19. About Damn Time
19
About Damn Time
“Want to come up?” Wanda asks as we walk up our driveway.
“I should probably sleep in a real bed tonight,” I say. Part of me thinks Wanda may benefit from some alone time with chickn_backflip. Despite her not trusting me, I still want what’s best for her. “Besides, I need to talk to Cass about the party.”
“I can’t imagine she’d say no.”
“I’m not sure. We’ve spent the last seventeen birthdays together. I think she loves the movies and vomit fest as much as we do. It’s our special thing and I am her only child.”
“For the record, I don’t love throwing up. Your mom is a bad influence. She encouraged me to eat all that candy every year I got sick.”
“Me too. I wonder if having me when she was older left her without the energy to parent like the other moms.”
“Cass is just cooler than other parents,” Wanda says. “I’m heading up.”
I stand outside and wait for Wanda’s signal, flicking the lights on and off four times to let me know everything is ok upstairs. We made up the routine when Wanda was old enough to sleep upstairs on her own when her mom worked nightshifts. Even though we’re too old for monsters to be hiding under our beds, I always wait, and Wanda always flicks the lights.
When I go inside, Cass calls, “Keep your shoes on.”
“What’s going on?”
Cass lifts the visor of the face shield she’s wearing. “I’ve been watching stained glass tutorials online. Fascinating. I don’t know why I didn’t try it before. Careful though. The slivers from cutting glass get everywhere.”
I grab our broom and begin sweeping and decide to cut to the chase. “About my birthday.”
Cass lowers her visor and snaps a piece of glass in half cleanly. “I think I got the hang of this. What are you planning to get sick on for your eighteenth?”
“I thought we could keep it simple. A small family dinner, you, me, Uncle Andy, and Wanda, followed by me going to a party.”
“A party?” Cass puts down the glass she’s scoring and lifts her visor again.
I keep sweeping. “A college party. On campus. With Wanda. Luke will be there too.”
Cass takes off her work gloves. “A bunch of minors at an afterhours college party?”
I stop sweeping. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’m very mature and responsible.”
“That’s exactly what I am worried about,” Cass says. “You’re a fuddy-duddy.”
“I am not.”
“Oh yes, you are,” Cass says resuming her glass scoring. “The wildest thing you’ve ever done is tell a boy you like him through interpretive dance and break a store window. You weren’t even being reckless. Total accident. You’ll be eighteen soon enough. You don’t need my permission to go to a party. Go. Be immature. Be irresponsible. Make bad choices. I’ve been waiting for you to finally do something interesting for once. You’re so boring, I was starting to wonder if you were even my son.”
“I’m not boring,” I say. I catch Cass smiling. “Are you sure you’re not going to be upset your baby isn’t spending his special day with you?”
“That’s a sickening way to put it. But if it makes it more fun for you, I’ll take back my blessing and you can sneak out like you should have started doing a few years ago. It’s about damn time you went and raised some hell.”
“It’s not going to be that kind of party.”
“I’ve only got one condition. Don’t get in so much trouble I need to make another statue.”
“You’re the worst.” I cross the room and give her a hug. “I’m lucky you decided to make me.”
Cass squeezes me back. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me. You’re getting overly sentimental in your old age, fuddy-duddy.”
As Wanda, Cass, and Uncle Andy sing the final notes of “Happy Birthday,” I puff out my cheeks. I focus on them and use my wish for the people across from me, hoping Cupid’s arrow hits a bull’s-eye for each of them and that my schemes ring true.
I’ve never been one to rely on wishes alone. I’m not one to sit around hoping what I want will be delivered to me. There were all these trends like putting things out into the universe and the book The Secret , and then manifesting. But beyond a want that something drops in your lap out of nowhere, there was no real action plan.
I cut my ice cream cake. As I hand Uncle Andy his slice, I tip the dessert plate so melted ice cream dribbles onto his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, scrambling for napkins that I hand to Cass who is seated beside him.
She takes the napkins, which I managed to smear some hot fudge and pink icing onto with my thumb as I passed them over, and begins rubbing at the spill on Uncle Andy’s shirt, another plaid button-up I’ve advised him against. I’ve got to get him confidently serving some hot DILF realness.
No matter how much I’ve told Cass to dab or work in a circular motion from the outside in, she rubs at the spilled ice cream. I knew she would.
Cass throws up her hands. “How did I manage to make it worse?”
“That’s going to stain. We need to treat it immediately,” I say, pitching my voice a touch higher than normal and speaking quickly to create a sense of urgency with the tiniest hint for potential panic. The last thing anyone wants from this birthday boy is a gay meltdown. I know Cass and Uncle Andy remember my sugar high crashes of yore and the accompanying hysteria only a four-year-old strung out on Pixy Stix and cupcakes can achieve.
“I’ll wash it when I get home,” Uncle Andy says.
As if she’s in on what I’ve got going, Cass says, “No. Bobby’s right. You need to nip a stain in the bud. Take it off and give it to me.”
“It’s fine. Really.”
I couldn’t have asked for a better performance from Cass. She begins unbuttoning Uncle Andy’s shirt for him. “Don’t be silly. I’ll run some water through it.”
Uncle Andy tries to shoo Cass’s hands away and finally catches them in his. He holds them. They stare into each other’s eyes before Cass delicately pulls her hands away. I swear, her cheeks go pink.
