I Almost Forgot About You (14 page)

“Find a pretty dress to wear to my party. Ride across the Golden Gate Bridge and stop at Vista Point so I can take some pictures with my new iPhone. It has a very good camera, you know. I want to text them to Grover.”

“Who is Grover?” I ask, sitting down next to her.

“My boyfriend.”

I'm about to laugh when I see she's totally serious.

“She's telling the truth. They're cute together, and they both can still walk. Which they do a lot of.”

“That's why I'm in better shape than you, Dolly.”

“Where'd you meet him?”

“He lives in my facility.”

“That's nice. When did he become your boyfriend, Ma?”

“I'll tell you another time. Dolly knows too much of my business as it is, and you run your mouth too much.”

“Curious minds wanna know, Auntie. It ain't like you gon' get on
Inside Edition
with all the hot stuff you and Grover be doing.”

“Anyway, I'm glad to hear you've got a friend, Ma.”

“He's my boyfriend. I'm not saying it again.”

I jump up. “Okay. So let's do this. I'm tired, and if you guys want to hang out tomorrow, let's get a good night's sleep. Does anybody need anything?”

“You got a nightgown I can sleep in?”

“I don't wear nightgowns, Dolly. And Lord knows you can't fit any of my pajamas.”

“You got some nerve, cuz. What about some sweats and a T-shirt?”

I nod.

“It's nice to see you both,” I say.

“Stop lying,” Dolly says.

We spend all day on or near water. Ma takes a ton of pictures, and I show her how to text them. Dolly wears the brown corduroy pants she wore up here and my Philadelphia Flyers hockey shirt. “No, you can't have it,” I told her when she professed her admiration for it.

“I've had enough fun,” Ma says after hours of circling the Bay Area looking for treasures. She found a long black dress at Macy's, and I bought Dolly a pair of decent jeans and a big white blouse because I wanted to.

Dolly turns to look at Ma, who's out cold in the backseat. “I need to ask if you could do me a big favor, cuz.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Don't lend her any money,” Ma says. “You'll never get it back. Take it from someone who knows.”

And she closes her eyes and pretends to be asleep again until I hear her snoring.

“Don't listen to Auntie. I am in somewhat of a jam though, cuz, and you know I don't like asking for help unless I really need it.”

“Well, that's understandable,” I say, being sarcastic, but of course Miss Crossword Puzzle misses it. “How much do you need, Dolly?”

“Need?” She reaches inside her pleather purse and whips out a stick of gum, puts it in her mouth but doesn't chew. “If I told you that, we'd have to rob a bank. But five hundred would damn sure help, even though seven-fifty would fix a lot of the problems I'm having right now 'cause I've been waiting on a—”

“Don't tell me. A check.”

“I am! Didn't Auntie tell you when this drunk dude rear-ended me last year?”

“She did. But she also said he didn't have insurance.”

“He didn't. But I'm not talking about that accident.
This
huzzy had liability and collision, which almost made me glad she hit me.”

“Did you get injured?”

“Of course I did. I go to physical therapy and everything.”

“I'll write you a check for five hundred, and it's not a loan, but don't ask me for another dime for the rest of the weekend, Dolly, and don't go in my closet asking me for anything else, got it?”

“Got it. I'm also very grateful for this nice outfit you bought me. Thank you, again, cuz.”

On Sunday afternoon we drive to Napa but don't go to any wineries because Ma's not interested and Dolly said she doesn't drink anything less than 45 percent because it's a waste of energy. We eat baked artichokes with drawn butter and spareribs and coleslaw and honey cornbread. Ma buys another dress to be on the safe side, one more like Wanda would wear, along with a pair of cheap rhinestone earrings and a pair of Merrell walking shoes.

On Sunday night Ma turns in early, leaving Dolly and me to have yet another deep conversation.

“Why don't you have no man?” she asks. We're in the kitchen eating popcorn, and I'm having a glass of wine while she's drinking a gin and tonic in a water glass with two ice cubes.

“Because I don't have one.”

“Have you turned into a lesbian? I mean, if you have, it's cool with me.”

“No, I haven't ‘turned into a lesbian,' Dolly.”

“I didn't really think so, 'cause I found your long brown friend and some of his friends in your bathroom cabinet.”

“What were you doing— Oh, never mind. But do me a favor, Dolly. Stop rambling through my shit when you come to my house, would you?”

