A Mother to Embarrass Me

  “I know it,” Christian said. “I've known it since we were six.”

  “That is so sweet!” Mom sounded a little choked-up.

  Since we were six? What in the heck was that supposed to mean?

  “I wouldn't even talk to you about this, but I know you know her and…”

  “I do know her,” Mom said. “Sometimes.”

  Sometimes? I leaned my head a little, pushing my left ear toward their conversation.

  “Well, yeah,” said Christian. “And see, I know she likes Quinn and…”

  He knew I liked Quinn? How… I mean… what… I mean… why… I mean… it showed? I clutched at my pajama top with one hand and came half a swallow away from choking myself on my own spit.

  “Well, every time I'm with her…” Christian stopped talking for a second. “Are you okay, Mrs. Stephan? Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?”

  I heard Mom give a sniff.

  “No,” she said, and her voice was all squeaky. “It's just that sometimes she's so unhappy with me that to hear you talk about her like this reminds me of when she was younger. And nice.” Mom said “nice” like Lucy does on I Love Lucy when she's crying. I felt my face go red. I clenched my fist tighter. Hey now.

  There was some more sniffing. It gave me a chance to think. I really had been doing better. At least for a week now I had been nice. I mean, I had said nothing about the Elmo slippers since that tragic, embarrassing event was over. And I could have. I really could have.

  “I'm better now, Christian. Go ahead.” Mom blew her nose. I hoped she had found some tissues. This had to be added to the list.

  things to change about MY MOTHER!!!!!!!

  24. blowing her nose on inappropriate articles

  Now that she's pregnant, she picks up anything and blows. She's so weepy she has to, she says. Laundry has doubled because she grabs washcloths, hand towels and sometimes even the corners of sheets. “I get runny like this,” she told me after I asked why she had used the pink guest towel when she was so close to toilet paper. “It happened with you, too. I was runny then as well. Only, this pregnancy is worse.”

  My mother is an embarrassing faucet, for heaven's sake. Runny. It was disgusting. And now she was sharing her drippiness with a neighbor. Was nothing sacred in our home? Not even our snot?

  I had to see what was going on. Eavesdropping was no longer enough.

  I moved up a step closer, careful not to make any noise. If only I could watch the two of them.

  “I like her, Mrs. Stephan. I think she's great. But I don't know what to do about it.”

  “Have some melon,” Mom said.

  “Thanks.”

  He liked me? Me? My heart gave a little leap of surprise.

  There was a quiet moment. I stretched out a bit, trying to make my neck giraffe-like. If only I could get a glimpse of them.

  “I know guys aren't supposed to talk to girls' mothers, but I've known you forever too. I think you're great. The way you were when you almost burned down the house. Anyone else would have freaked. And my mom is always saying you're easy to talk to. It's true.”

  “Why, thank you, Christian.”

  I could just see the corner of the bar in the kitchen. I climbed up one more step and stretched a bit more.

  “I appreciate your talking to me, Chris. You're a good kid. And I think Laurie knows it.”

  Laura, Mom. The name is Laura.

  “I hope so. I want to ask her to the movies. Do you think she'd go?”

  I leaned a bit farther, angling my body in an awkward/shape, my head the dot at the top.

  “Do I think she'd go? Well, she is a little young for a date. But if you took a few more people with you and let me take you to the theater and sit in the back, I think she might.”

  Mom! My mouth dropped open and I got a tiny whiff of my own morning breath. My hand slipped and I teetered for a moment, trying to catch myself. My right arm crumpled beneath me, and with my left hand I made a grab for the banister. But none of that helped.

  I fell, my forehead hitting hard on the edge of the top step. I fell right into Mom and Christian's view. “Ow,” I said.

  Christian looked at me wide-eyed. He seemed to be frozen in place, holding a fork with a piece of melon stuck in it halfway to his open mouth.

  Mom gave a slight scream, then a sniff. She grabbed at the green kitchen towel.

  I slumped onto the steps as if I were unconscious. I felt quite uncomfortable.

