A Bump in the Road (8 page)

I was so busy Googling Mule Face’s new boyfriend yesterday I completely forgot about this weekend’s trip: the Famous In-Law Weekend Camping Extravaganza with the Grandalskis. Unfortunately, my recently discovered “delicate condition” does not, in any way, preclude me from participating. I’ve asked Jake many times.

I am so
not
looking forward to the campfire sing-alongs and the eating of nonperishable food. We aren’t sleeping in tents or anything but we’re staying in a gross cabin with bare-bones indoor plumbing while being expected to do “outdoorsy” things like sit around a campfire while battling giant woods-dwelling insects and wildlife. I am also not looking forward to sharing a tiny cabin with my husband and my in-laws. Oh, and Natalie, Jake’s sister-in-law, who I only recently stopped wishing would fall into a deep, dark hole. My mother-in-law, Marianne, invited her to stay with us since her husband, Doug, is out of town this weekend.

Recap: Five adults crammed into a tiny cabin in the middle of the woods.

It sounds like the opening scenes of a slasher movie.

I hope I get killed first. (Although I realize I probably won’t since I will be sober all weekend. The sluts and the drunks always get killed first. Lucky bastards.)

My readers thoughtfully suggested some tips to make the weekend easier, all of which include massive quantities of alcohol and/or illegal drugs. They would normally be very good suggestions. Wifey1025 asked if she could come. I had to tell her no, I don’t think the Grandalskis would be open to inviting strangers from the Internet. Also, please stop asking me if I want to take knitting classes together.

11:00
P.M.

I haven’t fallen asleep yet thanks to Jake’s dad. Moaning. In his sleep. All night long. Seriously. As though he’s having some erotic dream. One I’m sure doesn’t involve his wife.

It’s been a horrible start to a sure-to-be-torturous weekend. Even the drive out here was painful. It went something like this:

“Look! See! I told you!” I shoved my cell phone an inch from Jake’s face and hysterically pointed at my continually weakening signal as we tried to find the campground.

He pushed my hand out of his face. “Jesus, I can barely see the road.” He squinted and leaned forward.

Ignoring him, I continued my cell phone tirade. “Jake, what did I tell you about my phone signal? That anywhere you can’t get a signal is probably not a good place to be! What happens if I accidentally chop my finger off and need to be rushed to the ER? What will happen then? Do they even have 911 out here? What if there’s an emergency at home, like our apartment burning down? How will anyone get ahold of us?” I sadly watched the last bar of my signal disappear, and peered out the window into the darkness. “This probably means I won’t get a wireless signal either, huh?”

“Did you honestly expect to be able to use the Internet while camping?”

“Yes, I did. The entire civilized world has wireless. Except for this hillbilly pocket in the middle of nowhere.” I paused. “I don’t think we’re going to find it. I mean, it’s already late and we should probably stay in that nice Holiday Inn Express we passed a while back.”

“Lake Park Campground!” Jake turned into a fenced-in area and an ancient old man waved us through the gate. Apparently they have security guards at campgrounds. Do people actually try to sneak in? Or is it to keep people from escaping once they see the bathroom facilities?

We drove through the campground and
Christ
.

I swear I heard banjos playing as we passed a giant RV with neon beer signs (which made me quite sad since it served as a reminder that Bud Light is, indeed, cold and refreshing), some plastic lawn animals, and a NASCAR sign.

“Hey look! There’s Julie’s relatives!” Jake said.

“Leave Julie alone. She may have grown up in a trailer but at least she has the smarts to stay the fuck away.”

“I swear, I didn’t know it was going to be this bad,” he said.

I looked over at him. His eyes met mine and he spit out an explosion of laughter as tears poured from his eyes.

“YOU KNEW IT WAS LIKE THIS, DIDN’T YOU? RIGHT? RIGHT?”

He didn’t answer me; he was too busy gasping for breath and hyperventilating.

