HAPPILY EVER BEFORE (18 page)

Diane chimed in, “he’s right. She loves you too much to drink in front of you.”

Grace sighed, “yeah, but not enough to call someone else to clean up the mess.”

Jack added, “They’re right.”

Grace opened the door. “I know, I know, but I can’t do this alone.”

The next day George woke up confused, clean, and in a lot of pain. While she tried to put the pieces together from the night before, she discovered that Diane had gone to her apartment and packed her clothes, Jack had tossed every product that had an ounce of alcohol in it, and that Sal was taking her to an AA meeting--his AA meeting. George was a little nauseous and a lot grateful that she hadn’t woken up with another tattoo on her ass and so she thanked them the only way she could by bursting into tears.

“Well, at least it’s not ‘
Old
Man
River
,’” cracked Sal.

George stammered between tears.
“Mommy, daddy.
Show tunes.” Was all anyone understood once George took the crying, heaving sobs, to a whole new
  level
.

Clair recovered from the--has my sister absconded to
Mexico
with my unborn child’ fiasco--and was readying herself for that next big stage in her life.
No, not motherhood--partnership.
As she sat outside the conference room, she realized that this dream of hers had made it from the practice list where it sat between marry Ralph
Macchio
and invent a new calculator, to the laminated list that had become her calling card of life’s goals. A secretary came out and smiled. “They’re ready for you now,” she said motioning for Clair to follow her in. Clair stepped into the glass conference room. There they were Cleary, Kelly, Trees, Brady, and
Verbouwen
sitting in their crisp designer suits and freshly ironed shirts.

“Morning,” Kelly smiled. “Clair, as you know you’re one of our most valuable employees.”

Trees interjected, “we’re all big fans of yours.”

“But,” Brady smirked he was never a Clair fan, “things have changed. You’re about to become a mother and you won’t want to be at the office as much.”

“So, partnership isn’t really a viable option anymore,” added
Verbouwen
.

 “You’re right,” Clair heard herself say. The partners weren’t sure how to react and neither was Clair. “I don’t want to work eighty hours a week,” she heard herself
continue,
“I don’t want to work an hour a week.” Whose voice is that she thought, as she motored toward a road she never imagined she’d take. “I don’t want to be here--
at all
!” Clair realized she was quitting.

Kelly asked, “You’re resigning?”

“I think I am, but it won’t official until we’ve negotiated a fair severance package. Now, we all know that not making me Partner because I’m about to become a mother isn’t technically against the law, but if you don’t play nice, I’ll let every client know what you did and then I’ll sue for back over-time pay, which I never pursued in the past because I had been promised the partnership and didn’t want to rock the boat, but now I’m rocking the boat, hell, the cradle!” Wow, Clair
thought, that
felt good.

The partner’s exchanged looks. Kelly sighed. “I’m assuming you’ll wrap up the quarter for your clients while we negotiate that fair severance package of yours?”

 
“Of course.”
Clair walked to the door and shut it behind her. Once she safely made it past the secretary, she raced to her office, pulled out her cell phone, and then stopped. What did I just do? Who should I call? Henry? She wasn’t ready to deal with his questions. Grace? She was dealing with George and the cookies right now. Her mom was away with Sal most likely having tons of sex, which she didn’t want to think about and that’s when it hit her.

Henry, Sr. handed Clair a drink.  “What are you going to do?”

“Stay home with the baby?” Clair queried, as she shot back her entire drink.

He laughed. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I don’t know.” Clair shook her head. “Can I do this? I mean everything changes when you’re the one who stays home, don’t you think?” Clair motioned to her father-in-law to see if he wanted his drink freshened, he shook his head no.

“Change is good.” Henry, Sr. said. “If you’re okay with not going back to the whole career thing, you’ll be fine. After four months of Patricia being home we nearly killed each other, but we were home together and sometimes that gets a little dicey.”

“I thought she went back to work?”

“After Henry she did, but not after Charlie.” Henry, Sr. immediately regretted what he said.

Clair sat up. “Charlie? Who the hell is Charlie?”

 Henry, Sr. took in the
Manet
over the fireplace. “Charlie? I meant Henry.”

“Who is Charlie?” Clair implored.