  “Laurie,” Mom said. I heard her pad over to where I lay and knew that if I “awakened,” I'd be eyeball to eyeball with Elmo.

  Mom's cool hand touched my cheek.

  “She was listening to us,” Christian said. His voice sounded muffled, like maybe he was speaking from behind his hands. “I can't believe she was listening to us.”

  I heard the stool scoot back on the marble floor, and Christian took off, walking fast. “Goodbye,” he said.

  “Wait,” Mom said, and then she left my “unconscious” body lying there on the stairs. “Christian. Don't go angry. She's a Curious George.”

  “I gotta go,” Christian said. “She heard.”

  The front door opened and slammed shut. At that moment I heard, from behind me, Mary and Maggie coming up the steps.

  “Laura?” Mary said.

  I didn't move.

  “What's she doing?” Maggie asked. “Why is she lying here partway in the kitchen?”

  They were right next to me. I felt someone sit down near my feet.

  “I think she's faking it,” Mary said.

  Faking it? Some friend she was.

  I heard Mom then, coming back toward me.

  “Oh, girls. Good morning,” she said. “Breakfast is ready. Go get dressed, then come eat. And Laurie, quit acting, get up and go brush. Your teeth are wearing fuzzy yellow sweaters and I'm sure your breath is bad.”

  I opened one eye and looked in the general direction of my mother. “Where am I?” I asked, making my voice sound faint.

  Mom raised her eyebrows. “You and I have to have a little talk when you're done, young lady, so get going.”

  I went.

  The first thing I did, before Mom caught me and started our little “chat,” was grab my list and add something.

  things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!

  25. talking about me behind my back

  Mom waited till after breakfast for the three-hour lecture on why it's rude to listen in on a private conversation (“But you were talking about me!” “And your point is… ?”) and why feigning a concussion could be a dangerous pastime (“For heaven's sake, Mom. I had to do something. I'd just fallen into the room where I was listening in on the two of you.” “And now we see why private conversations should be kept private”).

  It seemed like Mom spent every minute of the next few days telling me why I should be really nice to Christian. At least every minute she was home. The rest of the time she spent at the fitness center taping her commercial. She wouldn't tell me what she was wearing in the ad. All she would say was, “It's going to be a surprise, Laurie girl. But I can't wait for you to see it.” I can wait, I thought. I can wait a long, long time.

  One afternoon we were on the way to Dr. MacArthur's office for Mom's monthly checkup when she started talking about Christian again.

  “He's a nice boy, that Christian,” Mom said. “He reminds me of your dad.”

  “Christian's not a geek,” I said. I stared out the window as we passed through Springville and traveled toward Provo. Traffic was a bit lighter than normal because most of the BYU students were gone for the summer.

  “Well, Laurie, neither is your father.” Mom smiled at some remembrance. “I'll never forget the first time I saw him.”

  Oh no, I thought. Not a memory trip. I rolled my eyes, then pretended I'd never been more interested in the houses built near Ironton than I was at that moment.

  “He was so cute. Vogue was here in Utah, doing a shoot in Park City.”

/>   “I know the story,” I said. I felt kind of grouchy. My forehead still had a red mark on it from where I had smacked the step. Mary and Maggie had laughed their heads off when I told them what happened, and Mom's lecture hadn't helped any.

  Mom didn't stop talking or smiling. “I know you do,” she said. “But I like the story. It makes me feel good to think about it.”

  What it made me feel was weird.

  “A bunch of other models and I headed down to Provo because we heard there were places to dance there.”

  I kept staring out the window. Every other person I knew loved to hear the story of how their mom and dad met. Not me. Not now. Not since the change.

  “He was a bouncer at the place we went.” Mom giggled. “A BYU bouncer.”

  What was so funny about that?

  Mom seemed to read my mind. “As if an off-campus BYU dance would need a bouncer. We saw each other and it was like… well, Laurie, I've never told anyone this, but it was love at first sight.”

  “You've told me that,” I said.

  We were in Provo now, headed up University Avenue, a street lined with old shops and trees. The mountains were golden from the summer heat. Mom headed on up the road. She kept talking.

