“Laura?” Dad's voice pulled me out of last night.
“Yeah?” I looked at him. There he stood in his blue jeans—ones that fit, thank goodness—and a shirt that said, ORLANDO IS WHERE IT'S AT!
His neck was in a brace—just like a geek, if you ask me. In black marker he had written the words black marker he had written the words “BEAT IT” BEAT ME UP. I looked away.
“Now, Laura, honey,” he said. “You know I did not mean to injure myself.”
“Sure you didn't,” I whispered. I didn't want him to hear me, but I couldn't stand to be silent, either.
“For a while there I really thought my neck was broken.”
“Uh-huh.”
Dad's words brought the image of his larger-than-life butt sticking up in the air. The memory caused a genuine pain to hit me right in the gut. I mean, it actually hurt. Probably as bad as a knife would. Or pulling the ropes of a huge bell in a tower. Sanctuary, I thought.
“I couldn't know I…” Dad paused. Was he embarrassed too? Well, he sure as heck should be!
“I couldn't know that it was just a mild sprain. I did hear that snap. I thought it was broken.”
Dad walked over and sat on the sofa. He slipped his arm around my shoulders, wincing a little when he turned to look at me.
“Honey,” Dad said, and his voice was really low. “You gotta treat your mom better. You have to be nice to her. Can't you treat her like you used to?”
I took a deep breath. “Dad, things have changed between Mom and me,” I said. “Things have just changed.” And as soon as I said it, I knew it was true.
Once those words were out, that things had changed, the way I looked at life seemed to change too.
All of a sudden I would feel sad about something. A chord of music I heard on the radio or a commercial I saw on TV would get me in the gut. Tears would well up in my eyes. I couldn't re-watch the Hunchback movie. Somehow this seemed connected to Mom and me. The sadness, I mean.
At night, at times, I would wake up and hear Mom walking around downstairs, searching for something in the fridge maybe, or just because she was uncomfortable, and my heart would feel all stretched out from loneliness. Sure, Mary was a wonderful best friend. But Mom. She had been a different kind of best friend.
“Why did you have to change?” I would whisper. Then my eyes would fill with hot tears, and my throat would choke me, so that I'd have to sit up to catch my breath.
One late night I decided I wanted a bit of that back—our friendship. If Mom was willing to stop doing stupid things, I was willing to be her friend again. I went to sleep feeling everything would be okay, and the next day when she asked me to run with her to the store for food, I said yes.
“Go wait for me in the car,” Mom said. She handed me the keys. “You can start it if you want.”
I smiled at my mother, trying not to notice how tired she looked.
She was pretty pregnant, just over seven months, her tummy really sticking out. And her bosoms had gotten huge. It seemed like all at once she—what had Dad called it? Blossomed? Yeah, that was what he had said. “Your mother has blossomed, Laura.”
But blossomed seemed the wrong word to me. To tell you the truth, she looked kind of wilted, like she needed a good watering or something. She'd tied her hair up in a halfhearted ponytail and she wore no makeup. Her face was puffy, her eyes were puffy, her ankles were puffy. If you ask me, she was a puffball.
I noticed her ankles right off because of the Elmo slippers she had on. I stared at her feet.
“I'll turn on the radio,” I said, staring, “to that station you like while you change into your shoes.”
“I'll be there in a second,” she said. “Let me grab my wallet and see if I can find that list.”
“I think your brown shoes will look good with your outfit.” Really this was a lie. I couldn't quite remember what Mom had on. The Elmo slippers seemed to have hypnotized me and at the same time fogged my memory.
Mom padded out of the room and my trance was broken. I started to the car, calling out behind me, “Or your moccasins. They'd look great.”
The car was in the garage, and I had to go through Mom's studio to get there.
When Mom and Dad were having this place built, right after they were married, Mom didn't know she was going to be a good sculptor, but she was hoping. Not only did she and Dad have six bedrooms built in this house (with room to grow in the basement) for babies they would someday have, but she also had a studio designed for herself.