I poked him in the ribs and stuck my finger in his face. “You owe me BIG TIME for this. And I mean Big. Time. Big time like chick flicks for a year, new designer bag big time.”

He nodded, still coughing from lack of oxygen.

“Do you think Carrie is here yet?” I asked. “Thank God she’s coming.”

“Ummm, mmmm,” Jake responded.

Which was Not. Good.

“She’s still coming, right?”

“Yep. She and Patrick are still coming,” pause, “tomorrow.”

“WHA?”

“Oh, look, we’re here.” I continued to stare at him as we pulled up to a giant buslike RV thing surrounded by a few tiny cabins and a bunch of those pop-out trailer/camper things.

I peered through the windshield out into the darkness and made out a shitload of Jake’s elderly relatives. They sat all circled around the fire, probably telling stories about how kids today don’t appreciate nature the way they did and how our society’s tolerance of gays will bring us eternal suffering in the afterlife.

I also saw enough kids to fill a day care center, running around and beating each other with sticks.

I’m so lucky. I get to spend the weekend with old farts and a bunch of kids.

And Marianne.

I got out of the car cautiously, like an animal testing its surroundings. One of the stick children spotted us and ran over to the old people.

“SOME WEIRD PEOPLE ARE HERE!”

Marianne saw us and ran over.

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Grandalski!”

“Marianne, it’s still Finnegan.”

She tittered. “Oh, you modern girls! I just don’t know what to
do with you! You know, in my day, there wasn’t such a thing as a stay-at-home mom or a stay-at-home wife. You were just a wife and a mother. Your family was your priority, you know. Not your career, you know.”

Another “In My Day” story. She forgets she’s the same age as my mother, the bra-burning, protest-attending, card-carrying member of NOW.

“Er, uh, yeah! Hello to you, too. Where’s Natalie?”

“Oh, she’s lying down in the cabin. She has terrible morning sickness. You know, her pregnancy is considered high-risk.”

Yeah, probably because she could stand to lose a couple hundred pounds.

“That’s too bad.”

“Yes, dear. I’ve really had to be there for her lately. You know, since her own relationship with her mother is not so strong. She’s really become the daughter I’ve never had.”

“Where’s Doug again?” Jake asked.

“On a business trip,” she said.

Right. He probably just wanted a weekend away from his wife. I’m sticking to my theory that when Doug proposed he was either (a) severely wasted, or (b) a contestant on an unaired reality show.

We made our way past the children accosting each other with lumber, who are apparently all Jake’s third cousins or something, and over to the old people. After a quick hello, I settled down into a folding soccer chair and within sixty seconds a gross beetle thing landed on my boob. I screamed and jumped up, frantically trying to bat it off my chest. Jake came over and knocked it off. All the little kids, watching me very intently, exploded in laughter because I yelled, “Get it off! Get it off! It’s on my BOOB!” while flailing around as though on fire.

I decided five minutes of nature was enough and Marianne showed me the way to our cabin.

I pushed the door open and immediately saw Natalie inside, sprawled out on the couch, moaning.

“Well, hi! How are you? How are you feeling?”

“Oh, hello, Clare.” She didn’t look thrilled to see me.

“How’s my sweet girl doing?” Marianne asked.

“Horrible. I have excruciating gas pains.”

Jake walked in behind us. “So, is this our place? Hey, Natalie,” he said.

She responded by farting.

“Yes, it is,” I said, a little too quickly.

There was a long awkward pause as we all stood there, shoulder-to-shoulder in the tiny space, silent except for Natalie’s ass.

“Well, we should go,” Jake said, and practically shoved me out the door.

Marianne followed us out and a thought suddenly occurred to me.

“Marianne, where are we supposed to sleep? I saw the futon and the loft with the air mattress but what about us?”

Her mouth twitched. “Well, the table and benches fold into a bed.”

