The announcer shouted out the kickoff, and the room exploded with cheers when the TV camera found LaVell Edwards standing on the sidelines, out of retirement to coach this one charity football game. Mary and I sat down with our friends.
While I watched the game, I worried only a little about my mother's commercial. Mostly I worried that there was no way I was going to be able to convince Quinn that he loved me and not Rebecca. I could see that.
The commercial started at halftime. “It's on,” someone said. And sure enough, there stood my mother in the outfit she had described: the Rocky Mountain Fitness Center outfit. The bright blue, spandex outfit. The bright blue, very tight, spandex outfit. I should never have worried about the towel. Mom had been right about that.
“Yeah, baby,” Dad shouted. Everyone laughed.
Everyone but me. At any other moment Dad's screech would have embarrassed me, but he didn't even stand a chance now.
What did it for me was that outfit. That tighter-than-tight, bright blue, spandex, let-me-see-both-your-bosoms-and-very-pregnant-body outfit. I felt my face drain of all color. The tip of my nose actually felt cold.
I glanced around the room at all the people grinning as the longest commercial ever made was aired on television.
Mom, I thought, looking back at our huge screen. My neck would hardly work. Oh, Mom.
On the front of Mom's exercise outfit was a picture of a man trying to lift a huge barbell. The weights dragged downward and the bar arched in the middle as he strained to lift the extreme weight. The problem with it, though, was where the weights ended up. Each side of the barbell landed right on top of one of my mom's huge bosoms. Why, it looked like the the fitness center guy was straining a gut to lift my mother's breasts.
All the blood in my body now rushed to my face.
“Oh no,” Mom said, “would you look at that outfit. Why, it looks like—”
I jumped to my feet. “Don't say it, don't say it,” I hollered.
Everyone in the room turned to stare at me.
“Say what?” Mom said.
“Don't say anything about… about… your thirty-two longs.”
Mom looked back at the TV, her head tilted like maybe she didn't know what I meant.
“My thirty-two longs?”
“Your thingies and the barbells,” I shouted. “How could you do this to me, Mom? How? And for the whole wide world to see.”
It was then that I ran. Right past Quinn and Rebecca, whose arms were slung around each other. Right past my father and mother, who looked at me with wide eyes. Right past Christian, whose mouth hung open, practically resting on his chest. When had he come in? The whole group of people, more than seventy of them, watched me run from the theater, and they all appeared surprised. Without a doubt this was not an intelligent group of individuals. As I hurried from the room I heard Mom say, “I meant I sure did look pregnant. What in the world did she mean…” And then, thank goodness, I was out of hearing range.
things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!
(when I get the list)
29. her fitness center exercise outfit
30. her FITNESS CENTER exercise outfit
31. HER FITNESS CENTER EXERCISE OUTFIT
My plan was to stay out in my little playhouse, hidden, until everyone left. Daddy had this place built for me when I was five, and even now I love it, though it's getting a bit small.
“Kyra,” I said, once I'd sneaked through my backyard so no one would see me. I hid behind trees till I came to the little gated house. I stepped over the knee-high fence and, ducking, went inside. “Kyra, hurry on here.”
I sat on a bed that ran the length of one wall. Things smelled musty. How long had it been since I'd played here? More than a year?
“Your mother, Kyra,” I said, looking around the room, “is a crazy. And your father is just as bad. They do goofball sorts of things and wear goofball clothes. They're both goofballs.” I wanted to cry, felt I needed to cry, that I must cry, but there were no tears.
So instead, I imagined Kyra, small like I had been, toddling around this room, maybe going to sit at the table that still held a china tea set. Kyra looked like I had, the same blond hair, the same big green eyes. In my imagination she sounded like me too.
“They are goofballs,” she said.
“I'll do my best to protect you from it,” I said. “I'll take care of you and we'll come out here when they start acting like weirdos. Of course, that'll mean we'll be here for the rest of our lives.”
