Second House from the Corner (8 page)

 

EIGHT

The Groceries

Since I'm coming from the city, I don't have time to stop at the grocery store before I pick up the children. Preston would have a fit if I do a quick-fix nugget dinner two nights in a row, so I'm forced to cart all three into Ashley's Gourmet after camp.

Rory has karate today, and the stop at the market is going to prevent me from taking him home before class. Thank goodness I remembered to throw his stuff in the trunk this morning. I hand him his
gi
and tell him to change in the car.

“But someone might see me,” he says, crouching in the backseat and covering himself with both hands.

“Boy, we are in a covered parking lot. I guarantee that no one is breaking their neck trying to see you.”

Two climbs over the center console and drops in my lap. I smooth her hair while she sucks her pointer finger and I make a mental grocery list. I'll throw together a chicken noodle soup with cornbread for dinner. To make it hearty, I'll add a can of pumpkin to the broth. I slip Liv into the BabyBjÓ§rn carrier and grab the hand of each kid.

We come in through the back door, and as I select my carrots and celery, I see Monroe McKenzie poring over the cucumbers. I haven't heard anything from her since the chance collision at the movies. Since I am coming from the city my makeup is done and my outfit is just right, so I approach her first. Time to get my Dame membership rolling.

“Hello, Monroe.” I smile.

She spins on her heels. “Felicia, how are you, dear?” She looks down at the children. “Boy, you guys are getting big.”

Two hides behind my leg and Rory just give his shy boy look, which teeters on the verge of a look that says leave me alone.

“How's the performance piece going? I really want you to wow the Dames,” she says, cocking her head. Those perfectly painted red lips smile out at me and I mindlessly wonder how she keeps the red from bleeding.

“I started sketching it this morning but I had to run into the city for an audition. I'll get back to it tonight.” It's a partial truth but it makes Monroe's eyes brighten.

“An audition! Really? What for?”

“Samsung Galaxy. It's a national, so keep your fingers crossed.” I beam, glad to have something to brag on, showing her that I
am
Dames material.

“And toes,” she says.

Rory slips off and I spy him out of the corner of my eye.

“I didn't get that e-mail from you with the details for the meeting.”

“Really?” Monroe whips out her smartphone and starts scrolling through. “It's next Friday at six for all potential talent. I hope you can make it.”

I do a mental check and declare that Friday works. It's my first time being invited to anything Dames, and I try to keep the excitement from bubbling outward.

“What's your e-mail address again?”

“Here, it's easier if I type it in.” I take her phone. Liv squirms and I bounce on my toes to quiet her.

“Rory, come over here,” I call without looking.

“Mommmmmeeeeee,” he says back.

When my eyes flick over, I see apples, lots of them tumbling in all directions from the apple stand to the floor. Rory has three in his hand. Two rushes to help him. Five, six, seven apples spill from the cart like water and roll in all directions.

I hand Monroe back her cell phone.

“Rory,” I say with my voice even, straining to keep my black mama scorn from showing up in front of company.

“Start picking those up.” It's fruitless because the apples continue to fall twelve, thirteen in all directions. I am at the stand trying to plug in the hole to keep more apples from falling. Monroe is watching Rory and Two crawling all over the floor, so I dismiss her.

“I'll look for your e-mail and see you next Friday. Call me if anything changes.” I give a short finger wave, and as I do, a store clerk is at our side.

“I've got it from here, ma'am.” His facial expression is polite, and I pat his forearm in thanks.

Breathe.

In the canned goods aisle, I'm up on Rory. “How did that happen?” I hiss between my teeth.

“I was trying to get an apple so you could put it in my lunch box for tomorrow.” Rory pouts, and I can tell by the way his brows tilt down that he is two seconds away from crying.

I soften. “It's no big deal, honey. Accidents happen.” I pull him to my hip. “Let's get the chicken for the soup tonight and get out of here.”

We head to the other side of the store and pick up the rest of our list. When we get in line, Rory tugs my shirt.

“Mama, I don't have my karate belt.”