Yes, the table and benches MacGyver their way into a bed. A bed I am expected to sleep in with a six-three man for two nights. It is such bullshit. The futon was supposed to be ours and that bitch Natalie is sprawled out on it like a princess while Jake and I sleep on a table. She wasn’t even supposed to come this weekend but Jake’s brother had to torture all of us by going out of town knowing his fat pregnant wife can’t possibly be alone for more than an hour.

“Maybe Natalie could sleep on it since there’s two of us?” I suggested.

Marianne looked surprised. “Clare, she’s preparing for childbirth. She needs some space.”

I should’ve slept in the car like a homeless person.

Jake did the polite thing and joined the old people around the campfire while I leaned against the RV and tried to block out what I was hearing—something about how Pat Robertson and the 700
Club
are so inspiring. I looked around at the other campsites, located surprisingly close to ours. I thought this was supposed to be a quiet, relaxing
time in the woods, not hanging out with our family
and
the weirdos next to us.

After an hour, I decided it was time to go pass out. Natalie was already asleep, snoring lightly. I fiddled with the bed/table/bench until I got it somewhat flat.

And so here I am, lying on an incline, listening to Frank’s erotic dreams and Natalie’s occasional farts.

Oh, thank sweet Jesus. Carrie is coming today. At least I’ll have someone here who won’t try to convince me hiking is really peaceful or sleeping in the open air is refreshing.

9:30
A.M.

Me: “Where is she? You said they’d be here in the morning.”

Jake: “Relax. Patrick and I have a noon tee time. They’ll be here.”

9:45
A.M.

Me: “Maybe they’re lost. I could call them if this horrible phone would get a signal.”

10:05
A.M.

Me: “Let me try your phone. Ah! Praise the Lord! I think you have some juice. NO! Fuck. I just lost it.”

11:01
A.M.

Me: “Where. The. Hell. Are. They. Your mother is trying to convince me to go to some Amish cheese shop with her. I need someone NORMAL to hang out with.”

11:20
A.M.

They’re here!

2:00
P.M.

I love Carrie.

When she and Patrick arrived, I raced over to their car before it even came to a standstill. I saw their looks of slight alarm behind their sunglasses. I’m sure I’d be afraid, too, if some crazed woman wearing lotion-smudged sweatpants threw herself in front of my car.

“Hi! Hi! Hi!” I spurted, waving vigorously.

Patrick rolled down his window and poked his head out. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Screw you,” I said.

Carrie got out of the passenger side and pushed her sunglasses back onto her head, fanning out her perfectly highlighted hair.

“Hey, Clare. Looks like you’ve been having fun.”

“You have no idea. I’m
dying
here! Thank the dear Lord that you guys are here. You won’t
believe
the things I’ve seen!”

“Hey, everybody! It’s some of them city folk we’ve been hearing about!” Jake yelled across the campsite in a fake twang. He walked over and bear-hugged Carrie. “How’s my favorite girl?”

“Fab. I think you should be asking your wife that question.”

“Whatever, you have no—Whoa!” I shrieked.

All three of their heads snapped in unison to look at me.

“What is THAT?” I grabbed Carrie’s left hand and nearly went blind from the sunbeams coming off of the giant diamond.

A smile appeared on her face. “Just last night.”

“Congratulations!” Jake slapped Patrick on the back. “Welcome to the family. Let’s get you guys settled in so we can hear the details.” He grabbed their bags and headed over toward the throng of campers.

After Patrick and Carrie got settled in, the guys left to make their tee time and Carrie and I found some lawn chairs and started leafing through all of the trashy tabloid magazines I brought.

“So, where’s Natalie?” Carrie asked me while picking up a copy of
InTouch
.

“Locked away in the cabin farting.”

“Ew. Natalie.” She wrinkled her nose.

Seriously. I love her.

“Hey, girls! Do you two want to come antiquing with us in town?” Marianne asked.

“No thanks,” we both answered quickly.

“So what’s new, Aunt Marianne?” Carrie asked.

“Oh, you know. Spending time with Natalie and looking forward to our first grandchild. I’ve also joined a book club.”