  “When I saw your father—and I knew right then he was going to be your father, I just knew I was going to have all girls. That's what I wanted, all girls. Anyway, when I saw your dad standing there in his dark pants and white shirt and tie, I wanted to go ask him to dance.”

  “And you did,” I said.

  Mom grinned big now, her puffy cheeks looking puffier than normal with her smile.

  “And I did,” she said. “I walked right over and said, ‘Hey, you wanna boogie?’ And your father said, ‘Sure.’ And then we were dancing so that everybody in the room watched.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “Especially if Daddy danced like he did at my boy-girl party.”

  “Now—” Mom said, but I interrupted her.

  “Did people really say ‘boogie’?” I couldn't look at her when I asked the question, the word was just too horrifying. Boogie seemed to me a baby word for something that comes out of your nose.

  “You bet,” Mom said. Lucky for me, we were at a red light and the car was stopped. Lucky for me also that all the windows were up to keep out the heat, because Mom threw back her head and crowed—and I mean crowed—“Get down, boogie-oogie-oogie. Whooo-oooo!”

  I glanced at her, then looked away again. I noticed that my reflection was pink.

  Mom turned at Magleby's Restaurant, a place where they know us by name, we come in so often. She started the final bit of driving to Dr. MacArthur's office.

  I wanted to look at her, stare at her, will her never to shout such a word in such a loud voice, but I never got the chance. Mom braked hard, throwing me forward. Just one mile an hour faster and I'm sure the air bag would have popped out, possibly killing me. That would have made my embarrassing mother feel bad.

  “Mom,” I said. “What in the world?” My voice sounded angry.

  “It's Gary Price's new piece.”

  I looked at the sculptures that circled the small lawn in front of Magleby's.

  “I just love his stuff,” Mom said. She put the car in park and climbed out, Elmo slippers and all, to get a closer look. The lunch crowd had gathered on the lawn, waiting for a table inside.

  I stared out my window so no one would see that I was with the pregnant Elmo lady. “Mom.” I breathed the word and a bit of steam touched the glass. I would have rested my head, but my injury hurt still. I hoped I wasn't permanently damaged.

  Mom climbed back into the car. She was huffing a little. “I used to be in such good shape,” she said. “Now I can hardly walk and bend over without getting out of breath.”

  “Hmim,” I said. I tried to make it appear that I was not ignoring my mother.

  Mom touched me on the arm. “Laurie, honey,” she said. “Listen. Christian is a good boy. And he's just right for you. Quinn is… he's too old.”

  “No more lectures, Mom,” I said. “Please. You're going to be late.” I nodded at the little quartz clock, and she shifted into gear and drove us straight to Dr. MacArthur's office.

  I went in for Mom's checkup so I could hear the baby's heartbeat.

  “Urine specimen,” the nurse said once we were in the checkup room. “Here's your cup.” She handed Mom a small Dixie cup.

  “For me?” Mom said. “Well, maybe I'm a little thirsty.” She faked like she was taking a sip of something, then made a face.

  “Gross, Mom,” I said. I looked at the nurse, who was grinning her head off. It's not that funny, I thought, but I didn't say anything.

  “Go do your thing, Jimmey,” the nurse said.

  “Yeah, Mom.” I was mumbling.

  “Time to go pee-pee,” Mom said.

  “Thanks for the news flash,” I said. I looked toward a large poster of a huge, naked pregnant woman. You would think peeing in a cup would be a private thing, but even the naked poster woman watched us. Mom waddled into the bathroom, and I waited where her blood pressure would be checked as well as her Dixie cup of surprises.

  “Everyone pees here,” the nurse said. She smiled at me. “I bet even you do.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said. I felt my face turn red. “Sometimes.”

  Mom came back in the room and presented the cup like it was a gift. “Here you go, Kathy,” she said.

  “Hop on the scale.”

  Mom did.

  Kathy, the nurse, moved the weights on the scale. “One fifty-three,” she said after a moment.

  Mom gave a groan. “I hope it's all baby. A thirty-five-pound baby.”