Henry, Sr. sighed. He couldn’t back out of it now and he knew he could trust Clair.  “Our first child,” he said.  “Patricia decided to be a stay at home mom. It was odd to see her so content changing diapers and making baby-food. She literally invented Baby’s First Foods for Charlie,” Henry got wistful.  “Charlie,” he whispered.
“An easy baby, easy to laugh, easy to love.”
He refreshed his drink. “He died, SIDS; I went in to check on him,” a shaken Henry, Sr. stopped speaking as it all came rushing back, “we weren’t sure if we’d have another child. After Henry was born, Patricia didn’t go near him. She’d feed him, but the rest was up to me. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was a jinx. The first year, she barely touched him.  She wouldn’t, not until she was sure he wasn’t going anywhere, by then, well, I was the official stay-at-home-parental-unit and the rest is history.” Before Clair could even formulate a concise thought he interrupted her, “well that was melodramatic. For the record, Henry has never been told.” He cleared his throat and got a hold of himself. “Listen, if you want to stay home, stay home, it’s your decision. If you get bored go back to work.”

Clair felt so helpless right now and just wanted to give him a hug, but figured he wanted to move on, so she did. “You’re right. Plus, I can always take on some clients and work from home. Actually, I was curious about your thoughts. Grace and George are starting a cookie company.”

“You quit your job to start a cookie company?” Patricia walked in the door.

Clair and Henry, Sr. both jumped. “What? No? How did you…?”

Patricia went straight to the bar and made herself a Martini. “Oh one of those idiots Brady or Cleary, frankly I can’t tell them apart, called to make sure we didn’t part ways with the company because you were parting ways. What the hell is going on?”

“They weren’t going to make me partner because of my impending motherhood and I quit.” Clair sucked down what was left of her drink.

Patricia grinned. “They give you the old--you won’t be spending that much time at the office song and dance?” Patricia,
drink
in hand, gave Henry, Sr. a peck on the cheek and then slid in next to him on the club chair. “I’ve used that a lot.” Patricia studied her daughter-in-law. “Why don’t you
come
work for me?”

“
Whaaat
?”
Clair said that louder than she expected.

“Let me guess, you’d rather take a chance on a cookie company?” Patricia drolly stated.

Clair smiled. “Who knows, maybe I won’t go back to work.”

 “Some women are built to stay at home, some are not. Trust me you’re not.”

Clair knew Patricia was probably right. “Maybe I’m not, but I’d like to try.”

Patricia got a far-away look in her eyes and sighed. “You should try. Every mom should, but if you’re unhappy, your kid will hate you and you’ll hate yourself.” She shook off her melancholy.  “So, have you told my son yet?”

 “No, I was waiting for the right time,” sighed Clair.

“Well, don’t tell him before or after sex. He’s an Erickson, so his mind will be on other things and Lord knows you can’t tell them anything during sex.”

Clair cringed. What is it with grandparents-to-be being so talky-talky about their sex lives?

Grace stared up at the scrabble ceiling as she waited for her OBY-GYN, the lovely and talented Frigidaire, and Clair to show up.

“Henry couldn’t make it,” Clair declared as she walked through the door.

“Just as well.
He always gets weird when they hoist me up here.
We finding out?”

“Nope.
This is the only surprise you can count on these days.” Clair moved her over and sat on the edge of the table. “Man, you’re huge!”

“Yeah?
Well whose fault is that?” Grace tersely stated.

“Hey, you know that thing we talked about?” Clair looked up at the ceiling.

Grace cocked her head. “The mom telling Sal she loved him thing, the me and Jack having sex thing, the Patricia talking about sex thing, the you staying at home thing, the George pigging out on sweets thing, or the you becoming CEO of our cookie company thing?”

“Those are a lot of things. No one can say our lives are dull. I’m thinking specifically of the CEO cookie company thing. Let’s do it!”
grinned
Clair.

“Really?”

“Really.
If we can do this baby thing we can totally do the cookie thing.”

Before an excited Grace could speak, Frigidaire finally walked into the room. “And, how are mom and auntie mommy doing?” Clair yanked Grace’s hair and immediately jumped off the table.

“
Owww
,” Grace grinned, “that is the best ten bucks I’ve ever earned.”

Frigidaire laughed. “I’ll take it off your bill.”

“Oh no you won’t.
She foots the bill. I want cold hard cash.”

Frigidaire shook her head. “You got it. How have you been feeling?”

“Pretty good.
Can’t hold my pee as well as I’d like and sometimes pooping is uncomfortable. Other than that, I’m good. How’s Junior?”

Frigidaire pulled up the gown and covered her belly in gel. “Let’s find out.” She turned on the monitor, picked up a wand and when she touched it against Grace’s belly they saw their little miracle.

