Another thought just come to me: how, even though the circumstances of their dying were different, both Sunny O’Day and Claude died because they suffocated. Because they couldn’t draw enough air into their lungs—her from drowning and him from his emphysema, and maybe because of the terrible thing he done, too. And then they both ended up together in the basement of McPadden’s that night, floating in floodwater.
I’m down on my knees now, asking God why, if He’s merciful, He had to put so much meanness in the world He made. Weasels pounce, snakes bite, dams break, men kill other men. And why would a merciful God let a little child’s mother die? I’m crying now and praying both, for Belinda Jean and that little O’Day girl. And for the souls of Sunny and Claude. And for Joe Jones’s soul, too, and the soul of his brother who died in the flood. Dear Lord, have mercy on all of them, and on me, too, if it is Thy will.
Part III
Family
Chapter Eleven
Andrew Oh
I tidied up my point of view
I got a new attitude . . .
I’m Dr. Laura Schlessinger and I do welcome you to this hour of the program. Our number here is 1-800-Dr. Laura. That’s 1-800-D-R-L-A-U-R-A. I’m here with Kimberly Neill who screens your calls, Benjamin Pratt who orchestrates our music, and me. I am my kid’s mom, ready to preach, teach, and nag you into doing the right thing. . . . Casey-Lee, welcome to the program.”
“Hi, Dr. Laura. Thank you for taking my call.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve been listening to you since my mom used to pick me up from grade school, and I just wanted to say what an honor it is to speak with you.”
“Thank you. How can I help?”
“I’m . . . well, the thing is . . . Sorry. I’m a little nervous.”
“That’s okay.”
“Do you want me to give you some background, or should I get right to my question?”
“Well, why don’t you just start and we’ll see where it goes?”
“Okay. Actually, I’m calling for my fiancé. He’s got a family situation that he’s struggling with, so I suggested we call Dr. Laura and see what she has to say about it.”
“And your fiancé’s name is?”
“Andrew. His problem—well, his parents are divorced, okay? And his mother’s getting remarried. To a woman.”
“Uh-huh. And your question for me is?”
“Whether or not we should go to their wedding. See, he grew up in a family that wasn’t very religious, but since we’ve been going out, he’s found His Lord and Savior. We already said we couldn’t go, but now he’s getting pressure from one of his sisters about how we should, because it’ll hurt their mother if we don’t. And yesterday his mom’s partner sent us plane tickets so that we can surprise her. And, well, the thing is . . . Don’t you think gay marriage is sinful?”
“What I think is beside the point. What do you think?”
“Me? I think it is.”
“Okay. Now a minute ago, you said this was your fiancé’s problem. So why is it that you’re calling me instead of him?”
“Oh. Well, because I said I would. He’s right here, though.”
“Ah. Then why don’t you put him on?”
“Oh, okay. [sotto voce] She wants to talk to you.”
Muffled voices.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Andrew.”
“Hey. How are you?”
“Fine, thank you. Now, first of all, I have a note here from Kimberly that says you’re a member of the military.”
“Yes, ma’am. United States Army, Specialist E-Four.”
“And what’s your specialty, soldier?”
“My . . . I’m in a nurses’ training program.”
“Ahh. Well, thank you for your service to your country. And hoo-ya!”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Casey-Lynn says you’re conflicted about going to your mother’s wedding. Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“Okay, well . . . Like Casey said, she’s getting married to a woman, okay? She’s . . . my mother’s an artist. Kind of a free spirit, you know?”
“And?”
“And her and this woman have been living together for a while, and now they’re going to get married. Which, you know, they can do. Legally. Because the wedding’s going to be in Connecticut. And so, part of me thinks I should go because, you know, she’s my mom.”
“And what’s the other part telling you?”
“Uh . . . what?”
“You just told me that part of you is telling you to go, so I’m assuming there’s another part that’s telling you not to. Right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t, me and Casey don’t . . . we feel that marriage should just be between a man and a woman. Whether, you know, it’s legal or not.”
“So this wedding flies in the face of your values.”
“Yes, ma’am. Plus, I don’t know. I just think that going would be disloyal to my dad. I mean, him and my mom are divorced, but—”
“Divorced for how long?”
“Over a year now. But they’ve been separated for, like, three years.”
“And how long had they been married?”
“My mom and dad? Maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven years?”
“And they decided to end their marriage because?”
“Because of her, I guess. This woman she’s marrying. She started working in New York, okay? Because of her art? And she was renting a room in this woman’s fancy apartment, okay? So one thing led to another and . . .”
“And what? Your mother decided she liked women better than men? Fancy apartments? New York deli? Ha, ha, ha.”
“I think it was about living in New York at first. Because of the art scene there. She does these crazy, experimental . . . installations she calls them.”
“Not the kind of art you’d hang over your sofa then. Okay. Got it. Have you discussed your conflict with your father?”
“Yeah, and he’s pretty cool about it. At least he says he is. He may even go to the wedding.”
“Really? Wow! I’m not sure if that makes him the most forgiving man in the universe or the most masochistic. Ha, ha, ha.”