“I can do it,” Uncle Andy says softly. He finishes unbuttoning his shirt before he slides it off his shoulders and hands it to Cass. He’s not in a T-shirt today but a white tank undershirt.
I comment, “Beefcake alert! Those are some serious Ronny Cammareri vibes you’re giving, Uncle Andy.” This is coming together even better than I could have planned.
“Huh?” he asks.
Cass holds the shirt in both hands before running water through it under the tap. “Nicolas Cage’s character in Moonstruck ,” Wanda says.
“I love that movie.” Cass works dish soap into the spot and rinses. “There, good as new. It just needs to dry.” Cass hangs the shirt on the back of a chair. “You should finish your cake and get going soon. Don’t take five years to get dressed like you normally do, Bobby.”
“Excuse me for wanting to look good,” I say.
There’s a knock at the front door. Cass answers it and returns to the table with a bouquet of long-stem roses with a card. “For you,” she says.
I make a point of furrowing my brow and trying to seem confused as I take the envelope and rip it open. When I pull out the card, two tickets flutter out. Cass picks them up.
“These are for the sold-out Mapplethorpe in the Vines interactive exhibit.”
“A friend’s dad is head chef at the winery,” I say. “She sent me tickets for my birthday.” I don’t mention that Tricia texted how she scored the vineyard because of her personal connection, and I took that as my opportunity to finagle two tickets to the Mapplethorpe show. Then a quick trip across the street to Mr. Fumagalli got me a bouquet of roses at a low cost. All Mae needed to hear was I was helping out a couple and she arranged for the tickets and flowers to be delivered right after dinner.
I take the tickets from Cass and study them for a second. “They’re for tonight,” I say. “And even if Wanda and I didn’t have that party, it’s a twenty-one-plus event. You should take them.” I hold out the tickets for Cass. “You’ve been dying to see how they use his photographs.”
“I’ll go with you,” Uncle Andy offers, as I knew he would.
Cass raises an eyebrow at him. “Mapplethorpe was rather risqué, and the interactive element is supposed to be quite provocative.”
Wanda takes the roses from Cass and gets a vase out of our cupboard above the refrigerator.
“I’m sure I can handle it,” he replies. “And you’ll be able to enjoy the wine without worrying about driving home safely.”
I remove the sparkly plastic Birthday Girl tiara and feather boa Cass pulled out for me today and leave them on the table. “You’ll need to tell me all about it in the morning,” I say as I get up to change my outfit for the party.
“Shoot,” Uncle Andy says. “I open the store tomorrow.”
This is the only wrench my plan has come up against, and I can’t have all my efforts go to waste. This night is tailor-made to get Andy and Cass together. Wine. A moonlight vineyard. Suggestive art. The scene is set. They need to take the stage. I stop before I exit the room. “I can do that for you.”
Uncle Andy stands and picks up his shirt. “You’ve never opened on your own before.”
“I’ve helped Gladys open loads. I’ve got a key. It’s the opposite of locking the door and turning on the alarm. Besides, I’ve got to learn some time and Sunday mornings are a ghost town.”
“But aren’t you going to be out at that party late?” Uncle Andy asks.
Cass takes Uncle Andy’s shirt and helps him slide it on then stands in front of him and does up the buttons, leaving enough undone so his chest and tank still show. “It’s Bobby. Late is eleven o’clock. You can afford to take the occasional break. You don’t have to be in that store twenty-four seven.”
“All right, Bobby,” he says then moves to do more buttons up.
Cass places her hand on top of his. “Leave it. It’s a warm night and it looks better that way.”
I sashay down the hall. Every piece is falling right into place.
Wanda follows me to my bedroom. “You’re shameless. I can’t believe they didn’t pick up on it.”
“I know. I’m good,” I say, pulling a mesh shirt embroidered with flowers and bees out of my closet and deciding against it. I take out a super cute bubblegum-pink cropped varsity jacket and short set I wore last Halloween.
“Jacket, yes. Shorts, no,” Wanda says.
“I know I had that blip with Truman, and it was a big blip, but I’m back. You saw how that went off. I could help you with chickn_backflip if you let me,” I say.
Wanda makes a face.
“At least tell me why you, Wanda Lee, haven’t pulled the trigger on the chickn_backflip situation. I’m your BFF.”
Wanda sighs. “You’re not going to give up. Fine, I’ll tell you but no specifics and no follow-up questions. Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”
“Take them,” I agree grudgingly.
“It’s just gaming so far, nothing romantic, so stop thinking that. But if it’s going to go beyond that I need to be sure he’s all in.”
“Did he give you any reason to believe he could do that?”
“That sounds a lot like a follow-up, but I’ll allow it. He says he wants to be around long term, but saying you want something isn’t the same as being prepared to actually do it. And I already know you’re going to tell me I have to take a chance, but every risk is calculated, and I don’t have enough data to do that yet.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
“No more questions and remember what you promised,” Wanda says.
I remember the promise I didn’t make very well. Instead of pushing her for more, I hold up the outfit. “Are you sure the shorts are a no? My ass looks great in them.”
“Do what you want.” Wanda ignores my offer. “But don’t come complaining to me when your legs are itching from mosquito bites later.”