“Junior got bigger,” said Grace as a crying Clair held her hand. “You have to stop crying every time we do this. When the big day actually shows up you’ll under perform in the--my sister’s a saint and wow here’s my baby crying department.”

Frigidaire put the wand down and motioned to Grace to open up her legs. “Well, let’s check under the hood.” Her head disappeared for a few moments. “Good to go,” she said when her head popped up. “I’m going to give you a prescription for a stool softener. If the pooping gets difficult start taking it. Okay, I’ll see you ladies in a month.” She pulled off her gloves and started to leave, but Grace stopped her. “Sue Ann will give you your ten bucks when you make your next appointment.”

“Thanks,” laughed Grace as Clair rolled her eyes. “What are we going to call it?”

“The baby?
We can’t decide.”

“No,” said Grace, as Clair helped her off the table to get dressed.
“The company.
Let’s see, a recovering alcoholic with a sweet tooth, a woman pregnant with her sister’s child, and an OCD, recently unemployed accountant, who paid her to be her baby’s mama
all
adds up to what?”

Clair laughed. “Let’s pick out the good words: sweet baby, sweet rum, sweet accountant, sweet...”

“Jesus,” giggled Grace.
“Sweet vagina, sweet ass, sweet cheeks, sweet life, just plain sweet, or sweet auntie mommy.”

Clair smacked her. “Sweet stack, sweet stork, sweet money, sweet stuff.”

“Sweet mamas,” said Grace as she buttoned her shirt.

“Sweet mamas,” echoed Clair helped her put on her flip-flops. “Now that’s a keeper.”

And, so a star may not have been born, but it was a name they could all live with.

Clair initially woke up at five a.m. Thrilled that she didn’t have to get out of bed, she went back to sleep, but then much like the Chinese food she ate the night before, an hour later she woke feeling oddly unsatisfied. She listened to Henry shuffling around the kitchen, no doubt eating his cereal over the sink and had no idea what she was supposed to do on her first non-vacation, non-sick, non-personal, non-workday since she was seventeen. Clair, being Clair, decided to make lists--to do lists. There was the baby list, the house list, and the Sweet Mamas list. Then, when all the lists were done, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. In less than eight hours, Clair had reorganized the kitchen, living room, and family room. Now keep in mind Clair has OCD, so that meant that what she deemed unlivable or in need of organization, the rest of the free world aspired too.

After eating lunch, she realized that the only real mess was her photos. As much as she loved organizing, there was something unwieldy about getting a few hundred photos under control. Clair was glancing at some snapshots when she stopped mid shuffle. Her father, with his shaggy brown hair and big blue eyes, was staring back at her. The sight of him caught her breath. It was summer; they were at the lake. He was tan and healthy and laughing, he was always laughing. Clair closed her eyes and tried to remember the sound of his voice, but like him it was lost forever. It was time, she thought, to put more pictures of her father around, so her kid would know who he was. The pain of losing him had dulled. It was no longer sharp and prickly, but had somehow turned into a nice memory. Not the losing him part, but the knowing him part. That part was now like a hymn or a sweet hum or a song you remember from childhood that makes you smile. Clair took in the photos that were strewn upon the rug and thought “this is going to take some time.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Clair pulled herself away her organized boxes of photos as Grace and George walked in the door.  “Wow!” said George as she took off her shoes and joined Clair on the rug. “What are you doing?”

“What time is it?” Clair asked as she snapped shut the final box.

Grace followed George into the living room. “Six. Did you do this all day?”

“Yep.”
The boxes were color-coded, so Clair easily pulled a green box marked childhood and handed it to Grace. “We wore some ugly shit.”

Grace handed her the email she had sent them. “You expect us to get all of this done in a week?” She sat and opened the box of photos.

 “She’s been freaking out all day.” George grabbed her caramel suede messenger bag and pulled out a folder.
“Halloween!”

 “It’s not even October yet why the hell would Halloween freak her out?”

“Think about it, Clair Bear, how do we usually spend Halloween?” George asked, as she handed over a thick Sweet Mama’s folder to Clair.

 “Like drunken sluts,” Clair cracked. “Oh, shit! Well, George can be a sober sex kitten and you can go as
Garfield
.”

Grace was staring at a photo of her father and gave her the finger. She forgot the way his smiled crinkled at the edges of his mouth. “It’s your fault I’m reduced to dressing up as a fat lazy cat that gorges herself on lasagna,” sighed Grace, as she pulled open a blue box labeled high school. “What is with those pants?”