“My bad. I was just looking for some sponge rollers, but I guess you don't need 'em for all them wigs. Sorry, cuz.”

“Forgiven.”

“So back to my original train of thought. Why don't you have no man?”

“Because I haven't met anybody I like lately.”

“According to Auntie you been going through a drought for quite a few years now. You too picky. That's what it sound like to me.”

“Did anybody ask you?”

“No, which is why I'm just gonna come on out and say it. You need to stop being so scared 'cause you married the wrong motherfucker twice and get the fuck over it and stop being so stiff and uppity and loosen up or you gonna end up being one of those spinster women and die lonely as hell, and hell, even Auntie got herself a boyfriend, and she old as dirt.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I didn't mean no harm, cuz.”

“No? Well, thanks for the good advice. Now, get to sleep.”

On Monday morning I go to work. By midafternoon I decide to call to see how they're doing, and notice I've got a voice message on my cell:
“Georgia, this is your mother, and we decided to head on back home because we've had enough activity to last us. I'll send you a text when we pull into town! No word from Frankie, and Dolly said to tell you thanks for everything. See you for my birthday! Come prepared to party!”

Percy is dressed like he's going to a polo match. All he's missing is a fedora and a mint julep. He gives me two phony pecks, one on each cheek, and heads straight to the kitchen like he lives here.

I offer him coffee.

He refuses.

I offer him a glass of wine.

He refuses.

I offer him a bottle of water.

And he refuses.

“Okay, then, Percy, so now that I know you're not thirsty, can you tell me what's going on?”

“Where to start?” He sighs, and instead of sitting down he walks over to the alcove and starts circling the pounded stainless-steel table.

“My partner of fifteen years passed away two weeks ago, and I've been unable to function, if you want the God's honest truth.”

I sit down in one of the chairs, as does Percy. When I look into his eyes, there's just a sea of sadness.

“I'm really sorry to hear this, Percy. Really.”

“Thank you. So I've fallen behind on ordering some of the items we definitely need, and there's also a backlog on too many things for me to mention right now, but I wanted to see you face-to-face because I couldn't explain this over the phone and I didn't want you to think I was BS'ing. The bronchitis hasn't helped any, and I don't want to inconvenience you any more than I have already, but I also don't want Amen to hire another stager, because I'm enjoying working with you.”

And he starts crying.

I walk over and rub his back, which I know isn't going to do much good, but fifteen years is a long time. “The staging can wait, Percy.”

“Are you sure? I gave you a start date, and I believe that Amen said you were already making travel plans, and my fear is that I've screwed them up.”

“I'm still in the planning stages, but another month won't ruin anything. Are you sure this is enough time?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly, Percy.”

“After the holidays would be so much better.”

“Well, it's not like I'm getting evicted,” I say, trying to lighten it up a little, but Percy looks too weighed down.

“Thank you for understanding, Georgia.”

“It's all good, Percy.”

“You're very nice, and you seem to be an understanding and forgiving person, so I read you right. Thank you.”

“I'm not as understanding and forgiving and nice as you think I am, but I'm trying.”

“Guess who's pregnant?” Violet asks, sipping on a gin and tonic. It's barely noon.

I don't need to guess. I'm surprised it took this long. We're sitting outside on the top deck of this houseboat, which she—like the four hundred other idiots who live on these things—refers to as a “floating home.” What I'm more shocked by than Velvet's pregnancy is Violet's hair. She has gone and cut off that weave, which is a sure sign of something tragic. But I don't think it's just the pregnancy.

“I could kill her.”

“But hold on a minute. Why'd you cut your weave off?”

“I was tired of it. And I don't feel like talking about hair.”

“Anyway, I like it. You can see your whole face again, which I forgot is pretty.”

“Go to hell, Georgia, but thank you.”

“You're welcome. Anyway, having a baby isn't a tragedy,” I say as I take a long swallow of sparkling water.

“It is when you're not sure who the father is.”

“Come on, Violet.”

“Supposedly it's between two, but I wouldn't be surprised if it's not three guys, since she lies about almost everything.”

I'm not even going to bother asking why Velvet doesn't use protection, because the question's already been answered.

“How many months?”

“Too many to change her damn mind. I knew there was a reason Ms. Thang suddenly stopped jogging and going to the gym.”

“Pregnant women still exercise, in case you hadn't noticed.”

She just sucks her teeth and rolls her eyes at me.

