Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (17 page)

“Like we said, homework, strictly homework.” I try to act normal and swipe a finger full of frosting, dodging my hand out of the way before Althea whaps it. “Besides, you've met Mary Carlson and you said she had nice manners.” I open my eyes wide, begging for mercy.

She breaks, a crinkle creasing the corner of her eyes and a cluck settling on her tongue. She won't tell. “Yes, I did. Good manners are a blessing and a virtue, not like that other friend of yours.” Then she whispers under her
breath, “It's a good thing I got here when I did to make sure that virtue stays intact.”

Mary Carlson doesn't hear and noses at the cake. “What other friend?”

I look at Althea in panic. She arches an eyebrow. Our silent language is fluent.

“Oh, just this old friend of mine in Atlanta. She was always trying to get me in trouble. Althea never trusted her.”

Mary Carlson nods when Althea measures out a huge piece of cake with the knife. “You and unsavory sorts? I can't imagine.” She glances sideways at me. “You're such a
good
girl.” She smirks and lifts a forkful of deep red cake to her mouth.

Her word emphasis doesn't go unnoticed by Althea, which makes me want to crawl into a hole and die. But now I need to make sure Althea doesn't rat me out. Because then I
will
be in hot water.

When we finish our cake, I stand up. “I'm taking Mary Carlson upstairs for a minute. She
hasn't
seen my room.”

We clomp up the stairs. My room is the first one on the right. Mary Carlson steps gently inside, taking in my mom's black and white photographs of trees and flowers.

She turns in a circle. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Where are you in this room? I don't see my Jo.”

Her possessive pronoun turns on the warmth. It rushes from my legs to my chest to my cheeks. “It didn't make sense to put stuff up. I'm only going to be in this room for a year.”

She grabs my hand. “You can put up pictures of your friends, and then I'll be there. Smiling at you all the time.”

“Maybe you can pick one out. I do have that empty corkboard.”

“Consider it done.” We step in toward each other and stand nose to nose, her head tilted down, mine tilted up, fingers laced. Mary Carlson speaks first. “So, I guess our plans got changed.”

“Yeah. If I tell Althea you were planning on spending the night, I'll get grief from Three and Dad.”

“I think that's so weird. I mean, most parents would be glad to have their kid have a friend over if they're not home. For safety. It's not like you're some huge party animal.”

I lift my shoulder. “I know. But we'll figure out another time to try again.”

She whispers, even though we're alone, “We better. I want a repeat of earlier. A longer repeat. A more repeat.” She bites my earlobe. “For you. An everything repeat.”

I whisper back, “Who knew you were such a wicked, wicked girl, Mary Carlson Bailey?”

This gets me a deep kiss. Only the sound of Althea, coughing at the bottom of the stairs, breaks us apart.

THE TEACHERS ARE IN PRE-THANKSGIVING
holiday slack mode, which means Mary Carlson and I have been running it loose and risky for a couple of days. Pocket texts and meeting in the girls' bathroom or back behind the drink machines have become as anticipated as breathing.

“Hey.” She grabs my hand and pulls me behind the humming vending machine.

“We're going to get caught.” But I lift my neck for the string of kisses anyway and push my leg between hers.

“We're going to light Rome up with the shock when they find out about us.” She laughs and nuzzles against me.

“What'd you say?”

“You know. Two girls, hot for each other instead of the
Chazes of the world. It's going to blow the roof off this tiny town. We're going to be infamous.”

I take a step back. “Mary Carlson.”

Her eyes grow confused. “What's the matter?”

“I don't want to be infamous.” Because even though I do want to be honest, and even though I'm totally in think-I'm-in-love with her, I still respect Dad. I don't want to be blowing any roofs off this town.

“What are you saying?”

“Just that I don't mind telling people, but I don't need to
tell
people.”

She lets go of my hands and steps away from me. “Seriously. You think we can tell people and not have it blow up? Think of who I am, Jo. Think of who your dad is. We're going to be the talk of the school at the very least, Foundation Baptist for sure, and the town maybe. I'm brave enough. Are you?”

I'm not being fair. She's dealing with real issues of coming out and I'm dealing only with a promise to my Dad and the ego of a radio show. I grab her hand again. “You're right. I'm sorry. But can we start slow?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe with Gemma and George?” Okay, so I'm a cheater because I already know George won't care and now that he and Gemma are officially a couple, she's bound to
have met his moms. But at least it will slow Mary Carlson down and give me a little bit more time to have toed my dad's line. Maybe keep me from losing the show entirely. Gemma and George can keep a secret.