“All you notice is the pants? I’m color coded right down to my socks. I’m thirteen and in a leisure suit I probably fought Grandma for and you never said a word!”

“Oh, we said a word,” George laughed, as she took a look at the photo. “We just said it behind your back!” Clair grabbed a photo of Grace from her Death Parade years and dangled it in front of her.

“Man, I was hot,” sighed Grace, as she took in her too tight vinyl pants.

“You had to be,” laughed George. “You have the voice of dead trucker on crack.”

Grace watched Clair and George as they laughed. “You never appreciated us!”

“Honey,” guffawed George, “you sang off key, your keyboardist was constantly reinventing Three Blind Mice, you never performed sober, and your drummer used a wooden spoon. What was there to appreciate?”    

Grace laughed. “We got paid in beer. How could anyone not appreciate that?”

“How the hell did we get from there to here?” asked Clair.

“I know. It’s so weird--there’s, like, missing years,” sighed Grace.

“That’s because we weren’t sober,” offered George. “Well, except for Clair. You only got drunk once.”

“Yeah and somehow it got me knocked up!”
Deadpanned, Grace.

Clair bit her lip. “Popsicle’s been gone eighteen years. It’s so weird. He would be so excited to see this baby.”

“Especially since both his girls are involved. He would’ve been a great grandpa. The kind that would always have Cracker Jacks,” smiled Grace.

“How can we still miss him so much?” asked Clair.

“I still miss my parents,” sighed George. The sun started to slip from the sky and as they helped Clair put away the photo books the late September breeze floated in from the open windows. “Life goes too fast.”

“These nine months seem to going pretty slow if you ask me,” cracked Grace.

 “Are we really doing this? Or, is Sweet Mamas going the way of Grace’s forty-nine other occupations?”

 “This can work--unless you want off the train?” said Clair.

 “This,” Grace put her hand on her belly, “and Sweet Mama’s are the only things that have made sense in a long time.”

 “Okay, so then no turning back, but we need ground rules.” Clair spied Grace as she tried to stand while doing the pee-pee dance.

“Help me the fuck up--unless you want urine all over your floor!” Grace yelped. George and Clair jumped into action. “Who the hell are our investors? We keep talking about having
a tasting
, finding investors, who are these people?” Grace raced off to the bathroom.

 “Well,” said Clair. “My old clients and Henry’s parents’ friends, Henry’s rich college buddies, I have a list of potential companies looking to invest, and hedge funds.”

“I can hit up some of the vendors I’ve used in the past plus the clients I left on good terms with, but…” George added...“Clair’s right, we need ground rules. First, we make all decisions together. If we don’t all agree, we don’t do it.”

“And no one gets a salary for at least a year,” added Clair. “Can you do that? I know Grace can, I’m paying her a fortune to kick out that kid of mine, but are you good?”

It was moments like these that George envied Grace her little sister. “I’m good. They had to pay me out because they violated my contract when they took away a client I brought in. Oh, and you would not believe how much money I’m saving by not buying booze.” George answered Clair’s confused look, “honey, come on.  When you’re wearing five hundred dollar shoes you don’t drink the house wine!”

The toilet flushed, Grace washed her hands, and then opened the door.
“First order of business, dinner.”

 “I refuse to eat anymore pizza. That’s all we’ve eaten for the past week.” George took in Grace’s ever expanding seventh month stretch. It was moments like these that her jealousy over not having her own little sister went bye-bye.

Clair laughed. “No pizza, majority rules!”

“But, I get two votes,” chuckled Grace.

 “No.
You.
Don’t,” said George. “And no playing the baby card.”

Grace put on her shoes and smiled.”
Baby card?
Like I’d play the baby card?”

Clair grabbed her keys, started out the door,
then
paused. “I want a tattoo.” Clair felt nervous, but emboldened. Grace and George exchanged looks.
“Now!”
And with that, Clair headed out the door.

“Shotgun,” said George as she followed her out.

Grace shut the door and tried to catch up. “Sitting in the back seat makes the baby nauseous, so…”

When you’re sober, getting a tattoo hurts like a motherfucker, or so we’ve been told, especially if the tattoo was of a stork to match the tattoos of the two reformed drunken idiots you were going into business with. For the next few weeks, these stork assed babes hit the ground running. Well, not literally running, so much as in Grace’s case, but they got their shit together. They researched factories, found paper stock, finalized their business plan, created a brand look, and a strategic marketing plan, and as late nights turned into early mornings and vice-a-versa, the passion of building something from nothing kept them going.