“Where are they going to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me again. “You think I'd trust her with a baby?”

“What's that supposed to mean, Violet?”

“I'm selling this damn houseboat and will probably lease a real house on your side of the bay. They can live with me until something else happens, but Velvet will take her stupid ass back to college or my name isn't Violet.”

“Doesn't she have some kind of relationship with any of these guys? And don't roll your eyes at me.”

“How in the hell would I know? She parties. I don't think any of these dudes take her seriously. It just breaks my heart.”

“Well, at least she's got some college credits.”

She downs the rest of her drink and then goes to pour another one. I look out at the slow blue-green waves sloshing against wooden pilings. I can almost understand why she's lived on this boat for five years. After her sons went off on their own, she thought she was free, and of course when Velvet dropped out of college number two or three, she turned her home office back into a bedroom, because what was she supposed to do? I've got some nerve, but there comes a point where you just can't change your plans and your life to accommodate your grown kids.

“I think I
will
have a drink,” I say, and get up to go grab a beer out of the fridge, something I rarely drink. This place is really cute, and were it not for the water out front, you might not even know you were on a boat. Thank God Violet's taste in home decor isn't half as raunchy as her taste in clothes.

I walk back out to the deck but stand in the doorway.

“I'm curious about something, Violet. Are you seeing anybody, since you haven't mentioned anybody in a while?”

“I'm taking a mancation.”

“Why?”

“Because. I don't need any more drama right now. What about you?”

“Nope. Maybe he'll fall from the sky.”

“All the companionship I need for the moment is in my top drawer, and the batteries are getting low.”

“It's why I buy rechargeable.”

We ha-ha. Then watch and listen to the seagulls. For real.

“What about your search for the blasts from the past? How's that going?”

“I'm not in any hurry. You ever just jump off this fucking deck and go swimming?”

“Are you insane? Don't you read, Georgia? There are sharks out in that water. Look, there's one now!”

And I jump to a standing position as if Shamu is about to fly up onto this deck! I slap her thigh. We both laugh. And I sit back in my chair and put my feet up on the wooden railing. We say nothing again. Just sit there. And relax. I let the breeze seduce me. I inhale it.

“Have you heard from Frankie and what's-his-name?”

“Nope. And his name is Hunter.”

“I've always liked that name. I was going to name Landon that, but his daddy wasn't having it.”

“I don't care what his name is. I just hope he's good to and for my daughter if they're going to try to play this out.”

“How're Estelle and Justin?”

“If I believe her? Fine.”

“They all lie. Why I do not know, because the truth always comes out, and then we have to deal with it.”

“I'm trying not to worry, but I'm worrying.”

“Well, I'm not wasting my energy worrying. I've made a decision, and I'm going to take the next step and see what happens. That's all we can do.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Can I ask you something? And promise not to get pissed?”

“I'm listening,” I say, downing the rest of my beer. I do not feel even a tiny buzz.

“Why do you have to go on a train ride? I don't get it.”

“I don't
have
to. I want to.”

“What's the point?”

“The same reason people take vacations, Violet.”

“But what's the point of going by yourself?”

“I'm tired of saying this, I really am. So for the last time: because I want to. Maybe I'll pick up a stranger.”

“Funny.”

“Then stop asking me a question you already know the answer to.”

“But your situation has changed, Georgia.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Frankie. She's back home. Why can't she go with you?”

“Did she tell you she asked me?”

“Of course she did.”

“Her situation is the one that's changed, and now her little boyfriend might be in the picture—so what do you suggest? I get the family plan and take them both along for the ride?”

“I was just asking. Maybe he'll drag her back to New York.”

“That would be my dream.”

“I wish I'd had three boys, because girls are a pain in the ass.”

“You have never lied, girl.”

Before I left for work, Frankie sent me a text and said they'd be here by six. I had only two patients, so I took the afternoon off. I went to Neiman's and Nordstrom's and then Saks and back to Nordstrom's to find something flattering and pretty to wear to Ma's birthday bash. That killed a couple of hours.