This room is huge and full of windows, on both the west and east walls, so she gets a lot of light in here. One wall is loaded with cabinets and shelves. These hold all her different art supplies. The other wall she has filled with pictures. Pictures of Dad and me. Pictures of the three of us together. Pictures, I realized, that were of our lives before Mom changed.
I was on my way to look through them when I saw Mom's latest piece of sculpture. It was on a stand, half born it seemed. A baby. A new baby.
My breath caught as I looked at this thing so tiny and curled up and lifelike. The face wasn't finished yet, but the hands were perfect. One curled into a tiny fist. The other lay open, like maybe it expected a small gift. All at once, I wanted my little sister here with us, safe and sound.
Heavenly Father, I thought. It's time for me to have some company.
The thick smell of clay, kind of an oily smell, filled Mom's studio. A shadow passed on the floor and I realized Mom was going to the garage from the outside.
I ran through her studio out into the garage and hopped into the car. I hit the door opener on the visor and behind me the big white door started rolling up. Mom got to the car before I could even start the engine.
“Hey, babe,” she said, climbing up onto the seat. She gave a grunt and helped pull herself in with the steering wheel.
Elmo stared at me from the gas pedal, and then his twin appeared near the brake.
“Mom,” I said. “Mo-om.” I pointed.
“What, Laurie girl?” Then she looked to her feet. “Oh, that. Honey, you gave me these for Christmas last year. Aren't they great?” Mom raised her eyebrows like I should believe what she said.
I ignored her gift comment. “Mom.”
“You know how I love Elmo.”
“Mom.” A bit of sadness crept into my heart and traveled out along my skin. She didn't care enough about me to change her shoes.
Mom started the car.
“Laurie,” she said, backing out of the garage and making a sweeping turn in the driveway. “Laurie, my feet are so swollen I can't put on any shoes at all. None. Well, maybe your dad's would work.”
She braked the car hard enough that I bounced in the seat a little. “Should I go get some of his? His tennis shoes?”
I looked at Mom's swollen face, then out the window. “Maybe,” I said after a moment. “We are going to the store. In public.”
Mom put the car in park, then threw the Elmos into the backseat. “Hold on one second. You can get my station for me. I'll see what I can do.”
I waited till Mom was out of the car before I started fiddling with the radio. First, though, I watched her waddle to the door. I mean it too. She waddled. Did she have to do that?
When she came back to the car, she wore a pair of Dad's ancient penny loafers. Elton John blasted from the radio, singing about freedom in Philadelphia.
“Honey,” Mom said when she hoisted herself into the car. “Honey, I don't think this is any better. I'm afraid these won't stay on.”
I looked at her feet. They were tanned, puffy and swimming, almost, in Dad's shoes.
“I'm gonna have to go Elmo,” she said.
I should have known that we would see everyone I knew from school, a few people from church and some people from the neighborhood at the local grocery store. It was Meet Elmo at Allen's Day, it seemed. Embarrassing.
And we were in the checkout line when I heard Quinn Sumsion call, “Hey, Mrs. Stephan. I got me some Oscar the G
rouch slippers at home.”
things to change about MY MOTHER!!!!!!!
21. Elmo
A few days later Mom made an announcement at the table. Maggie Lauritzen was over for the night and so was Mary. The three of us had planned an evening of watching old movies down in the basement theater, staying up all night talking and eating junk food. We had come to the dinner table dressed in pajamas.
The sun still sat high in the sky. Dad had brought home Thai food for dinner. The house was cool and smelled like roses.
Mom looked at everyone after we had said a blessing. “I have an announcement.” I was glad she didn't tap her water glass like she had in the Mexican restaurant. “Something happened to me today.”
“What now?” I asked. “Twins?”
“Laura,” Mary said. She slapped at my hand. Already she smiled at my mother.
“No, Laurie,” Mom said. “You are so funny. Something happened today. It was a good thing.”
We all looked at her. I prayed that this had nothing to do with disco dancing… or whatever that was that had frozen my father in the butt-up position.