I imagined Kyra playing with the tea set, picking up a cup and sipping pretend tea from it. “If we're both here, it won't be so bad.”
Ha! I thought. I lay back on the bed, bending my knees so I could get on it all the way.
Even if my mother and father had one million children, they would always be horrifying me. People thought Mom's talents were modeling and sculpting. People thought Dad's talent was starting computer companies. Well, everyone was wrong. My parents' talent was humiliating me. It was their goal in life. And man, if you asked me, they were succeeding.
I needed my list and I needed it now. If I had it in the playhouse with me, I'd write a thing or two. Maybe when things had calmed down inside—meaning when everyone had left— maybe then I could make a copy of the list and keep it out here. A person could never have too many lists.
things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!
32. her acting career
33. her exercise habits
34. modeling
35. being in the public eye
“Why, why, why,” I asked the ceiling, “why did she wear that exercise suit? She was bosoms and belly with a pretty face sitting on top.” I squinched my eyes closed at the memory. What had Quinn thought? Now he would never marry me. Rebecca wasn't my worst problem with Quinn. Neither was the ten-year age difference. My mother was my own worst enemy.
“I am twelve years old,” I said, “and my life is stinking over. I'll never be able to show my face in public again. Kyra, Kyra, this is what you have to look forward to.”
I took a deep breath and let out a “wah, wah, wah” sound, trying to cry. If I could just get this off my chest—no, I couldn't say that, because it made me think of Mom's thirty-two longs with the barbell guy—if I could just make myself feel better, I'd… well, feel better.
“Wah, wah, wah,” I said again.
It was then that I saw it. A bit of red that was not a little bird. Why, that was a bit of red that looked a lot like the sleeve of a T-shirt.
I sat up fast, the wah all knocked out of me. “Who's there?” I asked.
The sleeve quivered a moment, then moved out of sight of the window.
“Who is peeking in on me?” I said. What nerve! What nerve! How could anyone listen in on me during the darkest hour of my life? How?
I leapt to my feet and nearly knocked myself out on the low ceiling of the playhouse. Thunk, went my head.
“Ugh,” I said.
“Are you okay?” came a voice from outside.
“No,” I said. My voice was a moan. “Oh, no.”
Christian appeared in the doorway, stooped over so he could come inside where I staggered about, clutching my head, which was surely gushing blood all over me.
I glanced at him. “Am I bleeding?” I asked.
“Move your hand,” he said.
I did.
“Nope,” he said.
“Are you sure?” And then I said, “How long were you out there? How much did you hear? And hey, wait a minute. You… Christian Sumsion, you were listening in on me.”
Christian raised his eyebrows. “So,” he said.
“So? How can you stand there and say that, all hunched up in this playhouse? You… deceiver. And I'm injured. Are you sure there's no blood?”
“Deceiver,” Christian said, ignoring my question. “Listening in on a person makes someone a deceiver?”
“Yes it does, it certainly does.” I lowered myself back on the bed. Christian kept standi
ng there all stooped over, blocking the little doorway and the window, too.
“Well.” Christian's voice was a low sound. “Well, well, well.” He took a step toward me, his finger raised a bit. “Even if you listen in on me?”
I jumped to my feet again, fast as anything, but curved over too. I was nose-to-nose with him. “I did not know you were in my house talking to my mother until I heard you.”
“And you listened.”
“Of course I listened,” I said. “You were talking about me.”
Outside, a bird—not a red bird, I'm sure— sang a song. A hot breeze tried to breathe past Christian.
“You are a deceiver,” Christian said. “If I am, so are you.”
“I had to listen,” I said. “I had to. But you didn't. You saw me run out of there.” I flung my arm toward my house, nearly jabbing Christian in the eye. He ducked out of the way just in time. “You saw her ruin my life. My whole life.”
Now I turned and took three baby steps, till I was nose to nose with the wall. I heard Christian move too, but I didn't look around.