  “Blood pressure,” Kathy said. And then, “You are going on eight months pregnant. This is when the baby puts on all its weight.”

  “Her weight,” I said. “The baby's a girl, huh, Mom?” I climbed up on the scale after Mom sat down at a small table, and began adjusting things to find out how much I weighed. The nurse started working to find Mom's blood pressure.

  “Whoa,” said the nurse. “It's getting up there, Jimmey.”

  “What do you mean?” Mom's voice sounded funny. I turned and looked at her.

  “Let me check again,” the nurse said, and pumped up the black band around Mom's arm.

  “One sixty over ninety-two,” she said, like she was thinking. “Dr. MacArthur can talk to you about this,” Kathy said, and hustled Mom into an examination room.

  things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!

  26. public pee-pee

  27. saying “let's boogie”—perhaps this word can be stricken from the world's vocabulary as well.

  Mom cried all the way through Provo, then through Springville, and into Mapleton. I patted her hand.

  She didn't joke with me, not even once, but she did run a red light because, she said, she couldn't see through the tears.

  Dad waited for us at home. Mom had just opened the car door when he swept into the garage, scooped her up and carried her inside.

  I followed, listening to them talk. Mom was sobbing now.

  “The doctor said”— Mom gulped air between all the words—“bed rest.”

  “Now, now,” Dad said.

  “Me on bed rest, I don't think I can do it.” Mom looked at me over Dad's shoulder. “Who'll take care of Laurie?”

  “Mom,” I said. “I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “Now, now,” Dad said again. He chugged up the stairs like a train. Mom was his weeping cargo.

  “He said that this could make the baby come early. She could be here too soon.”

  That's when Mom broke into such sobs that even my eyes got a little wet listening to her sadness.

  When Dad said, “Now, now,” the third time, I could hear how sad he was too. Maybe Mom would be great in a commercial. I mean, she was making us all sad, and over bed rest, for heaven's sake.

  “Danny,” she said. Her words were a little mumbled because her face was presse
d into his neck. “I couldn't stand to lose this baby. I've been feeling her move for so many months now. I couldn't stand it.”

  “Don't talk that way,” Dad said. “Kyra's going to be just fine.”

  Kyra, I thought. They already named her? Somehow the name made this unborn baby even more real in my mind. Sure, I had seen her image in the ultrasound. I had also seen her moving in my mother, rolling. Seen what Mom said was an elbow or a foot, pushing like it wanted freedom. But I hadn't realized they had chosen a name for my sister.

  “Five babies dead is too many already,” Mom said. “This one has to live.”

  “Don't say that,” Dad said. “The doctor said bed rest, so that's what we'll do. You have just a few weeks before your due date. Kyra can be born at any time and be just fine.”

  Down the hall we went, me following behind my parents, so that I almost stepped on Dad's heels.

  “Laura,” Dad said when he had settled Mom on the bed. “Go get your mother her pajamas.”

  I hurried to Mom's tall bureau and pulled open her pajama drawer. Mom has a million nighties. She says she inherited her love of night-clothes from the grandmother she was named after, Jimmey Doris. Only, Mom's name is just plain Jimmey. I never met this grandmother, because she died before I was born, but I can't imagine that she had the pajama collection my mother has. Some are flannel things with feet, some are long, silky things with lots of lace, some are just plain cotton with pictures of Winnie-the-Pooh or Peter Rabbit.

  “What do you want?” I asked her.

  Dad had removed the Elmo slippers and was rubbing Mom's feet. She sniffed now, using the corner of the pale yellow sheet to dab at her nose.

  “My Anne Geddes,” she said.

  I dug through the nightgowns until I found one that was a creamy blue color. On the front was a picture of three babies with purple flowers on their heads. Two grinned and one looked like she had just gotten through crying.

  I took the clothing over to Mom, and Dad helped her change. The whole time he talked to her in soothing tones, but I didn't really listen to him. I just thought of Mom, and all those babies she had lost and how I had seen baby Kyra myself in that picture so long ago.