HAPPILY EVER BEFORE (15 page)

There are things you do in life that you have no idea why you do them. For some, it’s the way they put on their sneakers or how they cut their pancakes. There are also things you do that you have no idea why you’re doing them while you’re actually doing them, such as locking your keys in the car or having dinner with your lying-cheating-embezzling-ex-boyfriend, which is where Grace was right now--having dinner at the Landmark Grill & Lounge with Ray. Grace hadn’t told Jack or even Clair or George about this dinner. For the most part Grace had barely told herself it was happening until she met Ray at the restaurant. So far, the dinner had gone well. Ray had a real job selling liquor for a well-known distributor and was making great money. He was out of debt, out of the basement apartment at his parents’ house, in recovery, sober for over a year, and seemed to be talking the talk and walking the walk of a bona fide mature adult--everything Grace knew he could accomplish, but two years too late. Grace wasn’t bitter or even resentful, but she also wasn’t totally sure why she was having dinner with him and she hoped and prayed she didn’t do anything stupid.

Grace felt the baby kick and put her hand on her tummy. From the corner of her eye she could feel the older couple at the next table smiling at them as if she and Ray were about to start on this big new adventure, but they weren’t. Their adventure was more like the sinking of the Titanic and less like a wonderful day at
Disneyland
.

Ray noticed her hand on her tummy. “I’m proud of you. Not many people would put someone else’s needs
over her own,
but that’s my Gracie, always taking care of somebody else.”

Grace bristled, “I’m not your Gracie. I haven’t been for a really long time. And for your information, when you love someone you put their needs over your own, but you never really figured that out.”

Ray took the hit. He knew he deserved it. “I know. I didn’t mean… Listen, it’s going to take you a long time to trust me again, hell, to believe what I’m saying.”

“Ray, I have no idea what you think this dinner is about or even why I was foolish enough to let you convince me to come, but trusting you again is not an option.”

Out of the corner of her eye Grace saw someone that looked like Jack. That’s when it hit her. “You know what? Thanks for dinner. Thanks for paying me back, but more importantly thanks for staying out of my life.” With that Grace got up and left while Ray sat there bewildered. Grace gathered her thoughts and with the help of the valet, she quickly hailed a cab. Grace got in, told the driver her address and just when she was shutting the door, Ray jumped in beside her.

“You don’t mean that,” he implored. And so, the cab pulled away with Ray in it. Neither of them was sure what came next. This was always a pattern in their relationship. Grace would get upset and leave. Ray would cajole her back and they would have sex.  Patterns once ingrained into your psyche are really hard to break. Soon they were making out like a couple of high-school kids, but try as she might Grace couldn’t tune out George’s--don’t finish what you can’t start--that was ringing in her ears. There were a few things that were running through her mind while she was kissing Ray. First, there was, well, Jack and that maybe Ray had changed and then Jack again. As the cab stopped at a light and Ray started fondling her breasts, she was thinking about Jack. She was also wondering if her earring fell off and then she was thinking about Jack. As Ray’s hand slipped under her skirt, she was thinking about Jack, that she’s pregnant and can’t have sex in a cab, more Jack, and then she had one of those out of body experiences she’s heard people talk about. As she watched herself with Ray, she realized she didn’t like the way she felt in his arms. She didn’t like how he smelled like candy or really anything about him anymore and as that last thought clicked, Grace pushed Ray off of her. “No!”

Ray was unhappily derailed. “Are you shitting me?”

The cab suddenly stopped short. “Sorry folks, there seems to be a collision.”

Grace practically jumped out of the cab. Ray tried to follow, but Grace pushed him back inside. “No—no! Don’t call. No. Don’t. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I don’t want this; I don’t want you or us or any of it!” The cab pulled away. Grace straightened her skirt, so she didn’t look like a disheveled slut, got her geographical bearings and cried like a banshee on her walk of shame home. Ray watched her from the window of the cab. For the first time, they both knew she wasn’t crying over him or even for him.

Fifteen minutes after she was talked down from her Gap attack, Clair had made a decision. She was a good study--she always was and she always would be. The knowledge of that gave her the confidence she needed to sign up for The Baby Zone classes at St. Stephen’s Hospital. Clair walked into her classroom and was relieved that most of the women didn’t look pregnant. Not carrying the child you were expecting took a lot of explaining and with so much on her mind, like how to change a diaper, how to use that
bulby
thing and get snot out of a baby’s nose, how to breast feed, how to cut the baby’s nails, how the baby is supposed to sleep in the crib, how to give the baby a bath, and a myriad of other things that were racing through her mind like a run-a-way train, not having the pressure of being visibly pregnant was a plus. Clair took a seat.           