“I'll never be able to leave this place. Ever. I'll have to grow old here.” I raised both arms, and my fingertips brushed the ceiling first and then the walls. “I'm so embarrassed.”
Now I could cry. Now I was going to cry. Right here in this little room, with Christian breathing down my neck, I was going to cry a lake of tears.
“I know what it's like to be embarrassed,” Christian said.
I turned, sniffing, batting my eyelashes to keep the tears back. “You do?”
He nodded. “Sure. I was horrified. I didn't want you to hear those things I said.”
Christian and I were so close I could smell the spearmint of his chewing gum. We were so close I could see the dark blue of his eyes. We were so close I could have kissed him right then and there. My heart fluttered. Oh! I… wait a minute. He is cute.
I looked away, toward the tiny tea set on the little table. “I'm sorry for listening in on you that day,” I said.
There was no sound in the playhouse now, except for the yard noises that drifted in through the open windows: crickets and the one bird that kept whistling.
“Well,” Christian said. “I'm sorry too.”
It was then that I heard the whine of the ambulance as it came down the street, getting
louder and louder. “Listen,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It's an ambulance. So?” “It's coming here,” I said. And with that, all
bent over, I pushed Christian aside and ran.
I rushed to the house just in time to see two EMTs hurrying down the stairs with a stretcher. I heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Folks, please back up. We need room to work here. Please.”
Mom lay on the floor in the theater with a crowd of seventy-five gathered around her. I had to stand on the buffet table to see this, there were that many onlookers. Christian climbed up beside me.
From my perch I could see a few bald heads, a bunch of kids, a lot of grown-ups, Mary—grinning her head off—Mom on the floor and Dad kneeling beside her. Only my father looked worried.
“Hi, Laurie,” Mom said when she saw me above everybody else. “Guess what? My water broke.”
“During the party?” I asked, but she couldn't hear me. The crowd was talking.
“Isn't this wonderful?” one woman said.
“And what a day to have a baby. During the charity game with LaVell Edwards coaching.” This was a guy.
“I'm so glad I came,” said Mrs. Fangle, a lady who goes to our church. “I love a new life.”
Then someone said, “I feel faint,” right as the paramedics managed to cut a hole through the spectators.
“Please let us through,” one of the paramedics said. “People, please let us through.” He knelt, crooked, beside my mother. “I need some room to maneuver,” and then, “Oh, Mrs. Stephan. How are you?”
“I'm having a baby,” Mom said. “A baby! Isn't that wonderful?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the paramedic said. He smiled like nothing else. Apparently he hadn't seen the commercial. “I just saw your commercial back at the station. You know, the one for Rocky Mountain Fitness Center?”
By now the second guy had made his way through the group. “Yeah, Mrs. Stephan. You looked fantastic. My wife's pregnant and now she's planning on joining the gym because of you. She called and told me so.” He turned to the crowd and addressed everyone. “Only very close friends can be here now. The rest of you leave, please.”
No one budged. “We're all good friends,” someone said.
“That's right,” Mom said. “They're all wonderful friends. Aren't I lucky?” Mom clasped her hands under her chin. “A new baby, a beautiful daughter”—here she pointed at me—“and all these friends.”
“I feel faint,” a squeaky voice said.
“Then we'll all just have to clear the room,” the second paramedic said. “Everybody please leave.”
“Aww,” someone said, disappointed, as the crowd began to shuffle away.
“That's not fair,” Maggie said. I waved to her from the table as she went past.
Mary, though, climbed up beside me, the remains of sliced meats and potato salad at her feet. “You're back, Laura,” Mary said.
I nodded, then gave her a fake smile. “I told you the commercial was going to be awful.” It was true. For days I had worried her about the will-Mom-wear-a-towel-only problem. I would have been luckier if she had. Why, this had turned out to be a showing, an unveiling, a peep show, for heaven's sake.
things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!
36. peep shows for paramedics
The room cleared out except for Dad, Mary, Christian and me. And the paramedics, of course.