I'm now in my home office ordering a few books I hope to read in this century. I look out the window at a doe and her fawn. Wonder if they'll have dating issues one day. They dart up the hill. I turn my attention to my love list, which is in the same exact place I left it, but I'm not in the mood to search for any men right now. Maybe it would be better if I weren't here when Frankie and Hunter arrive. Give them a chance to loosen up, get comfortable, and decide how or what they're going to tell me. I hope it's that they're moving back to New York and that Frankie's changing her major to, say, hell, whatever inspires her. Something where her personality might find a way to surface. Or maybe Hunter will decide to spend the summer here, get a job, and then by Labor Day they'll drive to New York for the thrill of it. Hunter will get there just in time for his classes, and Frankie will call from the road and say, “Guess what, Mom? I know how I want to spend the rest of my life.” I'll listen with open ears, and no matter what she says, I'll applaud her like I did when she was a little girl, when she got accepted at NYU, when she decided to major in media studies in her sophomore year even though I never quite understood the allure or the point.

I change my mind about having dinner out and decide to run to Whole Foods, because a home-cooked meal could help ease the tension regardless of what kind of news they're going to share. You'd think they'd've come to some kind of amicable terms after being holed up an entire week together. But they're young. You never know. I wonder if Hunter's a vegetarian. I'll get seafood. I'd love to stir-fry my Latin-spiced prawns, but what if he's allergic? Or Jewish? I'll decide when I get there. Which is my favorite way to cook anyway—see what appeals and then improvise. I leave a note on the floor just inside the front door:
Hope you guys are hungry. Gone to Whole Foods. Making dinner. No meat. No shellfish. Back shortly!!

I decide on Chilean sea bass because I love the meaty texture and the fatty content that absorbs whatever spices or sauces I use. Asparagus: stir-fried with minced garlic, crystallized ginger, and Korean soy sauce. Fingerling red, purple, and Yukon Gold potatoes rolled in olive oil and rosemary: baked. Spring greens with my sneaky homemade basil vinaigrette dressing. I buy some sourdough, but I'm not touching it. I buy crème brûlée and an assortment of those little French cookies—I forget what they're called. I'm not even going to sniff them.

It's almost seven, and I'm in the kitchen with everything spread out on the island watching Rachel Maddow sign off on MSNBC when I hear the door open. “Mom, we're here! Where are you?”

“In the kitchen!” I yell, pressing the lettuce spinner, scrambling to turn off the water that's running over the potatoes and the asparagus, and sliding the wok to the back eye.

“You beat us here! Great note!” Frankie says as I hear them kick off their shoes and head down the hall. Just as I'm about to wipe my seasoned fingers on my yellow apron, standing in the doorway is my daughter and a chocolate brown Hunter! I'm trying not to act surprised he's black, but of course I wasn't expecting him to be, so I just say, “Hello there, Hunter! I've heard so much about you! Welcome!”

I stand on my toes to give him a hug, and then I give Frankie one, too. With his wild, unkempt Afro, he reminds me of someone, but I can't think of who it is. He's handsome in an offbeat kind of way.

After we break apart, I realize they're holding hands like those wedding-cake figurines, which is when I glance down and see what looks like a pull tab from a beer can on her left ring finger.

“It's very nice to finally meet you, Dr. Young.”

“Hunter, I think it's safe to call her Mom now!” And Frankie holds out her left hand to display what is definitely a faux wedding band.

I almost want to collapse, but it's not worth it, so instead I just say, “Well, congratulations to you young newlyweds. The parents are always the last to know, I suppose.”

“We were definitely in the moment, Dr. Young—I mean, Mom. We drove to Reno, and the only way I could get Frankie to understand how much I really love her and how sorry I was for my error of bad judgment was to make a lasting commitment. So this is my fault, not hers.”

“Fault?” Frankie says, turning to him. “Are you kidding me?”

“I know what you mean, Hunter. And it's fine. Children are good at surprising parents, but you two are adults, so I'm sure you've got everything figured out, especially about your next move. Correct me if I'm wrong.”

“Mom, are you making dinner for us? That's so sweet of you! My mom's an amazing cook,” she says to Hunter.

Hunter turns his attention to me. “I can already tell. Thank you, Dr. Young. Mom.”

“So, to answer your question, Mom, we have and we haven't narrowed down our next move,” Frankie says, looking gorgeous, happy, and sixteen.

“Well, Hunter, I'm sure Frankie has told you what's going on with the house, so you two won't be able to honeymoon here,” I hear myself say, and immediately regret saying it.

“Oh, no, Dr. Young—Mom—we wouldn't dream of imposing.”

“Can you give me an example of just a portion of one of your carefully thought-out plans?” I look at the daughter I would like to put in time-out for about a year.