay baby and examined her. She was perfect, curled in sleep, just the way Kyra Leigh had lain on Mom's chest before I left the hospital. This statue's eyes were shut and delicate wisps of hair graced the forehead. The lips were parted, almost as if she had just finished eating. Her toes were tiny and had wrinkles.

I thought of tiny Kyra Leigh then. I sure was happy she was around to share the parental burden. We were going to have fun together, the two of us.

“Boogie nights,” I said. It just seemed right.

I'm not sure what I expected from Mom when she came home, but I can tell you straight up I didn't get it. Or maybe I did.

I thought she would have changed. You know, lost all her embarrassing ways. Birthed a baby and at the same time gotten rid of the way she upset me. That didn't happen at all.

Three days after Mom and Kyra Leigh came home, I found them asleep on the sofa. Mom lay on her back, her head turned a little to the side. Kyra Leigh was curled on Mom's chest, a tiny bundle tucked up tight.

Even resting, Mom's arms wrapped around Kyra Leigh like a protective nest, keeping my sister safe and the two of them close.

Watching her, lying there so still, holding on to that tiny baby, I was filled with love.

“Oh, Mom,” I whispered. I wanted to say more, to say how happy I was that she was home and all right, how happy I was that Kyra Leigh was here too. But I couldn't. The words wouldn't come.

With great care I knelt next to the sofa. Using my fingertips to help me balance, I leaned forward and kissed Kyra Leigh's little head. I breathed in deep, smelling her goodness, her babyness.

I rocked back on my heels and squeezed my eyes shut. I could hear Mom and Kyra Leigh's breathing. I felt so… so… I can't even tell you the word, I felt so right.

Whispering again, I said, “Thank you.” This was to God, the guy who had been on vacation during the past few months of my life while Mom horrified me. He must have been watching me a little, though. Here was Kyra Leigh.

I looked at Mom then. I felt so full of love that I thought I'd bust wide open with it. I leaned forward to kiss her cheek. I didn't want to wake her but I couldn't help the way I felt.

That's when I saw the drool. A steady stream of spit that had actually darkened the pillow near Mom's face. My lips were but a few inches away from the slime.

“Gack,” I said, falling away from Mom.

Good stinking grief. The woman was nearly forty, and a model. How could she let spit run like
that? It was embarrassing. It was sickening. It was…

Kyra Leigh stretched then, unballing her body. She made a tiny fist, which she pointed into the air. Then she twisted her back a little and lifted her head. She gave a huge yawn, for something so small, and settled back to sleep on Mom.

“Oh,” I said. That had to be the cutest thing I had ever seen in my entire life. “Oh.”

“Laurie,” Mom said.

“You're awake.” Now was a good time to tell her about the drool. But she found it herself and wiped it away with the sleeve of her shirt.

There was a knock at the door.

“Visitors,” I said. “Wipe your mouth again. There's some spit right here.” I dabbed at my own face to show Mom where. “I'll get the door.”

“All right, honey,” Mom said. She tightened her hold on Kyra Leigh and sat up to face company.

It was Mary. And Christian.

“Laura,” Mary said, and she gave me a hug. “Can we see Kyra Leigh?”

“Of course,” I said. “Even
you can
, Christian.”

“Oh, thanks,” he said, and gave me a smile.

The three of us went into the living room.

“Ooooh.” Mary's voice was a squeak. “She's so cute. Oh, Mrs. Stephan, she's so cute.”

Again Kyra Leigh stretched. She blinked a few times, then she nuzzled at Mom.

“Here comes my milk,” Mom said. “Feeding time. Laura, would you get me that blanket?”

I couldn't move. Surely my mother was not planning to nurse right here in front of my friends. Surely “Here comes my milk” was all the embarrassment I'd be getting for the day. Please, let it be so.

“Here you are, Mrs. Stephan,” Christian said. He handed her the blanket, all the while looking out a side window.

“Mom?” I said.

“She's such an adorable baby,” Mary said.

“Don't,” I said. I leaned toward my mother and whispered, “Not now. No nursing now.”

“Laurie,” Mom said, a smile on her face, her voice loud. “This is what breasts were made for. Feeding our young.” What was she doing? A TV documentary?

“Oh.” I turned to my two friends. “Let's go play some basketball,” I said. “Quick.”

“Yeah,” Christian said, and he was gone.

“See you later, Mrs. Stephan,” Mary said.

Mom waved to my friends. I hurried after them. “I love you, Laurie.”