“Good morning ladies!” said a short red head. “I’m Marianne and I’m your teacher. Let’s get this party started, shall we? Today is all about the diaper. First, we’re going to go over your diaper options: cloth versus disposable, which disposable brand works the best and is the best for the environment.  Then, we’ll touch on to powder or not to powder and then you’ll dive into changing diapers and all of that fun stuff!”

Clair took notes about every type of diaper, powder, baby butt cream, wipes, diaper services, and diaper genie modern man had ever created. She felt good. She felt confident.  “Are we ready to put to practice what we just learned?” asked Marianne. She felt sick. Before she could muster the courage to vomit, she and the rest of the class were standing in the front of the room armed with their own changing table and large baby dolls. “Okay,” said Marianne. “As you all know, babies move…” She held up a remote control. “…and so do these babies.” Clair felt faint as a wave of her LSD-diaper-changing-baby-almost-fell-flashback hit her like a ton of bricks. “You have everything you need: diapers, diaper cream, wipes, powder, and, well, the baby.” Clair’s body was shaking and sweat formed at the base of her neck. “Look at your changing table,” continued Marianne, “and make sure you know where everything is, then once you’re ready start changing.”

Clair nervously found the diaper, the wipes, the cream, and the powder. She pulled out a diaper, like she had been instructed, put one hand on the baby’s stomach, took off the old diaper, grabbed a wipe, and wiped the dolls plastic ass while keeping one eye on Marianne as other dolls around her occasionally moved. Feeling confident, Clair lifted the dolls’ butt, placed a diaper beneath, and then dropped it--the doll, not the diaper. Clair grabbed the doll before it hit the ground, but her hand slid and as she rushed to secure the doll she punched herself in the face. And that is how Clair earned herself a certificate in diaper changing.

“Wow!” George said, as she stared at Grace and Clair.

Grace had every ingredient ever needed to make the perfect cookie strewn across her kitchen. “Wow, I can’t believe she actually has a black eye or wow, I better make Grace a scarlet letter ‘cause she’s a ho?”

Clair crunched the peanut M&M that was in her mouth. “I’m thinking both.”

George laughed. “And I’m the alcoholic?”

“Can we not speak of this ever again?” asked Grace as she mixed together some milk, flour, and eggs. “Let’s put it in the middle of a Rubik’s Cube, then put that in a vault, then lock the vault, have a complete stranger, or say a monkey, change the combination, then shoot him dead, and surround it with a wall of bees--although, I’d feel bad about shooting a monkey.”

George, who was chopping up marshmallows, grinned.
“So now what?”
      

Grace smiled. “Put the peanut butter chips and the
craisins
in this bowl.” George popped a marshmallow into her mouth. “No, you moron, what are you going to do about the Ray vs. Jack thing?”

“There is no Ray vs. Jack thing. It’s not a boxing match,” she sighed heavily, “
it’s
over. It’s done. I know.” Grace began separating egg whites. “So I had to make out in a cab with him to figure out. That’s closure. Can we change the subject now? George, how’s work, your sobriety, uh, your love life?”

“Oh, sure, use the frustrated-unhappy-in-her-job-alcoholic as a diversion for
your
messed up life,” laughed Clair as she grabbed the marshmallows away from George who was eating more than she was cutting up.

“Love life?
I’m easing myself off of drunken one-night stands. I have to figure out what I want in a relationship before I’m making out with a sleaze ball while prince charming is waiting at home for me.”

“Bitch!”
Grace smacked George in the ass with a dishtowel. “Jack was at the firehouse, not my house.” She grinned. “Okay, we need to take those bowls of batter scoop them onto these cookie trays then pop them in the oven for ten minutes. Then we need to mix batter for three other cookies, stop picking on Grace, pick on Clair who got a black eye while changing the diaper of a mechanical doll, and help George find her purpose in life--are you game?”

“Does Grace sabotage every relationship she’s in?” said George.

“And is she a ho-bag?” said Clair.

Grace sighed. “I take it you’re both in?”

Three successful cookies, two disastrous cookies and two maybe, maybe-not cookies later, the air in Grace’s apartment was thick with a semi-sweet chocolate peanut butter ambrosia that hung like the smog over California ever since the last batch of cookies, under Clair’s not-so-watchful-eye, went up in smoke. The women, battered and smeared, sat on the kitchen floor surrounded by the remnants of their cookie-making crusade and tried to sort out their mess.

“Okay.  So, yes for the chocolate peanut butter
craisin
, no for the coconut lemon, and maybe for the cinnamon semi-sweet swirl?” asked Grace, who was nauseous after she had tasted the last batch of cookies.

