This would be over soon.
“Ahhh,” Mama said, settling in, looking down at baby Cal with so much love it made me nearly burst, because I felt it all, too. “Feels good to be home.”
I looked around the living room, the overstuffed couch and two big recliners neatly covered with hand-knit blankets Mama and my grandma had knitted. I recognized the patterns, but the furniture was all Calvin's. A big-screen TV was anchored to the wall, but also on a stand, the remotes lined up neatly on the end table next to a box of tissues.
No pack of half-sucked ciggies.
No overflowing ashtray.
No litter of used glasses.
The house smelled stale, but clean, the shag carpet old and worn but still decent, a few area rugs where people rested their feet. A coffee table was covered with the normal stuff people have when they live somewhere, especially a home with little kids. Jenna's family's presence was obvious.
Baby wipes, Burp cloths. Bottles.
And a Weekly World News tabloid that said, “5g Towers Turn Wolves Into Humanoids For Russian Army.”
Calvin's magazines were there, too. Rod and Reel. Some taxidermy journal. A copy of Time Magazine and the local weekly rag, Peters People.
Mama and Calvin would be in there, front and center, above the line next week, for sure. Surprise babies were rare, and Peters was abuzz about Cathy and Calvin McMasterson and their little bundle of joy.
Who was about to be the trigger for a tidy little sum, too.
“Mama? We got the exclusive story and pictures down to two choices. Calvin talk about it with you?”
She finished gulping from a cup, and grabbed the clicker. “Uh huh. He can decide.”
“You don't want to have a part in the decision?”
“Nope. I got too much in my head, Darla. And I'm also waiting for that first post-partum poop, so there's that.”
I had no idea what she meant.
“The baby ain't pooped yet?”
“What? No. Of course he has. You know that. Did it on you. I'm talking about me.”
Jenna chose that moment to walk in, carrying a bag of Munchos in one hand, her toddler, JJ, on her hip. He was a cute little thing, with dark, curly hair and a wide nose that made him look friendly even when he wasn't smiling. His current preoccupation was with the chips.
“Oh, Cathy, don't I know. That first dump feels like you're giving birth to a two-pounder, don't it?”
Her casual way of talking to my mama made me queasy. And not just 'cause of the subject. Jenna lived here, day in and day out with Mama. Depended on her and Calvin. Helped out and was helped in return. They spent their days intertwined in each other's lives, sharing good and bad, boredom and excitement (but mostly boredom), arguing and ignoring each other.
Jenna had something I'd chosen to forsake: time.
Time with my mama.
“Don't even talk about it, Jenna,” Mama snapped. “It's been near thirty years since I went through it, and now I got to do it all over again.”
Jenna chewed on a chip, then offered me the open bag. “Want some?”
“No thanks.”
She laughed. “We grossing you out? Sorry. You'll learn someday.” Her eyes narrowed, not with anger, but with evaluation. “When you planning on having kids?”
“Someday.”
Mama snorted.
Ding dong!
The doorbell could mean only one thing: a door-to-door salesman, or Trevor and Joe. At this point, I'd welcome a Bible salesman or a meat guy or a Kirby vacuum dude – hell, bring on the Jehovah's Witnesses! – over talking about taking a two-pound post-partum shit.
“I'll get it,” I announced, eager to get away, but pulled toward just sitting next to Mama and crooning over the baby.
It was Trevor and Joe, each holding a big box of baby stuff.
For the next five minutes, we were a three person parade of consumerism, bringing it all in as Jenna's eyes got bigger and bigger. A few weeks ago, I'd sent her a nice baby gift, a gift card she could use at WalMart for whatever she needed, and a cute little set of baby bibs that said “Mama's Little Spit-up Artist.”
Now I felt bad for the disparity.
But she wasn't my mama, and her baby wasn't my surprise little brother, either.
In that moment, I realized that little Cal, Jr. was the uncle to her two babies, and both were older than their uncle. That wasn't unusual here in Peters, though. Lots of mamas had late-in-life babies while their oldest was spitting 'em out in their late teens.
But the older mamas weren't forty-nine.
Trevor's words about autism rang through me as I looked at him, and as pleasantries were noted, until Mama called out, “Hoo-eee! Did you buy the entire WalMart baby section?”
“Close enough,” I joked. “We got everything on your list.”
“I didn't expect you to get more than the necessities! You already got us that nice gift,” she said, looking at me, Trevor and Joe. “The gift card for Amazon, and the little baby bib.”
That must have been what Joe had in his silver-wrapped box.
“Well, Mama, I can't be here in person like other people. You got Calvin and Jenna here to help you, and I'm grateful,” I said, going out of my way to look Jenna in the eye, who smiled nervously, but seemed pleased. “So this is my way of making up for not being here.”
“You can't afford this!”
Joe cleared his throat. “We can. It's from all of us.”
I pointed to Joe. “But mostly him. Mama, Joe's fallen in love with the baby and said he's sad he never had a sibling. This is his way of feeling like he's got one.”
I thought Mama would be touched by the sentiment and it would be hard for her to reject all the gifts.
But instead, my explanation yielded a reaction I never anticipated:
Wailing.
Mama and Jenna burst into tears, all their attention on Joe, who looked like he wanted to rip off a fingernail and use it as a shovel to dig himself a hole to live in forever and ever. Utterly helpless, he looked at me and mouthed the words, What do I do?
I shrugged.
“That is the sweetest thing I ever heard!” Mama wailed.
“I wish I could find a guy who talked about his emotions so well like that,” Jenna sobbed. Little toddler JJ took her prostrate state as an opportunity to filch the Munchos, fist diving in and grabbing a bunch, shoving them in his little mouth.
“Joe, you are so, so sweet,” Mama said between sobs.
The baby popped off her boob. Milk gurgled out like a broken water fountain. She quickly covered with a blanket as a sleepy Calvin walked down the stairs, into the living room, and came to a dead halt. He was wearing a faded t-shirt with a tool company logo, boxers, and nothing else.
“Aw, hell, Cathy. I didn't know we had company,” he said, moving back to hide his bare legs in the doorway.
“Ain't company! They're family,” she burst out, the words making a new crying jag come to life.
Now I started crying. So help me God, if Joe and Trevor joined in, the Rapture was starting.
And my odds for being taken weren't exactly great.
“Let me get some pants on and I'll visit with the family,” Calvin corrected himself, disappearing with a loud yawn.
Ding dong!
We all leaped out of our skin at the sudden intrusion.