I look down. He doesn't. It's been a long day. I just want to get out of this store, take off these tight clothes and high-heeled shoes.

“Sweetie, where is it?”

The tears brim.

Oh, my goodness. Please stop it with the tears. What you need to be is more responsible with your things. Mommy can't be in charge of everything.

“I had it when we came in.”

“Maybe it fell by the apples?” The apples are on the other side of the store and I stand there while the cashier rings up my purchases, half on the conveyor belt, half in my cart. Liv starts a fuss.

“Rory, go back to the apples and see if you dropped the belt. I'll meet you there.”

His small eyes widen.

“Are you afraid?”

“Can Twyla come with me?”

Twyla grabs his hand and leads the way. That's one of the things I like about Two. She ain't never scared.

The cashier gives me the total and I run my Amex card with my eyes in the direction that the children just ran in.

“Gosh, I ran out of paper. It'll be just a minute.” She smiles. I don't smile back.

Hurry the fuck up.

My eyes swing around the store. She puts the paper in and taps a few buttons but nothing happens. She takes it back out.

“I'm sorry, I put it in backward.”

The apples aren't far, they should be on their way back by now. Oh, for the love of Christ, come on, lady.

“You know, I'm okay with no receipt.”

“I've got it now.” She presses a button and the receipt skirts out. “Sorry for the wait.”

I stuff the paper in my pocket and then swivel the cart back toward the apples. Liv's fuss is now a cry.

“All is well. The Universe supports me at every turn,” I murmur. As I pass the canned goods aisle, I see a yellow karate belt lying on the floor. My affirmation worked. He must have dropped it when we were getting the pumpkin. I pick it up and rush to the apples.

The kids aren't there.

My hand rubs my mouth as my armpits sweat.

“Rory, Twyla,” I call. Shoppers bustle around the store. I move back toward the gourmet cheese. No kids. Where could they be? Okay, stop it, Felicia, the store isn't that big. This is what I tell myself as I picture a hairy white guy carrying my kids out the back door. I move towards the chicken, calling their names. This isn't Walmart, where the folks act a fool, so I'm still trying to be subtle.

“Rory, Twyla.”

They are not by the chicken.

How long has it been, five, ten, twenty minutes? Liv is now full-out crying. I want to howl. She wants her milk now. Preston is going to kill me. Where are my children?

You are failing at this just like your mother.

Shut up!
I want to scream at the
damn voice
. Liv's fingers cling to my shirt, the bounce no longer working. I never have a pacifier when I need it. I rub her back with my free hand and push the cart with the other, swinging my eyes from aisle to aisle.

The prepared food, I rush over to the stations.

“Rory.”

“Mama,” he turns the corner. Twyla is in tears.

“We thought you left us.” She hurls herself at my leg. My feet are aching.

“Why would I leave you, huh?” I'm down on my knees kissing her tear-stained cheeks as my pulse makes an attempt to slow, but it's fruitless. I squeeze both kids in a hug. Then I look them both over, confirming that they have two ears, two eyes, and a nose. “Let's go.”

“But my belt. Mommy, I can't go to karate without it or Sensei will give me fifty push-ups.” His voice raises another teary octave.

“Honey, calm down. I have your belt.” I thrust it in his direction and hurry the children to the car.

*   *   *

I now have ten minutes to get him to karate on a fifteen-minute drive, and Liv wants her milk. I am wearing my good push-up bra instead of my easy access nursing one, so I have to unfasten the clasp in the back to get the boob out and in her mouth. Liv relaxes into her milk.

“That's mine!” Rory shouts from the backseat. “Twyla, stop it. Mommmmeeeee. Twyla won't give me back my car.”

“Twyla, please give it to him. Guys, I need silence.”

“Mommmmeeee! She's laughing at me.”

“Stop it, now!” I screech.

The car is silent except for the sound of Liv sucking and gurgling. I try to relax but I can feel the pressure of getting Rory to karate and the chore of dinner circling my spine. I inhale, then exhale slowly while Liv feeds. When she's had her fill, I strap her in her car seat, give her a plush toy to chew, and get behind the wheel. Then I push it. We pull up to karate eight minutes late, which now cuts into my preparing-dinner time. I pull in front of the karate center, unhook Rory, and stand by the car so that I can watch him and the girls at the same time.