“The thing is, I don’t even think she’s really homosexual. I just think—”
“Andrew? Andrew? You need to face the facts. You told me that your mother left your father for a lesbian hookup. That makes her a lesbian. And now she wants to make it legal so that she and her shack-up honey can—”
“I don’t know if I’d put it that way.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t. Honor thy mother, right? But did your mother honor the solemn covenant she made with your father? No, she didn’t. It doesn’t really matter what this other person’s gender is. What matters is that she forsook her vow to love, honor, and cherish her husband. To be faithful to him. Right?”
“Well, yeah. I guess.”
“Then for whatever reason your father doesn’t want to ‘man up’ and say screw you, babe, if you think I’m going to your big gay wedding, I see no reason why that obligates you to—”
“Well, my dad’s a peacemaker. Plus, one of my sisters keeps bugging me to—”
“Andrew? You and your girl called me for my advice, so why don’t you stop talking over me and listen to what I have to say?”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter what your father’s decision is, or what this silly sister of yours wants you to do. If your values are telling you that this marriage is wrong, then going to the wedding would say otherwise.”
“So you’re saying I shouldn’t go.”
“No, I’m saying that if you decide to go, your presence makes a statement. And if you decide not to go, that makes a different statement. It’s up to you to decide which statement you want to make.”
“Right. But I just feel—”
“Doesn’t matter what you feel. What matter
s is what you do. Suppose your commanding officer gave you a direct order to do something. What does he care about? Your feelings or your actions?”
“Yeah, exactly. But she sent us these plane tickets. See, the thing is, I already told my mom we weren’t going because we couldn’t afford the trip. But then we got these tickets. With a note that says my mom and her—”
“So what? If she wants to waste her money, then let her. The fact that she’s trying to manipulate you—guilt you into going—doesn’t obligate you.”
“Yeah, that’s what Casey-Lee says.”
“And she’s right.”
“But family’s family, you know? Both my sisters are going. I’d be the only one of her kids who—”
“Then go. Have a great time, and if one of the brides throws the garter, I hope you catch it. Not sure if they throw the garter or two bouquets at a lesbian wedding. Ha, ha. But if you don’t want to go, I’d suggest you call your mother, tell her you love her very much, and say that you can’t attend her wedding because you don’t condone this kind of union. Just be honest with her.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”
“So what’s more important? Sparing her feelings, or being true to your own and your fiancée’s moral code? Just don’t forget: there are two women to consider here. The one who birthed you, and the one you’re marrying.”
“Yeah. Okay. . . . Wait a minute, Dr. Laura. Casey’s handing me a note. Oh, okay. She wants to know if we should send them a gift.”
“Sure, if you want to. Something modest, a Crock-Pot or a cut-glass vase. Or, if you don’t want to spend the money, send them a pretty card.”
“But wouldn’t that be the same as—”
“No. Acknowledging their wedding is different from having to go there and witness it. Right?”
“Yeah, okay. We can do that.”
“Good. Now put Casey-Lynn back on.”
“It’s Casey-Lee.”
“Excuse me?”
“You just called her Casey-Lynn, but it’s Casey-Lee.”
“Uh-oh. My bad. Thirty lashes with a wet noodle for me. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Here she is.”
“Hi, Dr. Laura.”
“Okay, sweetie, I think we’ve got this all straightened out. By the way, when are you and your man getting married?”
“A little over a year from now. Next October.”
“And tell me. I’m just curious. Are you two shacking up?”
“Us? Oh, no. He lives on the base and I’m living with my parents. Partly to save money, but also because, well, I want to save myself.”
“Wow! Good for you! And Andrew’s okay with that? Because a lot of men think differently about these things than women do. They’re more interested in slam, bam, thank you, ma’am than deferred gratification.”
“No, Andrew’s . . . he respects that I want to wait.”
“Excellent! In that case, you go out and buy yourself a pretty white dress when the time comes because white will actually mean something when you walk down the aisle, unlike ninety-nine percent of today’s brides. Especially the ones with baby bumps. Ha, ha, ha.”
“Um, Dr. Laura? Can I ask you one more question?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“When we do get married, should we invite his mom and her . . . partner to the wedding?”
“Do you want to?”
“No. Well, his mom, I guess. But not both of them. I just think it might make the other guests uncomfortable.”
“Fine then. Invite his mother, but have Andrew make it clear that you two expect her to leave her spouse at home. And if she’s willing to attend under those conditions, then be polite and respectful to her. Be gracious. And then go ahead and have yourself a lovely day and one hell of a honeymoon. Put on a pretty little negligee for the wedding night and rock his world. And tell that man of yours from me that he’s getting a good woman. That’s rare these days. We’re becoming an endangered species, ha ha. Okay?”
“Yes, okay. And thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. Good luck. And you know what? Don’t hang up. I’m going to transfer you back over to Kimberly so that she can take down your address. I want to send you copies of two of my books, The Proper Care and Feeding of Husbands and The Proper Care and Feeding of Wives. An early wedding present for each of you. All right, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Thanks again, Dr. Laura.”
“You’re welcome. . . . Gloria, welcome to the program! Oh, oh, wait a minute. Looks like we’ve got to take a break. Be right back.”
