Chapter Two
By the time Freddie got the luggage moved into the proper rooms (without any type of apoplectic fit, I might add), Pia and I had managed to move all of my belonging back to the guest house- for which I was greatly relieved. Alex was thrilled at my return since he didn’t like to hang out much in the main house. He said all that purple gave him a headache. And more recently he had been pretty scarce, due mostly to his own lies and his having been embroiled in a long ago love/scandal/murder triangle. Actually, since it had involved four people, I'm guessing it had been more of a quadrangle, but that's beside the point. The point is, my resident ghost had been very lonely, and was now celebrating my return by following me around like a puppy dog.
Against my will I returned to the main house (only at Pia's request- the things I will do for that woman!) and found everyone sitting around the bar as well as the table in the kitchen. Gloria was perched on one of the countertops and Alex joined her.
My mother I could see had the Hulk well in hand and he was happily stuffing his face with cookies and slurping down his milk. His baby brother sat beside him, my mother had turned one of Pia's kitchen towels into a bib, and judging by the mess that was down the front of it, it had been a good decision. Even now half the cookie he was eating was falling down his face as much as into it. Looking at the sight I couldn't help but wonder if I ever wanted to have children.
The eldest boy- Phoenyx was it?- sat in a sullen silence that matched his uncle's. Junior was neither partaking of the food, nor the drink, offered him.
Frida on the other hand, held no such qualms and was happily munching on a large pile of cookies she had placed before her. "I don't know what it is with this pregnancy," she was saying through a mouth full of cookie crumbs, "but I just can't seem to get enough to eat!"
So that explained her girth.
Well, maybe not all of it, I couldn't help but think when I looked at her massive arms wobbling as she reached for yet another cookie.
"I keep telling you, it's a girl. When I was pregnant with you, I was always hungry," Frances advised, while munching her way through her own sizeable stockade of baked goods. The two of them could easily eat the Keebler elves right out of business.
"Reid," my mother greeted me. "Can I get you some tea? Or any cookies?"
I doubted there were any cookies left this side of the Mason-Dixon Line, but I wasn't about to say anything. "No, thanks. I'm good."
Frances didn’t pay any mind to me as she continued her previous conversation, "Let's just hope you hold onto little Phoebe until after the anniversary party."
"Ma, I keep telling you, her name is not Phoebe!"
"Whatever you decide, dear."
How far along was Frida exactly that her mother would be concerned about the child being born prior to the party?
Thankfully, my mother had the guts to ask the question I was too terrified to discover the answer to. "So, when are you due, dear?"
"I've only got about a month to go," she mumbled, spraying cookie crumbs across the table.
Dear, God! How long were these people planning on being here?
"But this being her fourth, we have to be ready for anything," Frances reminded the room in general. "Later children often do come earlier. That's why I'm concerned little Phoebe (her daughter interrupted with a growl, but Frances ignored her and went on) will try to make an appearance before the party. Or, God forbid, during." I half expected her to cross herself on that statement. I know I wanted to.
"When is your anniversary, Frances?" my mother asked. Ever the brave soul.
"Oh, it's just a few weeks off. The eighteenth actually, but as it's a week day I thought we should have the party the weekend following."
"Or before," I chimed in, only slightly echoing Pia's same sentiment.
Frances frowned, "Are you in such a hurry to be rid of your baby sister, Prissy?"
Baby sister? Baby sister?
Never in a million years would I have guessed Frances was younger than Pia. True, Pia had Botox and other surgical methods to rely on, and Frances' heavy make-up hid a good portion of her face. But as I stared hard at the skin beneath the emerald green eye-shadow that ran all the way up to Frances' heavily painted eyebrows, I saw a lot more wrinkles and crow's feet than I'd even seen on Pia. And that bright orange lipstick was already flowing out of a million and one tiny fissures stemming from her lips.
Gloria must have seen the look on my face, because she said, "It's true, sweetie. Remember what I told you, Pia is sixty-three. She may not look it, but she's almost nine years older than her sister."
Nine years, that put Frances at fifty-five. So while Frances did in fact look every bit of her age, Pia did not. Pia looked as if she were in her upper forties, early fifties at most. And she made everybody believe it too.
"I'm not in a hurry to get rid of you," Pia was now saying to Frances. "I'm just saying let's look at the calendar and see what's more convenient, that's all."
"Whatever. As long as it's not too soon. Christian may not be available until the end of the month, as he's currently on a tour."
Christian? Who's Christian?
"Ahhhh, Christian," Gloria sighed as if in ecstasy. "He's the only thing that makes it all worthwhile."
Alex just frowned at her.