She chews her lip. “Okay. But soon. You promised after Thanksgiving. Everyone's going to Jessica's house to watch football on the Saturday after. Can we do it then?”

“At Jessica's house?”

Mary Carlson laughs. “Yeah. Sneak attack.” The bell rings. “Shit.” She looks around the corner. “Mr. Phelps is going to wonder if I fell in the toilet or something. See you later.”

I watch her trot off and slump against the wall. My life, which was supposed to be so bland this year, has become a lot like a three-alarm fire.

Three's cheeks are pink from the oven. “Joanna, can you help me pull those pies out? Oh heavens, I don't know why I said I'd do Thanksgiving here.”

“Are you okay? You look kind of pale.” And it's true; the pink flush from her cheeks has gone pasty white all of a sudden.

Three barely gets the pie she's holding to the island before she doubles over, grasping her belly. “Joanna, get your dad. Tell him I'm cramping.”

“What?”

She's breathing steadily in and out and walking herself toward the couch. “Just go, please.”

I run outside where Dad is wrestling a folding table out from the car. “Dad. Elizabeth said to tell you she's cramping.” My mind is starting to process what this could mean and I have an idea, but they haven't said a thing.

His face pales and he sets the table against the wall, then takes off at a sprint into the house. In a minute, he's back leading Three to the car and easing her into the passenger seat.

“What's going on?”

“Call Elizabeth's mom, tell her we're on our way to the hospital. Shut down the house and oven, put up the food, and come meet us. I'll explain there.”

When I finally get to the hospital, my dad's leaned over with his head in his hands. Three's parents must have taken a hover jet or something, because they're already there, too.

“Joanna.” Dad looks up and motions me over. “Pray with me.”

“Can you tell me what I'm praying for?”

“For your brother or sister. Ask God to see fit to let them hang on.”

“Whoa. What?” My mind, which had been in a pretty steady state of focusing on my own chaos, is thinking I
heard my dad say brother or sister. Which means Three is pregnant. “Pregnant?” The word bumps out of my mouth and tumbles in a confused heap on the floor.

Dad grips my hands, but he can't speak through the tears building.

“Oh. Okay.” I squeeze back. The cramping. Dad's panic. Three is losing a baby. My sibling. A sibling! I lean into Dad and pray in earnest. Together we whisper words of hope and please and will. When we stop Dad hugs me. There are tears shining in the corner of his eyes.

“Maybe it will be okay.” I squeeze harder and nuzzle in closer.

A doctor emerges from behind double swinging doors. “Mr. Gordon?”

Dad hops up and goes over to her. Mrs. Foley follows. Tater stands with me and puts his arm over my shoulder. “Think we're going to get our dinner?”

I stare at him like he's insane. “Does that matter?”

“You're right, sugar. Just trying to lighten the moment.” He doesn't move his arm, just squeezes my shoulder tighter, and I lean in.

Dad's listening to the doctor in earnest, then he hugs her, a smile cutting his face. Relief courses through me. Elizabeth's mom is smiling now, too.

Dad motions for Tater and me to join them. “We'd
hoped to tell you today, Joanna, then the whole family during dinner, but I guess the cat's out of the bag. We're going to have a baby. In mid-June.”

“Going to?” I ask, hoping that means what I think it means.

Dad nods. “God willing. The baby's safe for today. Heart is still beating strong. But she almost miscarried and there's still a risk. Elizabeth is going to need all our help for a bit. The doctor prescribed bed rest and no stress.” He looks at me. “You think you and Tater can rescue dinner after you say hi to Elizabeth? I'm going to stay and visit for a while and I know Elizabeth will want her mom to stay, too.”

“Sure thing.” Tater squeezes me again. “Joanna and I will get it all ready to go. Though we might be having KFC instead of turkey.”

Dad breaks down in tears. “I'm just so glad they're going to be okay.”

At home, Tater and I whip cream for the pies and reheat the sides. The turkey won't be ready until it's time for leftovers, so he takes my car and runs out for fried chicken. It leaves me with time to think. Three is pregnant. I'm going to be a sister. Dad's going to have another child. A child who will grow up with Mrs. Foley as a doting grandmother and the
fine people of Rome knowing it and loving it. A child who, in all likelihood, won't be gay like me. My emotions are a twist around it. Happy, freaked, the tiniest bit jealous, maybe even worried. Will Dad love this baby more than me? It's a stupid and irrational thought, but there it is.

