Just A Small Town Girl (13 page)

I watched them hug, feeling like I’d walked into a movie theatre halfway through the movie.

“Have you met my girlfriend Junio-June?” he asked, resting his arm across her shoulders.

“We met while you were ignoring her completely,” she gave him a disapproving look.

I laughed, trying to break the slight tension her reprimand brought on, “Junior?”

“Yeah,” Fisher tightened his arm around her neck, “All of the kids at school started calling me Fisher, so when she came to high school they started calling her Fisher junior,” they exchanged a look, “It got shortened to Junior and now I guess now she’s shortened it to June.”

“Does anyone around here go by their real name?” I asked, laughing a little.

“I call him Trav, does that count?” June hiked Riley further up on her hip, struggling with the awkward angle her brother held her at and the baby.

“Yes, and I guess Riley and I go by our real names too,” I took Riley from her arms and started talking to him, “and your grandma too.”

Riley slapped his hand over my mouth and I nibbled at his fingers. We played that game for a few seconds before I turned back to Fisher and June.

Fisher was looking at me with in the special way he always did right after we finished making out or when he caught my eye during a show. I smiled at him then glanced at June. She was darting her gaze between Fisher and me in a way that made my cheeks flush.

“Let’s get you changed,” I laid Riley on the center of the bed and started digging through his diaper bag for a changing mat and fresh diaper.

Fisher stepped forward, pulling down Riley’s little baby jeans and unsnapping his onesie.

I handed him the mat and diaper before looking for wipes and powder.

“You two sure are some team,” June smiled at us from the doorway. When neither of us responded she went on, “how long have you been together again?”

“Almost a month,” I placed the retrieved items within reach and stood aside, letting Fisher expertly dodge Riley’s attempt to spray his father with urine.

“Hm, I would never have guessed you’d only been together a month,” a puzzled look crossed her face, “It seems like you’ve been together longer.”

“It feels like we’ve been together longer,” Fisher came to stand beside me, handing over the baby so he could leave the room to wash his hands.

“What have you done with my brother,” June’s brown eyes glittered as she fixed them on my face.

“Uh?”

“He’s always sweet, but usually there’s still that anger just hovering below the surface. You know, all that unresolved tension. Now he seems settled, happy even,” she paused, expecting me to explain, but all I managed was a stupid fish out of water face, opening and closing my mouth, “I mean he’s never even brought a girl home.” She paused a moment to think, her eyebrows cinched together, “Well that’s not true, the last girl he brought home was pregnant.” Her eyes swelled, “You’re not pregnant are you?”

“No she’s not,” Fisher wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me into his warmth, “That’s really not a cool thing to ask June.”

“It’s just, last time…” she sputtered to a stop, “Sorry Piper.”

“It’s fine,” I smiled at her, wishing Fisher would be a little nicer, her question made sense to me.

“Mom wants you to help her in the kitchen,” June announced, seeming to suddenly remember why she’d come upstairs.

“Okay,” Fisher leaned down to peck my forehead before taking a step toward the door.

“Not you,” June laughed to herself, “Piper.”

They both looked at me like I was preparing for battle.

“You don’t have to go,” Fisher wrapped his fingers around my wrist, stroking his thumb across my skin comfortingly.

“Yeah, I do,” I gave him a look, “It’s polite. Your mother, our host, has asked for my help. It’s the least I can do,” I stepped closer to him, “Plus, I want to get to know her better; she’s the woman who raised you.”

Fisher let out a bark of harsh laughter, “if you’re sure.”

When I entered the kitchen Patricia was hard at work. She managed to balance three pots on the stove, some sort of roast in the oven, and vegetables she cut on a wooden countertop cutting board with a grace I’d never seen on anyone else. It was like an elegant dance. She seemed to sense when the gravy needed to be stirred and coordinate that perfectly with tossing chopped carrots into one pot and sliced potatoes in another, all while making sure the roast didn’t burn. She reminded me of my mother.

“How can I help?” I pasted a winning smile on my face and took a few steps closer to her.

“You can put the baby in the high chair, sit down right there,” she indicated a barstool pulled up to the counter, “and listen.”

“Okay,” my stomach sank at her tone. She was all business and I had a feeling we were about to disagree in a major way. I slid Riley into the high chair, handing him a keychain to play with, before settling myself on the stool.

“Thank you for having me. You have a beautiful home, it’s great to-”

“I told you to listen,” her look was pure ice, “I don’t need to hear any of your pseudo-pleasantries and I don’t care to know how nice you think my house is. What I do care to know is why you are here and what your intentions are for my son, but I’ll ask about that later if I’m still interested. For now you will listen to what I have to say. Understood?”

I nodded, a little afraid to answer verbally.

“Good,” a saccharine smile spread across her face. It was the look of a woman used to getting her way. I watched closely as she turned back to the counter, starting to cut into a carrot, “Now, I’m sure you have some inkling of an idea that all mothers love their children, but I love my children more than most mothers,” I didn’t take the time to mention my experiences with my own mother. I didn’t doubt she loved her children more than my mother loved me, or at least more unconditionally, “My children are special. Travis is special and I expect the best from him,” she chopped the carrot, her knife making a decisive hacking sound against her cutting board, “Of course his having a child so young was not part of the plan, but we do the best we can to handle life’s little hurdles. The fact of the matter is my son will be leading a certain kind of life,” she turned to face me, gesturing with the knife as she spoke, “He will go to college, he will be happily married, most likely to the mother of his child, and he will lead a happy, successful life.”

I got the distinct feeling I’d wandered into the middle of a war that began to wage long before I even knew Fisher. I had no idea how to respond. I wasn’t sure what Fisher would want me to say. I only knew what was polite, so I nodded my understanding and kept quiet, allowing her to go on.