It felt so wrong, it felt so right . . .
I kissed a girl and I liked it, I liked it
“Welcome back. Our number here is 1-800-Dr. Laura. That’s 1-800-D-R-L-A-U-R-A. You know, over the break, I was thinking about that last caller. You see what pain and confusion it causes for the rest of the family when a husband or a wife doesn’t respect the covenant of their marriage? The children, especially. Even adult children. I still can’t believe that that husband’s going to attend. What’s he going to do? Walk his ex-wife down the aisle and give her away to her new bride? He’s a peacekeeper? More likely, the poor guy’s probably been so beaten down by the feminist agenda that he’s surrendered his man pants, ha ha ha. Remember a while back when the feministas got all bent out of shape because the bride was supposed to say she would love, honor, and obey her husband? Good lord, what outcry! ‘Obey? Oh, no, we can’t have that. That might interfere with my happiness—my fulfillment.’ So now we have divorce rates hovering around fifty percent, and Heather has two mommies and no positive male influences in her life. You know, I’ve been attacked in the media, accused of being antigay, but the truth is: I’ve counseled many gays and lesbians on this program, and also when I was in private practice. I’m not antigay. I just happen to believe that the sacred institution of marriage means one man and one woman. . . . Gloria! Welcome to the program.”
“Hi, Dr. Laura. First of all, I just want to say that, thanks to you, I’m my husband’s girlfriend and my kids’ mom.”
“Excellent. And how many kidlets, and what are their ages?”
“We have two sons, ages four and two. I’m a stay-at-home mom, and I’m planning on homeschooling my boys when the time comes.”
“Excellent, excellent. And what can I do for you today?”
Chapter Twelve
Marissa Oh
I hear the buzzer and run to the door. Look through the peephole. It’s Bree, thank god. I undo the chain. Turn the lock, slide the bolt back and let her in. “Hey,” I say. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure. What’s going on? You sounded so freaked-out on the phone.”
I take off the ball cap, remove my sunglasses. Watch her eyes widen. “Oh shit, Marissa! What happened?”
I try to strangle my sobs but can’t. She waits. “The motherfucker beat me up. That’s what.”
“Who? Matthew?”
I shake my head. Matthew’s a bartender where I waitress, a guy I’ve gone to bed with off and on. “Tristan McCabe,” I say.
“The actor? Jesus, Rissa. What the . . . ?” When she takes me in her arms, I hold on for dear life. It happened on Friday and now it’s Sunday afternoon. It’s been a long, scary weekend. I don’t want to let go of her because this is the first I’ve felt safe. “Okay,” she finally says. “Start from the beginning.”
I flop onto the couch and she sits down beside me. Takes my hand in hers. “You know my friend Ebony from acting class?” She shakes her head. “Yes, you do. I introduced you two at that Anthropologie in the Village?”
“The one who works there?”
“Yeah. She called me Friday afternoon. Asked me . . .” Bree pulls a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table and hands it to me. I wipe my eyes. Blow my nose.
“You want a glass of water or something? A Xanax?”
I shake my head. Tell her I took one of my roommate’s an hour ago. Bree asks where she is. “In Cancun with her boyfriend,
thank god,” I say. “If she knew about this, she’d probably get on Twitter and tell the whole world.”
“Okay. So Ebony called you.”
“She’s been having trouble making her rent. Plus, she’s way overextended on her credit cards. So she took out an ad on Craigslist.”
“What kind of ad?”
“You know.”
Bree’s eyes widen. “With all that ‘Craigslist killer’ stuff in the news? What is she? Crazy? God, I wouldn’t even put a listing in there when I was trying to sell my futon. Complete strangers coming up to my apartment. I don’t think so. But go on.”
“So she called me and asked if I wanted to make some easy money. And maybe some contacts.”
She frowns. “I don’t think I like where you’re going with this.”
“Bree, I haven’t had an acting job in like six months. And do you know why? Because in this shitty business, it’s all about who you know, who you can network with. Plus, Ebony said she had hooked up with Tristan the last time he was in town, and that he was really nice. Respectful. She met him at the hotel where he was staying and they had a few drinks in the bar. Then they went up to his room and all he wanted was a blow job. He paid her three hundred and tipped her an extra hundred on top of that.”
“For a ‘respectful’ blow job? Jesus Christ, Marissa.” She grabs a pillow and hugs it. “So?”
“So he called her this past Friday. Said he was in town to do some promos for that cop show he’s in, and could they hook up again? But this time he wanted her to bring a friend with her, preferably an Asian girl. That he had a thing for Asian girls.”
“Oh, please. What does he think? That he’s ordering off a menu? And you agreed to this?”
“Well, yeah. Because Showtime is casting for a new series they’re planning to film here in the city next year, okay? I had called about it, but they said they were only doing closed auditions. But Tristan told Ebony that the casting director is the sister of his college roommate, and that he could maybe make a call and get her in. So I thought that if I went there with her, it might open a door for me, too. He’s on network TV, Bree. He was in Band of Brothers. Do you know who produced that series? Tom Hanks!”