“No, yes on those, but no on that Tahitian vanilla mess with the pecans,” replied George as she lay down on the kitchen floor.

“Yeah,” said an equally over sugared Clair.
“No on that cherry vanilla thing with the coconut, maybe on the apple pumpkin spice, and definitely yes on the chocolate peanut butter black and white cookie. That frosting could give you an orgasm!”

George handed the bowl to Grace. “Say no to Ray,
say
yes to frosting!” The women, who admittedly knew it wasn’t that funny, were so hopped up on sugar that they laughed
their assess
off. “Hey, maybe we can break into the sex food market?”

 “Don’t make me laugh. No, no, no! My bladder isn’t as strong as it used to be,” gasped Grace, as she patted her pregnant tummy.

“So, what’s the next step?” asked Clair.

“Well, a business plan would help. The one I did is really bare bones. A package for potential investors and maybe a tasting?” suggested George.

“I can look over your plan and see if I can help beef it up. What about packaging and a place to make the cookies?  Where are you getting your ingredients? Clair asked as she pulled her tired ass off the floor.

George and Grace exchanged looks. “Why don’t you run the business? I can do the marketing and Grace, well, she does the baking and shit.”

Clair smiled. “I’m about to become a mom and about to be named partner. I don’t have time for it.”

“You could consult. I’ve got a few months until I’m ready to blow.”

Clair knew she was right, but going into business with them was something that needed careful consideration. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Great! Now help me up off this
frickin
’ floor,” laughed Grace.

George stood up, grabbed Grace’s arm, and pulled her sorry ass off the floor. “So who’s cleaning up this mess?”

In every mother-daughter relationship there is a rite of passage. Getting the first manicure/pedicure together, buying her first bra, her first crush, her first kiss, getting her driver’s license, etc. In the arena of mother-daughter rites of passage, the mother sided issues aren’t as fun. Grace and Clair figured that what they had to look forward to was taking away her driver’s license, buying her large print books, reminding her to take her medication, praying that she never broke her hip, and the like. What they never expected in a million years was a mother-daughter shopping spree that involved buying lingerie for a romantic weekend away with a man who most definitely wanted to have sex with their mother.
Ew
, gross!

“OH MY GOD, NO!” said Diane as she stared at herself in the fitting room mirror. “This is not underwear. This is not even a bikini bottom. This is a string. Why in the hell would anyone in her right mind want to wear a string? You know--HERE!”

“Mom,” said Clair, “you can’t wear your white Granny
undies
.”

“Fine, but I’m not wearing dental floss either. It’s indecent.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” cracked Grace.

“No, it’s not the idea.” Diane, to prove her point, opened her fitting room door. Grace and Clair instinctively recoiled in horror and closed their eyes. “I want to be sexy and tasteful. Think Grace Kelly, even Sophia Loren--not Pamela Anderson!”

Clair opened her eyes first. She nudged Grace to do the same. After getting over the shock of their mother standing in front of them in a lace baby pink scallop bra and matching thong they studied her as one does works of art. They took in her shapely legs, studied her arms, which weren’t flabby due to her weight lifting and aerobic regime, and her surprisingly flat stomach. All in all, they were confident that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and that their bodies would age as gracefully as their mom’s.

Grace put her hand on her expanding pregnant stomach. “Amazing, but, well, you definitely need a trim.” A confused Diane looked to Clair.

Clair had to agree. “You so need a trim, but clothes off and all –in-all you look great.”

“What do you mean by a trim?” asked Diane. Clair looked at her then down at her, you know.
“Oh, oh, uh, there.
I don’t look like a whore do I?”

 
“A whore?
Oh, God, no!
Very tasteful, very sexy.”
Grace turned to her Clair.
“But maybe a different bra?”

“Yeah, the DKNY Belle
Du
Jour, you know, with the little bow.”

 
“And maybe with the Cheeky Boy short in the Chinatown Red.
Now that is hot.”

Before Diane could respond, her daughters disappeared and returned with armloads of lingerie. After being poked, “I don’t think that’s supposed to hug like that,” Said Grace.

Prodded, “Mom, can you just move that? What is that?” asked Clair.

“My nipple,” sighed Diane.

Cupped, “Wow, well you know what they say more than a mouthful is a waste,” grinned Grace.

Lifted, “Why does your ass do that? Is mine
gonna
do that?” asked Clair as she put her hand on the bottom of Diane’s ass and pushed it up.

“What is it doing?” asked Diane, “I can’t see behind me.”

Turned, “You’re not dizzy. We have to see it from every angle,” sighed Grace.