“As for my grandson,” she faintly smiled at Riley before glaring back at me, “You are not, nor will you ever be, his mother. A boy needs his mother. His real mother and you will never be able to give him that.”

Forgetting my commitment to decorum, I spoke out, my voice wavering, “I love Riley!”

“No dear, you think you love Riley. Any love you can give that boy will only be a faint impression of the love his real mother can give him. You will be an imposter, a babysitter playing at the role of mommy.”

Her words cut at me, slicing into my chest then pouring anger directly into the fresh wounds, making my chest heave under the pressure of anger rising inside of me. I didn’t like being told how I felt and I didn’t like people, especially virtual strangers, telling me my feelings weren’t true.

I snapped my eyes shut, counting backwards from five in my mind and willing the words bound to come at the end of my little countdown to be intelligent.

I opened my eyes and mouth at the same time, instantly shutting my mouth again as June and Fisher entered the kitchen, Fisher’s arm wrapped around June’s shoulders.

“Everything okay?” Fisher whispered, pecking my temple in greeting and what I thought was probably a gesture meant to distract me from the anger I knew he could read in my eyes.

It didn’t work, but his presence did deter me from yelling at his mother in a way that definitely was
not
indicative of my strict upbringing. I smiled at him and welcomed his warmth in the seat next to me.

“Mom, June told me she aced her midterms,” Fisher announced, beaming at his sister, who shrugged in response.

“We’ll just see how she does when she goes to real college, and with a real major,” Patricia Fisher didn’t notice the shocked expression on my face because she was too busy piercing her poor daughter with a look, “art is a hobby Theodora.”

I looked at Fisher mouthing
Theodora?
and he shrugged. June caught our exchange from where she leaned against the counter across the room and pointed her finger down her throat, making a heaving motion while her mother’s back was turned.

“Art is the answer mom,” June singsonged back, “music is a form of art and I think it saved Trav’s life,” she gestured at her brother.

Patricia huffed, “Eventually your brother is going to finish sowing his wild oats and go to college to get a career his son
and mother
, can be proud of,” she sighed, glancing at each one of our faces and seeming disappointed in what she saw, “look how little that band has done for him. It’s going nowhere.”

“Actually it’s finally taking off for them. They’ve been recording with a label and everything!” I spoke without thinking about what reasons Fisher may have had for not telling her.

Patricia barked out a short laugh, “We’ll see how long that pipe dream lasts.”

Her dismissal crushed my heart, chasing the animated smile from my face. I turned to Fisher, seeing the hurt in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, feeling guilty for exposing his good news to an unappreciative audience.

He smiled is acceptance of my apology, wrapping his fingers around mine.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so, right Mom?” Fisher asked, standing and pulling me to stand with him.

Patricia held her arm up, so she could read her gold wristwatch, “One hour and seventeen minutes.” She stirred the pots on the stove as if it was perfectly normal to know what time dinner would be ready to the minute.

“Dinner is always at six thirty Dahling,” June announced to me in a silly voice that reminded me so much of her brother.

“We’ll see you then Mom,” Fisher called on behalf of the group before we all left the kitchen and walked back upstairs, June carrying Riley.

“Do you mind watching him while we get a nap?” Fisher asked.

“Nah, I’ve missed him,” June smiled, disappearing into her bedroom with the baby while Fisher and I made our way into his room.

“Come lay with me,” he scooted to the center of his bed and patted the space next to him.

I reached down and pulled off his boots before slipping off my own and crawling into bed next to him. I lay facing him, my head resting on his outstretched arm. I brushed his hair across his forehead. He’d cut his hair for the trip home and after meeting his mother I understood why.

“Sorry about my mom,” he whispered into the few inches between us, “I know she can be-”

“Intense?” I asked, hoping he understood my euphemism.

“That’s putting it mildly,” he laughed out before his face grew serious again, “She hasn’t always been this demanding. She used to be the classroom mom and the PTA president, but not in the overbearing way she gets into our lives now, in a really cool supportive way,” he sighed, his eyes far away, “she used to be so different.”

“What happened? When did that change?”

“When I was in eighth grade, when my dad left,” he breathed out heavily as if the memory held too much pain for him.

I let out a small gasp, wondering why I’d never heard this story before. I’d assumed Fisher’s father was here with his mother until we arrived. I hadn’t given it much thought, but I realized my brain had leapt to the idea that Fisher’s father was dead.

“He was having an affair. Actually he was having a couple and in Dunesville everyone knew everything. I got into a lot of fights because kids would come up to me, saying my Dad broke up their family or my Mom was stupid for not knowing. Those weren’t as bad because I was the one being confronted, but little girls were mean to Junior, they wouldn’t play with her because their mothers didn’t approve of our family. It was a mess. Anyway, eventually he met this woman who was just passing through. She was leaving her husband and I guess dear old Dad decided it was as good a time as any to leave his wife,” Fisher’s hand absently caressed the skin on my side, lost in his story, “he left in the middle of the night, without a note or a word. He didn’t even pack himself a bag. He just disappeared and Mom was destroyed. She pulled us closer and closer until we couldn’t breathe. Junior fell into herself, until recently I guess, I stopped going by Travis because it was my father’s name and I wanted nothing to do with him. I started hanging out with a different crowd, I started acting out, and I started making music.”

I watched the notes of happiness dance across his face as he spoke about his music.

“We started the band and it became my one constant, my sanity. When I realized college wasn’t for me I wrote a song, when I got into trouble I wrote a song, when I started having a shit ton of meaningless sex I wrote a song, and when I found out I was going to be a father-” he swallowed hard.