Unaware of Gloria's panting, Pia took the time to explain, "Christian is Frances' eldest son, from a previous relationship. He lives in London. He's some kind of rock star I believe."
"He thinks he is anyway," Junior finally broke his brooding silence.
"Yeah, to hear him tell it, he's the next best thing since the Beatles," Frida grumped before snatching one of her mother's cookies. She had run out of her own.
My mind was awhirl. "You're not talking about Christian Carter - are you? As in, lead singer of the Strange Infusion? That Christian Carter?"
"That's the one, sweetie," Gloria sighed again. "The one and only." She followed that up with a very disturbing, growly-purr kind of thing.
"You know my son?" Frances asked, turning her attention to me for the first time.
"Well, yeah." I was astonished that they were all so surprised. "I used to listen to a lot of indie bands and alternative rock when I was in college. I loved his first album and I played it nearly all the time. His second one was pretty good too, but the first was my favorite. I thought everyone had heard of Strange Infusion?"
"Apparently not everyone, dear," my mother pointed out.
"Apparently not," I muttered.
"Anyway, he's currently on some kind of tour, so he may not be here for another week or more. I can't possibly schedule the party until I know when he'll be here."
"Along with the paparazzi," Gloria added. "You do realize that the idea of throwing their anniversary party here is ludicrous? They live in Alabama, or some other such godforsaken place, why would they have a party here I ask you? They have no friends here. It'll be the smallest party known to mankind."
I flashed her a look that said, "Get to the point."
"My point is, the only people Pia could invite would be her own friends. Not exactly what one would want at their thirtieth anniversary party, is it? Someone else's friends. But, Freaky Frannie wants to bask in some of the glory of her son's newfound success. A son she deserted when he was only two, by the way. I think she's been to London maybe a handful of times to see him in his whole life, and he's only made the trek to the States to see her a few times. In fact, I think it's a pretty safe bet that he's been here to visit his aunt more than he ever has to visit his mother. He used to come here summers when he was younger and just starting out. Pia let him use the guesthouse. He said that's where he did all his best writing."
I barely heard the last of what Gloria was saying, because already Frances was talking again. "That's why it's imperative that we have the party here. Christian has a standard to maintain and currently our home is under a bit of construction-"
Junior snorted and his mother shot him a silencing glare.
; "As I was saying, we're having a remodel and it's too small to accommodate everyone anyway. This seemed the perfect option. Besides, Prissy, you did promise."
It was evident Pia couldn't recall having ever made any such promise, but regardless, she said, "Well, of course we can have your party here. It'll be nice to see Christian again, it's been so long."
I couldn't help but notice that she didn't add how nice it was to see any of the rest of them.
"Hulk done! Hulk PLAY now!"
My mother scurried to catch the four-year-old's chair before he tipped out of it in his eagerness to remove himself from the table. "Hulk needs to wash up first," she admonished. "And then I think we need to be talking about bedtime."
"NOOOOO!" The last time I'd heard a scream that loud had been only a few hours earlier and it had been coming from a banshee who had been trying to destroy the living room and the old man in it. The old man had died of a heart attack and the banshee had gone on to better places (one hoped). But obviously, little Physhyr was more than happy to take her place.
"My word!" Pia exclaimed.
"That one's got a temper," Frances idly informed her.
"Dear God, someone make him stop!" his own mother complained. "I can't deal with him, I've got indigestion."
No kidding? After the thirty-seven cookies you just downed, I'm surprised you've got a stomach!
"I keep telling you, it's a girl," her mother crowed. "Girls always bring indigestion."
I could see how Frances thought that. Both she and her daughter were starting to give me a little.
Meanwhile, my mother, having never met a four-year-old that she couldn't take, took the Hulk by the hand and led him to the sink to wash up, all the while talking to him quietly.
Now let me just say, quietly from my mother should not be confused with sweetly. I have seen her give very sincere death threats in a very serene manner. Whatever she said to the little demon, it worked, because he followed her quite docilely from the kitchen, and she only paused to scoop up the baby on her way.
Pia watched them go wistfully. "I wonder how long she's planning on staying?"
*****
About the Author:
T. L. Ingham was born and raised in upstate New York, before living short stints in Connecticut, Rhode Island, Illinois, and then finally, Indiana where she lives today, residing with her husband and their two dogs. She is the author of the blog Did This Really Just Happen? and co-author of Snark-o-locity.
Living and Dying in the Hamptons
The Dradon Project
The View from the Top
Gilda's Locket
Losing Myself But Not Entirely
Connect with Me Online:
https://tlingham.webs.com/ and https://www.facebook.com/tl.ingham.1
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