At around four, Elizabeth's brother and wife and their two sons show up. Eventually Dad and Mrs. Foley arrive. We gather around the table and bow our heads. Dad leads us in a prayer to babies everywhere, and instead of seeming sad he seems hopeful and full of thanks. I squash down my insecurity. It is a day of gratitude. I smile at him and his eyes sparkle. I don't often think about my mom but today I feel her in the room, and some part of me hopes she had a hand in talking that baby into sticking around a little longer. When we've all stuffed ourselves on KFC, sweet potatoes, and broccoli casserole, we lounge in the family room.

I get out my old Chutes and Ladders game and set it up on the floor for the boys and me to play. The adults settle in chairs and Tater puts on ESPN with the volume muted.

“How are you enjoying Pastor Hank?” Elizabeth's mom asks me as she watches her grandsons roll the dice.

“He's nice,” I say. “Seems to like his job.”

She makes a chipmunk noise under her breath.

“What?”

“I find him too liberal.”

My dad speaks up at this. “Come on now, Virginia, the youth have a different way of looking at things, the world is changing, and some of those changes need to be interpreting the Bible for our current times. We can't live our life based on a doctrine written two thousand years ago. It's like jamming a square peg in a round hole.”

“Anthony, I'm not getting into an argument with you today of all days, but I don't enjoy
your
sermons either.” Mrs. Foley reaches out to her younger grandson's head and strokes his scalp with her fingernails. He leans back against the couch, burying his little arms under the cushions.

Dad smiles. “It's okay. Each to his or her own, and today is too blessed to argue about interpretation of doctrine.”

Elizabeth's mom acquiesces with another throat noise and lifts her hand back from the top of little Dustin's head. He pulls his hands from under the cushions. There's an emerald green bra locked in his fist.

Crap. I meant to nab that and take it back to my room but I completely forgot.

“What do you have, Dustin?” His mom, my aunt I suppose, leans forward.

He unfurls it. “It's like yours, Mommy, just not as big. And green! Like the Hulk.”

I grab it from him and feel the color heat my cheeks. “Um, sorry about that. It got tight while I was watching television.” I scramble to my feet.

Dad's laughing at my embarrassment. I'm just glad he doesn't have any clue about the real reason it was shoved under the couch cushions.

Later that night, after the dishes are put away, the leftovers parceled out to Elizabeth's family, and Dad's back home from the hospital again—Elizabeth refused to let him spend the night and leave me alone—we're snuggled on the couch watching the first showing of
Rudolph
for the approaching holiday season. It's like old times. Five months ago I would have been beating at the door to have a night like this, but tonight it feels stiff. I know he said he was going to tell me today they were pregnant, but I feel left out and the baby's not even here yet. “Elizabeth and the baby are going to be okay?”

Dad shifts to look at me instead of poor baby Rudolph, so different from the other reindeers. “With God's grace, a dash of luck, and a sprinkling of the two of us doing all we can to help.”

“You seem happy.”

He mutes the television. “I am.” A pause. “Are you?”

At a different time, this might have been the moment to ask about me and Mary Carlson and would it be all
right if I had a girlfriend after all, but her comment still rings in my head.
We're going to light up Rome.
On the television screen, Rudolph's nose glows and the other reindeer boys laugh and jeer at him. He gets a happy ending, but not until he leaves, faces the Abominable Snowman and lands on the Island of Misfit Toys, causing a lot of angst and drama for his parents and Santa in the meantime. I tuck it away.

“Yeah, I'm happy,” I say.

“Brother or sister?” Dad asks.

“What do you want?” I ask back.

“Healthy, full-term. Alive.”

“Same,” I say.

Dad pulls out his phone and punches in the number for the hospital room. He puts it on speaker.

“Hello?” Elizabeth sounds tired but not asleep.

“Hi,” I say. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Grateful. And kind of hungry for Thanksgiving leftovers. Think you can bring me a plate tomorrow? But not too early or I won't be able to stomach it.”

Dad speaks into the phone. “I'm hoping you'll get to eat those leftovers here tomorrow.”

I chime in, “We're your loyal servants.”

“So you're excited?” Three's happiness flows through the phone.

“Best news ever. You're going to be a great mom, Elizabeth.”

“And you're going to be a great sister, Joanna.”

She and Dad talk for another minute. I half listen and half watch Rudolph. I've never really thought about the parallel before. The misfit reindeer. The gay daughter. I'm just wondering how I'm going to get this new family of reindeer to see my nose as normal, without disrupting their flow.