“Let's get you up and check your vitals, Mrs. Stephan,” the first paramedic said.
“I feel queasy.”
“Dad?” I said from the table.
Dad looked at me, face white as a cloud. “Hi, honey,” he said, then he fainted dead away.
On August 13 at 5:43 P.M. Kyra Leigh Stephan was born, with a revived father sitting hunched in a chair. I know 'cause I was there, standing beside my mom as it all happened. It was pretty cool, especially after they got Kyra cleaned up and wrapped in a blanket. I was the third person to hold her, not including Dr. MacArthur and the nurse.
That evening at about seven-thirty I went home to pack a bag so I could spend the night with Mary, while Dad—still recovering—took care of Mom and Kyra Leigh. All three of them would be home in twenty-four hours.
“I don't want to be long from you, Laurie girl,” Mom had said as I walked out the door with Mary's mom.
All the way home Mary and Mrs. Wolf chatted about how beautiful Kyra was (they saw her through the glass) and how lucky I was to have a new sister.
“I know,” I kept saying. And I meant it. A sister. A sister for me. A small bundle just for me.
At my house I promised Mary that I'd hurry on over. She wanted to stay with me, but there was something I had to do. Something I had to do alone.
Quick-like I packed a few things, including books, for the night's stay. Then I made my way into Mom's studio. Soft evening light poured in through the windows as I looked at all Mom's art.
There were statues of me and of Noah's ark, animals included. There were statues of girls reading and parents together with a child. And then, on her worktable, I saw her most recent piece, the new baby.
In that warm evening light I looked at the clay statue, so close to being done. All Mom had to do was add a few finishing touches.
I picked up the clay baby and examined her. She was perfect, curled in sleep, just the way Kyra Leigh had lain on Mom's chest before I left the hospital. This statue's eyes were shut and delicate wisps of hair graced the forehead. The lips were parted, almost as if she had just finished eating. Her toes were tiny and had wrinkles.
I thought of tiny Kyra Leigh then. I sure was happy she was around to share the parental burden
. We were going to have fun together, the two of us.
“Boogie nights,” I said. It just seemed right.
I'm not sure what I expected from Mom when she came home, but I can tell you straight up I didn't get it. Or maybe I did.
I thought she would have changed. You know, lost all her embarrassing ways. Birthed a baby and at the same time gotten rid of the way she upset me. That didn't happen at all.
Three days after Mom and Kyra Leigh came home, I found them asleep on the sofa. Mom lay on her back, her head turned a little to the side. Kyra Leigh was curled on Mom's chest, a tiny bundle tucked up tight.
Even resting, Mom's arms wrapped around Kyra Leigh like a protective nest, keeping my sister safe and the two of them close.
Watching her, lying there so still, holding on to that tiny baby, I was filled with love.
“Oh, Mom,” I whispered. I wanted to say more, to say how happy I was that she was home and all right, how happy I was that Kyra Leigh was here too. But I couldn't. The words wouldn't come.
With great care I knelt next to the sofa. Using my fingertips to help me balance, I leaned forward and kissed Kyra Leigh's little head. I breathed in deep, smelling her goodness, her babyness.
I rocked back on my heels and squeezed my eyes shut. I could hear Mom and Kyra Leigh's breathing. I felt so… so… I can't even tell you the word, I felt so right.
Whispering again, I said, “Thank you.” This was to God, the guy who had been on vacation during the past few months of my life while Mom horrified me. He must have been watching me a little, though. Here was Kyra Leigh.
I looked at Mom then. I felt so full of love that I thought I'd bust wide open with it. I leaned forward to kiss her cheek. I didn't want to wake her but I couldn't help the way I felt.
That's when I saw the drool. A steady stream of spit that had actually darkened the pillow near Mom's face. My lips were but a few inches away from the slime.
“Gack,” I said, falling away from Mom.
Good stinking grief. The woman was nearly forty, and a model. How could she let spit run like that? It was embarrassing. It was sickening. It was…