“I got a call from the Rocky Mountain Fitness Center in Spanish Fork. The manager noticed when I was working out”—Mom lifted both hands high into the air, like maybe she hefted weights herself, even though really she just held a bottle of soy sauce—“that I'm going to have a baby. And guess what?”
“He noticed you're pregnant?” I said. “Hmm. That's a surprise.”
Mom pretended not to hear me. Instead she talked to my friends and my father, who all leaned toward her. Maggie's short brown hair hung over her peanut-butter curry. Mary looked from Mom to me, then back to Mom again. Now she grinned.
“What, Jimmey?” Dad said. “What happened? Ignore the Oldest Child.”
“They asked me to be in a television commercial. For their fitness center. To be aired everywhere in the West where they have a gym.” Mom pursed her lips like she does when she's trying to hide a surprise from me.
“What?” I said. Only it wasn't really a what that came out. More of a grock.
“The Rocky Mountain Fitness Center,” Mom said again. “Can you believe it?”
“You took a modeling job?” Dad asked.
“Yes!” Mom said.
“You're kidding,” Mary said, and she swung her head in my direction and grinned even bigger. “Cool, Mrs. Stephan. The Rocky Mountain Fitness Center.”
“Yeah,” said Maggie. “That is really neat. My brother works out there.”
“The Rocky Mountain Fitness Center. Hmmm. But you're… um… you're showing,” I said. I gestured with my eyebrows at Mom's belly, which was hidden beneath the table.
“What?” Mom asked.
“I said, you're showing. It's no-tice-able that you are pregnant.” A bit of sticky rice seemed to have gotten stuck right in the middle of my throat. I swallowed to make it go down, but it wouldn't budge. In fact, it felt like it was expanding. “I don't think you want people to notice that you are… um… in the family way.”
Mom picked up a spring roll. She held on to it like it was a delicate cup filled with tea. “That's the exciting part of the commercial. It's for pregnant people.”
From outside I heard our neighbor's dog start barking. Was he excited too?
“Tell us all about it,” Dad said. He put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. He looked at Mom with dreamy eyes. She looked back at him with dreamy eyes. Maybe it was dreamy eyes that had begun this whole pregnant incident. I felt they should stop it right this second.
“Stop it,” I said. “Right this second.”
Now both my parents ignored me.
“Cool,” said Maggie. She looked around the table like she knew something no one else did. “I know a TV star.”
“A pregnant TV star,” I said. The Thai food was starting to smell kind of greasy. “Your belly will show,” I said to my mother.
“I know!” Mom smiled, then broke out into a huge grin. Her white teeth seemed to sparkle. Like maybe we were making a commercial at our dinner table: the beautiful, hugely pregnant woman with her husband, also happy, and three children—young adults, I mean—all beaming. Sort of. There was me. My mouth tried to beam, tried to look happy, but I knew I was failing. My lips had the sneer feel to them.
“Your…” I pointed my fork at her.
“What?” Mom asked.
“Your…”
“My…” Mom's voice was a prompt. Her hands helped, waving at me.
“Your. Bosoms.”
Mom's head tilted a little to the left, then to the right. I felt my face turn pink.
Mary gave a sniff that I knew meant I had embarrassed her.
Maggie looked down at her plate.
“They. Are. Huge.” I finished my sentence and gave a cough. Sticky rice flew out of my mouth and landed on the table near a vase of water that held three pink-and-yellow roses.
Mom bit her bottom lip like she was giving the word bosoms deep consideration.
“I do have two of them,” she said.
Dad let out a bark of a laugh.
“I have heard of people with extra nipples, though,” Mom said.
“Stop right there,” I said. “Please don't embarrass me any further. Or my friends.”
For sure, both Mary and Maggie looked embarrassed. The N word had definitely gotten to them.
“Your breasts,” I said, emphasizing the word even though it caused Maggie to giggle, “will show. So will your belly.”
