Not Ready for Mom Jeans (18 page)

“Oh! Sure! C’mon, kids!” my dad said, and gestured for us to sit down.

Sam rolled her eyes so hard I was sure one of her retinas detached.

We all took our seats. Well, Sam perched on her chair, afraid to touch anything, while Jake and I tried to figure out the best place to put Sara’s car seat. We didn’t really want to set it down on the cigarette butt–covered floor, but the chairs were folding chairs that we were afraid would collapse and trap her. We decided to roll the dice and set her down on one of the vinyl chairs.

“WOO-HOO!” one of the drunks yelled from the bar. “That one HU-URT!” he yelled.

“Do you see what they’re doing?” Jake asked.

I craned my neck toward the scarred bar. “I have no idea.”

“The woman is plucking that guy’s beard hairs out with tweezers while they watch NASCAR.”

“OK, should we order?” I said quickly.

As we opened our menu, the door opened again and a crowd of guys walked in. I didn’t really look at any of them until I heard, “Clare?”

I looked up.

Greg.

I swear, I heard the music from
The Twilight Zone
in the background.

I stared at him, openmouthed, as my family snapped their heads back and forth.

“Uh, Greg! What are you—” I stood up and took a step closer to him. Immediately I regretted it, because I wasn’t sure if I should act professionally and shake his hand, punch him in the arm like he was my buddy, or just look like a dork and give him a lame wave. I settled for the lame wave.

I hate, hate,
hate
seeing clients, even ones I know personally, out in public. It forces me to become some strange hybrid of Working Clare and Normal Clare. It’s kind of like the time I saw Mrs. Edison, my seventh-grade teacher, buying a bra in a department store. I wasn’t sure whether or not to say hi or turn in my math homework.

Greg hooked his thumbs into his cargo shorts as the group of guys all gathered around the bar and ordered pitchers of beer. “Just up here for the weekend with some friends from work.”

“Right! That sounds like perfection!”

O-kay. Apparently, being really, really uncomfortable makes me say words like “perfection.”

I think I even gave one of those little “attaboy” arm swings.

“Yeah, it should be fun. Golfing, hanging out, you know.” He shrugged his shoulders and gazed behind me.

“Oh! Right!” I turned around and faced my family. “You remember my parents and Sam. Oh! And Jake! Can’t forget about him! Oh! And my daughsara.” I tried to say “daughter” and “Sara” at the same time. I felt my face burning as I made exaggerated hand gestures.

“Nice to see you guys again.” He nodded at everyone. “And Jake”—he stepped forward and stuck his hand out—“good to see you.”

Jake leaned forward and shook Greg’s hand. “Yep. Same here.”

Greg gave a quick glance down at Sara’s car seat and nodded before turning back to me.

My forehead was starting to grow damp and I could feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck.

“Well, I should get back to—” Greg pointed to his group of friends in the back.

“Yes! Yes! Good to see you! I’m sure I’ll see you soon!” I sputtered to him. I turned back to our table and sat down casually.

I felt my entire family and Jake looking at me. “Weird!” I said, and bent down and fussed with Sara’s T-shirt.

“Why the eff is he here?” Sam asked loudly.

“Shhh!” I hissed at her. “He’s a client, remember? Anyway, I think his parents have a house up here.”

“Or maybe he’s just following Clare,” Jake said, and smiled.

“Funny,” I whispered to him.

Throughout dinner, I heard snippets of conversation from Greg and his friends. They were talking about the usual—sports, work, and drinking. Halfway through our meal, they got up to leave and Greg gave a quick wave as he walked out the door.

As I watched them walk down the street, presumably to head to another bar, Sara started fussing. I picked her up and she barfed a little on my shirt. As though my reality needed to get just a bit more clear.

While Greg was going out and leisurely drinking and playing pool with his friends, I was changing diapers and cleaning baby puke off her shirt.

With Sara beginning to fuss, Jake and I knew our time was limited, so we shoved our burgers down our throats and rushed out the door.

We figured,
No worries! We bought a travel swing, right? Just a quick session in the swing back at the house and she’ll be out like a light for the night.

Once again, our assumptions prove us to be total idiots.

For some reason, Sara
hates
the travel swing. She doesn’t just dislike it or it’s not her style or something, she absolutely, 100 percent, despises the thing with every nuclei in her little body. Whenever we set her down in it, before we can even press the on button, her face contorts and she wails. I don’t know if she doesn’t like the fabric, thinks the attached mobile looks tacky, or generally just feels like driving us insane. Whatever the reason, she refuses to spend any time in it, which also meant she refused to allow us to put her down for more than a micro-second. It also means she’s so pissed we even
attempted
to place her in the swing, she won’t sleep. At all. For more than fifteen minutes. It’s like she’s on strike, with a miniature picket sign, chanting,
Sleep? Hell no! That travel swing has got to go!

Which is why it is now 3:30 a.m. and I am awake, staring at the hideous orange flower patterns on the couch, rocking her. I’m sure Greg and his friends are still up, grilling pizzas and having one more drink.

Is there something wrong with me because I’m sort of jealous?

Because as I sit here, rocking my screaming daughter who has declared war on Fisher-Price and her parents, I feel like I’m being punished.

Saturday, May 17

“You look like shit,” Sam declared to me as she stumbled out of her bedroom this morning, her blond hair tangled around her shoulders.

“Thanks. Sara was up all night.”

“Whatever,” Sam said as she walked into the bathroom.