Studied, “Nope, it makes her legs look like cantaloupes,” laughed Clair.

And on one occasion, spanked, “Look at that. He’s
gonna
love that!” Grace smacked Diane’s butt. 

With all of that, Diane emerged from the experience with six hundred dollars’ worth of fancy underwear. As they waltzed into Nordstrom’s Restaurant, she had, believe it or not, more confidence in her body. “Now, clothes; your wardrobe consists of sweatpants, high
waisted
jeans, and dress slacks circa 1998.” Clair walked to the counter and ordered them all the lunch special.

Grace suddenly exhausted, put her feet up on the extra chair and closed her eyes for a moment. “You okay?” asked a concerned Diane.

“I don’t think I’m going to make the clothing expedition. Do you mind?” said Grace.

“How about we send you home in a taxi, you take a nap, and then we’ll treat you to dinner and a fashion show?” said Diane as the waitress dropped off three glasses of lemonade.

Grace nodded her approval. “I’m in. So, are you prepared for sex?”

“I’m past menopause, I don’t need the pill.”

“We know that,” said Clair. “Do you need condoms? Plus we have to get you a wax. Do you want to buy some sex toys, get some KY Jelly?”

Diane choked on her lemonade. “I don’t wax my legs. At my age, I barely have enough hair to shave.”

“We don’t mean your legs Mom,” smiled Grace.

Diane felt her cheeks grow red. “I thought you said I had to trim it?”

“Yes, by waxing it. Makes wearing a thong so much more comfortable,” said Clair, “you should do it too, Gracie, before the big day.
Makes the whole birthing thing less icky.”

Grace took a sip of her lemonade and then grabbed her tuna melt almost before the waitress set down their food. She was suddenly starving. Pregnancy is way weird she thought. “Oh, right, I’ve heard that too. Less icky, but does it make it less painful? It better be less painful if I’m going to get on my hands and knees and let some tiny Vietnamese woman rip the hair out of the one barrier between my bladder and my underwear.” Grace noticed their Mom wasn’t eating. “Mom, are you okay?”

Diane sighed. “Maybe this is a bad idea?”

“In the realm of bad ideas, there are so many to choose from,” sighed Grace. “Having Clair’s baby, dating Jack while having Clair’s baby, letting Patricia
buy
me an apartment, wearing bangs through most of the eighties, dying my hair orange for the most of the nineties, my belly ring, the stork tattoo on my ass, and The Spice Girls reunion.”

Clair rolled her eyes. “What’s a bad idea, mom?”

“Sal-me-us.”
Diane finally took a bite of her sandwich. “I think I’m in love.”

“As in ‘til
death do
you part you don’t want to wake up next to anyone, but him for the rest of your life, love?” asked Clair.

Diane nodded as she took a sip of her lemonade. “Freaky.”

“Oh my GOD did you tell him?” asked Clair.

“Nope.
And I’m not going too.”

“I get it,” sighed Grace.

“You would.” Clair shook her head. “I don’t know how you idiots function in life. Don’t you think it’s sad that you’re more comfortable with one night stands?”

Grace cracked, “hey, that’s not me, that’s her.”

“She’s got a point,” sighed Diane. “After your Dad, I just didn’t want to get attached in that all seeing, all knowing, all loving forever way.”

Grace saw her mother’s eyes well up with tears. “Yeah, what she said. Now, back off bucko or this kid is staying in here way past its due date. We’re romantically challenged--we get it then move on.”

Clair picked up what was left of her tuna melt. “Fine,” she said between bites, “but it’s time for the two of you to fucking grow up!”

Diane sighed. “What’s with the potty mouth? I raised you better than that.”

Grace grinned. “You coined the phrase stupid-fucking-sack-of-shit when I was five!”

Clair sighed. “You’re really not
gonna
tell Sal how you feel?”

“No. I want to be positive,” stammered Diane.

“And she won’t know if she’s positive until she knows if they’re sexually compatible. Nothing is worse than loving a man who can’t deliver,” laughed Grace. “I saw this couple on Jerry Springer and they had to get a sex surrogate. Hey, maybe that will be my next job--from surrogate mother to surrogate sex starter-
upperer
.”

Diane
drolled
, “are you going to run your business out of a cab?” Grace almost toppled out of her chair, Clair howled, and as Diane rolled with laughter, and as the entire restaurant looked on, she felt proud that she and her daughters were making a spectacle out of themselves. She was even prouder of the relationship she was able to have with them. She wondered if it would’ve been possible if her husband were still alive. Well, she thought, thanks to an errant snowplow she’ll never know the answer to that one.