“Bosoms and bellies,” Dad said. “It sounds like a jelly or something.”
“Mom. Stop Dad. He's grossing us all out. Are you two grossed out?” I looked at Mary and Maggie, but they both shook their head. “Yes you are,” I said. “And I know you know it.”
Finally Mom said, “Laurie, I promise to wear a bra.”
“Or two,” I said.
Late that night, once Mary and Maggie had both gone to sleep, I lay in my sleeping bag and stared at the ceiling. Through a large window I could see stars that seemed to wink at me, teasing almost.
“Don't be ridiculous,” I said, keeping my voice low. “This has nothing to do with stars. It has everything to do with Mom.”
I knew exactly what the problem was. Mom— pregnant—in front of the world, for everyone to see. She was huge now. Why would anyone want a pregnant lady advertising their gym? So what if she had a pretty face? “Come to the Rocky Mountain Fitness Center and you can look like me.”
“Jeez.” I sat up and wrapped my arms around my legs, then rested my chin on my knees.
Mary moved a little, then said, “Laura? Why are you up?”
“Just thinking,” I said, “about Mom being in that commercial.”
“Isn't that cool?” Mary asked, and her voice was all thoughtful sounding. In a moment I heard a slight snore and knew she was back asleep.
“Easy for you to say,” I whispered. “Your mother is normal.”
things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!
(Where was that list?)
22. of us living in the same state—no, the same country
23. bosoms and bellies
If those people at the fitness center were thinking, they'd keep Mom covered from head to toe. An image of her in a towel that didn't quite cover her backside came to mind.
“Please don't let that happen,” I prayed. “Don't let her be in only a towel. Even if it's a really, really big towel.”
When I finally slept, I dreamed of Mom walking through a gym, dressed in a slick exercise outfit, not a bit pregnant.
The next morning we slept late. I was awakened by Mom talking to… to… ? I could hear someone else and the voice was familiar, but I couldn't quite figure out who it was. I crawled out of my sleeping bag, quiet so I wouldn't wake anyone.
I made my way up the stairs like a kitten. Mom stood in the kitchen. I could hear her, plain as day, even though I couldn't see her. She was saying, “Are you sure you don't want any breakfast
? Most times I don't start a fire when I'm cooking breakfast.”
And then the other voice. “No thanks, Mrs. Stephan. Mom made oatmeal before I left.”
Oatmeal? I thought. Yucko. I held on to the cherry-wood banister and dug my toes into the soft brown carpet that covers a lot of the basement floor.
“Oatmeal?” Mom said. “Well, it is very good for you. But… oatmeal.” I could almost see Mom shivering. Just the thought of some foods makes Mom want to puke. I turned and began to tiptoe back down the stairs.
“Let's not talk about that, Christian,” Mom said.
Christian? What was he doing here? I froze, my foot ready to take a step.
“Let's get back to talking about Laurie instead.”
I spun toward their voices, my hair swirling out a little, I turned so hard. Talking about me? Could it be… oh, could it be that Quinn liked me now? Could something have changed? Was Rebecca out of the picture? I sank to the step, my hands clenched like I was ready for a long prayer.
Christian cleared his throat. “She'd kill me if she knew we were talking about her.”
“Oh, no,” Mom said. “She'd be pleased.”
I could see the moss-colored marble floor and the very edge of the stainless-steel refrigerator, but that was all. I took another step up.
“I don't know. I've seen her pretty mad at you. If she can be that mad at her own mother, well, I think she could rip my head off and puke down my neck.”
Mad? Mad at my own mother? Well, of course I had been a little upset….
“Don't talk about puking, honey,” Mom said. “It does something to my gag reflex.”
“Sorry.”
Christian was quiet a moment. I took the opportunity to move one step closer, hoping that the barfing comment hadn't made Mom ready to throw up in the kitchen sink. And what in the heck did Christian mean that I could rip his head off and puke like that, anyway? That was gross.
“She really is a nice girl,” Mom said. I heard a tapping noise, like she was drumming the countertop.