“Everyone ready to do some boating today?” my dad said cheerfully as he walked into the living room.

Jake and I grunted in response.

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!” my dad said, clearly not having a clue Jake and I got about fifteen minutes of sleep between the two of us.

“It’s not that. We got, like, zero sleep last night,” I said.

My dad looked pointedly at Sara, snoozing away in her stroller.

“She’s only sleeping because I took her for a walk at six this morning,” I retorted.

“Oh no, were you guys up all night?” my mom said, looking worried as she poured a cup of coffee.

“We’re great,” Jake said quickly. “Never been better! Can’t wait to rent a boat today!”

So, here’s how the rest of the afternoon went:

Rent boat.

Listen to Sam whine about how the boat we got “isn’t cool” and people are going to “totally laugh” when they see her riding around in it with “us losers.”

Watch as Jake silences Sam by whispering something threatening into her ear.

Park boat in the middle of the lake and drink beer.

Loudly proclaim, “This is the life!” as Sara happily sleeps and we gaze at all of the lakefront mansions.

Duck when we see Greg’s huge Cobalt speedboat whiz by.

Pretend I was just looking for something in bag.

Laugh hysterically when Sam finds a leech on her toe after swimming.

Duck when Sam throws her pink bedazzled Sidekick at my head.

Smile and tear up when my mom says, “This means so much to me that we can all get away this weekend.”

Outstretch arms as I (in my head) lightly float (more like stumble) across the crab apple–covered lawn to greet Mark … and some girl he’s brought.

“Hi! Hey! What’s going on?” I say to Mark as I eye the brunette checking her lipstick in the car before she gets out.

“Hey, Sis,” he says as he gives me a hug.

“Who’s that?” I whisper as I poke my index finger toward the car. He smiled broadly at me. “Is that Nacional 27 girl?” I asked.

Nacional 27 girl stepped out of the car and smiled warmly at me. “Hi, I’m Casey,” she said.

“Hi! Nice to meet you! I’m Clare, Mark’s awesome older sister.” I waved.

“Nice to meet you, too. Is that a Blue Moon in your hand? That’s my favorite beer!”

I gave Mark a look that said,
OK, she can probably stay.

“Yep!”

“Oh, and I love your sundress! Where did you get it?”

This time, I gave Mark a
she’s staying even if you’re not
look.

The three of us walked toward the cottage and I could see the growing alarm in Mark’s eyes. I silently snickered to myself. This wasn’t exactly a place I’d bring a date to impress her.

We walked inside and my family wasn’t very impressive, either.

Jake was walking around the cottage holding a wailing Sara, muttering, “Fucking travel swing. Die, Fisher-Price.”

My dad was passed out on the couch in his bathing suit, snoring.

My mom was e-mailing on her laptop.

And Sam was in the shower, loudly (and horribly) singing along to Fergie’s “Big Girls Don’t Cry.”

“Hey, everyone! Meet Casey!” I announced over the wail of “… LIKE A CHILD MISSES THEIR BLANKET …” as we walked in the door.

Casey was pretty cool and took everything in stride. She handed a bouquet of flowers to my mom and said, “I’m so sorry.”

Nice touch,
I mouthed to Mark.

Casey did everything right. She complimented Jake on his parenting skills. She held Sara and didn’t mind when she screamed her head off. She asked my dad insightful questions about the state of health care and what it’s like to be a physician. She even won Sam over by gushing over her Prada beach bag.

We all pretty much fell in love with her.

The girl could do no wrong.

After we went to dinner, we all came back to the cottage and Mark and Casey left to go back home. As we waved them off, my mom said, “Sweet girl.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what worries me. Anyone that dates Mark has to be insane. She must have a flaw somewhere. Maybe she’s secretly a transvestite or something,” I said as I waved.

Sunday, May 18

After Mark and Casey left yesterday, I walked out onto the deck overlooking the lake. Happy to escape the cacophony of sounds inside, I took a deep breath and tasted the lake air. I squinted my eyes and pictured Mark, Sam, and me running around on the pier as little kids, splashing each other, our Snoopy fishing poles dangling into the lake.

“Hey.” Sam appeared next to me.

“Hi,” I said.

We sat silently for a minute and listened to the lake lap against the rocks. I could faintly hear Jake tell my parents a story about the time in college when Bill bent his car door backward, like in the movie
Tommy Boy
.

“Remember when we used to sit out here and listen to the song ‘Stand by Me’?”

She smiled. “Totally.”

“We used to love the lyric about the moon being the only light we can see. Or something like that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, and twisted a strand of her hair around her finger.

“Mom’s going to be OK, you know that, right?” I tried to sound confident.

“Duh,” she said softly.

I opened my mouth to say something else but quickly closed it. My sister and I sat in silence, hearing the bullfrogs across the lake croak in unison.

“Nice to spend time with Mom.” Sam mumbled so quietly I had to lean toward her to hear.

“It is,” I said, and nodded my head.

“I feel like we never got to take long weekends like this with Mom. Growing up, I mean,” Sam said as she twisted a silver and gold ring around her index finger.

Because Mom was always working,
I silently finished.

“I know. It’s nice,” I said, and smiled at my sister.

But she worked because she loved her job; it made her happy,
the working-mom devil on my right shoulder said into my ear.

Before Sam and I could say anything more, she heard her phone beep from inside and ran in to check her text messages. I lingered on the deck for a few more moments before going inside. I looked up at the stars and wished they would answer all of my questions in a finite manner. But all I could discern was the Big Dipper.