“Don't come outside until you see my car.”

“I know, Mama.” He goes in. Karate makes him too cool for a good-bye kiss. I wait until he crosses through the second door and then wait some more to make sure he doesn't come back out and say that he's forgotten something.

Liv and Twyla have entered their own world with words I can't understand when I get back into the car. It only takes five minutes to get home and I park in our driveway. Drag the girls up the front stairs.

“Play with Liv,” I tell Two.

Shoes off, clothes thrown on the sofa. I'm in my underwear. I want to go upstairs, hide from my children, from cooking dinner, lock myself in my closet, chug a stiff drink, and push the pressure away. But I only have thirty minutes to get the soup on the stove, so I force my body into the kitchen. As I pull the ingredients from the refrigerator, that overwhelmed feeling is there, taking shape as words in my head. The monologue for the Dames, I see the scene playing out before my eyes. Drowning mom. I drop the chicken on the counter, find Rory's notebook and a pencil, and start jotting down what comes.

Husband ain't home when I need him. Things are so bad that I hid in the back of my closet. I was back so far that I was behind the tan wool coat that my mother bought me when I was working in corporate America. My head against the slinky black dress that became too tight two pregnancies ago. I'm saving the clothes in case I wake up one day and have a life. If I wasn't so damn responsible, I'd have a bottle of hard liquor hidden here, in a crumbled paper bag to slurp down on days like this when I feel like I'm suffocating in my own skin. This job called motherhood feels like—

“I'm ready, Mommy.”

I glance down at Two. She has ignored my command to play with Liv and has gone to the closet for her apron.

“I wanna help.”

“Hang on, baby.”

“Please.”

“Give me a minute.” I clutch the notebook and read over what I wrote. It's a good start. I can make this exhausted, overworked mom funny and relatable. Say with this character what mothers don't usually say to each other. That sometimes motherhood sucks. Sure we love our children, but the job is taxing and thankless. Most mothers like to pretend that raising children is the best job in the world, but the reality is, we didn't know what we were getting ourselves into and now we're stuck, grinning, bearing, and medicating ourselves through it. Yes, that's what I am going to portray in my monologue to the Dames. It's risky, shedding a light on what's real, but so what? I was taught that acting is imitating life. The Dames will not accuse me of playing it safe with this piece. I'm bringing my A game.

“Mommy, are you going to let me help or not?” Two has her hands on her hips, looking grown.

I'm wondering where she has learned to ask like that, but then she smiles that goofy grin that makes me cave and I kiss her fingertips.

“Okay, baby. Let's wash our hands.”

I hold her wrists as she pours the chicken stock and shakes in the seasonings. She loses interest when Liv starts eating her doll's hair and I start sautéing the chicken. Five minutes before we need to pick Rory up, I turn the soup to a simmer, pop in the cornbread, and head back out with the girls. Luckily it's summer and I don't have to fool with coats. Rory is standing in the window. I wave and he comes out onto the street.

“How was it?”

“Good. I'm glad we found my belt. Trevor didn't bring his belt, and Sensei gave him one hundred push-ups.”

The light turns green and I gun it for home.

*   *   *

When I get out of the shower the children are fast asleep and Preston is home. He hasn't called to me but I can feel his energy moving throughout the house. I pad downstairs, the television is on, and he's splayed on the sofa.

“Hey, handsome. Hungry?” I lean in for a kiss. He holds me until I fall into his lap.

“For you.”

I rub his face and put my head against his heart.

“I made homemade chicken noodle soup and cornbread.”

“Smells delicious.”

“So why didn't you make yourself a plate?”

He looks at me sheepishly. “Because you do it with so much love.”

“Bullshit,” I tease on my way into the kitchen. My husband is spoiled. He'll sit and wait an hour for me to bring him his dinner rather than plate the food himself. His scratch-offs, keys, and wallet are on the kitchen counter, so I know he's been peeking in my pots.