“She doesn't get child support?”
Mama snorted. “Her baby daddies are anarchists. The kind that go out and break windows and set cars on fire in protests. Least, that's what she says. Doesn't even have their names on the birth certificates.”
“Oof.”
“Yeah. She got the birth control implant after PJ, so I think she's done. It's a hard life, raising children alone.” Mama looked at me, then little Cal, nursing away. “I – I just – ”
“What, Mama?”
“His life is going to be so much better than yours. And I'm sorry for that.”
“Oh, Mama. Stop.”
“I know. I know! I'm rambling on like Marlene at the end of a drunk night at the bar, bemoaning and be-twitching. Meanwhile, you're the one I should be worried about, staying in a house haunted by Old Doc Oglethorpe.”
I laughed. She needed me to not be serious.
I would give her that courtesy.
“I think someone was playing a sick joke claiming it's haunted. Anyone tied shoelaces together and string shoes on the electric line in front of the house?”
“Why would they do that? Besides, he liked high heels. Size six. Whole town knew that. Jean down at the Goodwill used to set the good shoes aside for him. He had a standing order, you know? The Wesleyan Methodist Church Thrift Shop 'bout had a collective heart attack when they learned why he so eagerly supported their efforts.”
“Ain't no harm in loving a shoe, Mama.”
“Did I say there was? Not like I can cast stones. Me and Calvin make good money with our business.”
“Who knew real-fur butt plugs could support a family?”
“Takes all kinds. But I tell you, that place is haunted.”
“I'll bet you five bucks that place ain't haunted, Mama.”
“How you gonna prove it ain't, Darla Jo?”
“How you gonna prove it is?” I stuck my tongue out at her like I was a little girl. It made her laugh.
“Fine. You wanna up the ante? Ten bucks. Easiest ten dollars I made in a long time,” Mama said with a chuckle I loved hearing.
“Twenty.”
Shock looked up at me from the couch. “Twenty!” She let out a low whistle. “You're convicted.”
“I just believe in science and what you can prove.”
“Fine. Twenty dollars says that house you're renting is haunted.”
“Deal.” We shook on it. That made it official.
I hated taking money from my mama, but she pushed it, so...
“How 'bout we focus on you and the baby and stop talking about other people and their kinks, Mama.”
“Your kink is stopping you from having a baby.”
“Say what?”
“You ever planning on giving me a grandchild?”
I pointed to my little brother. “I think you got your hands full when it comes to babies. You don't need another one anytime soon. Plus, Jenna's popping 'em out like she's a human Pez dispenser. You're good on grandchildren.”
“Ain't the same and you know it.”
“Mama.”
“Which of them men's gonna give you the sperm to make a baby?”
“Give?”
“Put it in you. Whatever. Someday, you have to decide whether you want kids, and you ain't getting younger, Darla.”
“Hah! Mama, you just had a baby at forty-nine. I'm not even thirty. I got time.”
“This isn't about time. Or me needing grandkids from you, and you know it.”
“But you just said – ”
“This is about me trying to understand who you are, Darla.”
“Good luck, Mama. Many have tried, none have succeeded.”
“So you're never having kids?”
“I didn't say that.”
“What do Joe and Trevor want?”
“They like the babymaking part just fine, minus the actual baby.”
Her smile got soft. “With the right man, it sure is nice.” Then she looked at her lap, occupied by her newest crotch fruit. “But my nether regions are hamburger because of the good part.”
“Don't wanna hear any of this, Mama.”
“It was the same when you were born, Darla. Giving birth hurts. Eve's curse for getting Adam to eat that apple.”
“You really believe that?”
“I do. I'm a churchgoing woman. But I also believe whoever invented drugs to take the pain away was a saint. But this little one,” she said, gently stroking the baby's cheek as he sucked, “came so fast there wasn't time for pain meds. I went in thinking I had a gallbladder attack or an appendix bursting and instead I got a whole human being split me sideways. Felt like he was the worst constipation ever.”
I said nothing, because if I did, I might gag.
“Funny. Your birth was so different, Darla.”
I was gonna hurl if she described it.
“Charlie,” she said, whispering my daddy's name, “was scared shitless. We were 19 and 18 and didn't know what the hell we were doing, having a baby. But nature don't care if you're ignorant – it just does what it does and you grew in me. Then the pains began. We packed bags, but couldn't leave for the hospital.”
“Why not?”
She gave me an askance glance. “Like I said. He was scared shitless. Poor guy couldn't leave the toilet. After a while, he just kept yelling, 'I'm sorry, Cathy! I'm shittin' water! My ass isn't ready to be a daddy yet, I guess!”
Never in my life had I heard this story. Never. Josie had said something about how I was born at home, but when I asked Mama, she wouldn't explain. Then I guess I just kinda...
Forgot?
Blocked it out?
Picked up on Mama's cues that asking would upset her, so I didn't?
“How did you get to the hospital?”
“I didn't. Charlie turned into the poop version of the Hoover Dam while I gave birth to you on the boot rug in front of the door.”
“Huh?”
“I called Marlene, because I just thought I needed a ride to the hospital, but she got here, took one look at me and the puddle of broken waters all over the carpet next to the couch, and screamed, 'No, Cathy, don't you dare shit out the baby right now! Stanley Steamer will cost you an arm and a leg to clean that mess' – and then your arm and leg came outta me.”
“Isn't it normally the head that comes out first?”
“I was being funny.”
“Oh.”
“Darla, could you get me water? And an oatmeal cookie? The milk lady at the hospital said oatmeal was important.”
“Milk lady?”
“You know. The one what taught me to breastfeed.”
“Lactation consultant, Mama.”
“Milk lady works just fine, too,” she said, waving me off to the kitchen.
Calvin was upstairs, sleeping, trying to catch up after a whirlwind few days. I'd set my phone to voicemail for everything, screening the media calls. I was convinced Mama and Calvin should go for a big exclusive, take the money, then disappear.
Our entertainment lawyer for the band was helping me to pick the right opportunity, and we were down to two.