Chapter 31
KAEDE
“Thank you so much for inviting me, Ms. McWarren,” Courtney says, more nervous than she’s been in a while. It’s funny. It’s not like this is the first dinner we’ve had here.
But it is the first since the proposal. I think Courtney is afraid my mom is going to grill her on taking care of her baby boy. I assured her that Mom is probably just happy to pass that torch on to someone else . . . anyone else.
Please, take him!
Court didn’t believe that a bit. I don’t either, but I figured exaggerating a bit would be forgiven because Mom is awesome and does take good care of me. And I return the favor, taking care of her.
“Call me Donna . . . or Mom,” Mom says a little shyly, smiling hopefully. It feels weird, in some ways. Everyone knew it was coming, Courtney and I getting publicly engaged. It was about the worst kept secret ever, but it’s still hit all of us with the feels.
“Of course . . . Donna,” Courtney says haltingly. She’ll get there soon enough and call her Mom like everyone else does. It’s hard not to when she’s cooking for you.
Mom, of course, loves it and scrunches Courtney into a shoulder hug. “Come on, let’s sit. Dinner’s ready. Earl’s probably already munching on the bread,” she says before hollering over her shoulder, “Earl! Put that roll down!”
I’ve heard that tone. The ‘teasing, but I’m dead serious’ voice that Mom used on me. I’ve never heard her use it on anyone else. It’s jarring and kinda . . . sweet.
I’m still trying to figure them out. Earl and Mom started dating not long after he fixed the water heater, but it’s still weird to think of her having a steady boyfriend again.
Then again, Earl’s been really good to her, and I can tell how much he likes her and enjoys spoiling her, something Mom definitely deserves.
She smiles a lot more now too, and I think that’s because of him and his crazy stories.
Plus, I have never seen his plumber’s crack, which is definitely in the win column.
Oh, shit. I bet Mom has. Ugh . . . Moms and sex life do not go together, I don’t care how old she is or I am.
But I guess he’s not that bad.
And they’re moving slowly. Or maybe more like regular speed compared to Courtney and me?
As we sit down, I can see that there are very specifically eleven rolls on the platter and Earl’s cheeks are swollen up like a chipmunk’s. He has plenty of good traits, but it’s very clear he’s a bread thief.
We pass out the rest of the food, Earl politely taking only one roll while everyone else grabs two, and we dig in. Courtney can do fine dining and sterling silver forks and all that . . . but she’s just as comfortable eating meatloaf and mac n’ cheese on plain old Corelle dishes.
One more thing to love about her.
“Mmm, Donna, this is good.” Earl smiles around a mouthful, patting Mom’s hand, and I can suddenly see them doing this every night for a long time. I like that Mom has someone, even if it’s hard to add to the little family of just her and me.
We fought through struggles, found our paths to make dreams come true, and now, they finally are . . . for both of us.
“So, how’s the repair business coming along, Earl?” I ask. It’s the intro he needs to spin off into a tale about his exciting job as a plumber.
No, really.
As he starts, Mom pauses him. “Babe, is this a dinner friendly story?” She looks at Courtney. “A lot of his stories involve . . . poop.” She whispers that part, as if saying it quieter makes it more polite at the table. Courtney smiles and shrugs. No big deal to her.
“Yes, no shit in this one. But I went to a house this week, one of those big ones up on the hill, with this sweater set and pearls type lady. Complaint said a toilet was clogged. So I get there and go upstairs. They got one of those ‘kid’s areas’ at the top of the stairs, and there’s a guy playing video games.
He gives me the ’sup? nod and I do the same.
” He demonstrates as though we don’t know what a chin lift is.
“The lady shows me the bathroom and it’s like . . . a regular bathroom. She says that it’s her son’s, that’s the full-grown, twenty-something dude on the couch, apparently, and it was fine until he came home from college. My bet? He flunked out because of the video games.” He nods, certain.
“She said she thinks his bowel movements—” He holds his hand up to Mom. “It’s not about shit, I swear, Donna. Just hear me out.” Mom lifts a brow doubtfully but doesn’t interrupt. I’m glad because just from Earl’s accent and his way of storytelling, I’m in and thinking this’ll be a good one.
“His BMs aren’t right because all he eats is junk food.
I’m thinking, no way is this guy’s dumps clogging this toilet.
It’s one of those fancy ones that flushes golf balls by the dozens, you know?
So I get to work, and she’s watching, not wanting to leave me alone in her house, like I’m gonna steal the fancy shampoo or some shit.
I slide my auger down the toilet, and I’ll be damned, I come up on a clog.
I’m going at it” —he mimics with his arm— “and not clearing the clog, no matter how hard I try.”
“What did you do?” Courtney asks, eyes wide and still eating her roll, not grossed out in the least. That’s my girl.
“I told the lady I was gonna need to take her toilet out and check the pipework on the other end, see if I could unclog it that way. That’s where it gets interesting.” We all lean forward, on the edge of our seats . . . about a toilet.
“So I do what I need to and put the toilet in the tub so it won’t drip on her tile floor and make a mess.
I slip the auger up the other end of the pipe and pull out .
. . a condom.” Earl grins, loving our disgusted reaction.
“You think you’re freaked. The lady whispered, ‘What’s that?
’ and I had to tell her it was a Trojan.
So she’s holding her pearls and asks how it got there like I put it there, and I had to be the bearer of bad news and tell her that someone flushed it.
She’s doing the whole ‘oh, my, no one in this house’ deal when I pull out another, and another, and another.
They just keep coming like the toilet is a condom manufacturing plant.
And she’s ‘ooh’, ‘ooh’, ‘oohing’ like it’s the second coming of Christ himself, and then switches to ‘no, no, no’ when that doesn’t stop them a-coming. ”
Earl shoves a bite of mac n’ cheese into his mouth, and I ask, “Whose were they? The kid’s?”
Earl points at me with a thick finger. “At this point, I don’t know.
I’m just pulling ’em out like a magician with never-ending handkerchiefs, ’cept they’s condoms. One right after the last. And I’m thanking my lucky stars that I have on rubber gloves for all this .
. . body fluid.” Mom gasps, and Earl looks at her. “What? I didn’t say shit.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You might as well go on now.” But I don’t think she’s upset in the least since she’s smiling right along with him.
“Then the joint butts start coming, a whole glob of them like someone flushed an ashtray’s worth of ’em.
And Miss Priss is asking me ‘is that marijuana?’ assuming I’d know, but c’mon, everybody knows what a joint looks like.
I’ve seen movies, you know?” He shrugs. “At this point, she’s had enough and stomps off, no care about the fancy shampoo now, and I can hear her yelling at the guy.
I guess he flunked out of school, came home, and was just chilling on their dime.
And every time Mom went out, he was hooking up with Tinderellas—gotta give him credit on the rubbers for that, at least—and toking up.
She’s just screeching away and he’s all chill like it’s no big deal.
When I got everything fixed up right, I walked by with a whole trash bag of condoms and wet papers and he gave me another head nod.
” He demonstrates again. “I got my check and told him to only flush toilet paper. Everything else needs to go in the trash can. Pretty sure he was getting whooped up one side and down the other by Miss Priss when I left.” Earl laughs.
“People are crazy. Twenty-something-year-old man flushing condoms like he ain’t got no sense. ”
He’s sure right. People are crazy.
We all laugh and shake our heads, slightly grossed out.
We finish eating and Mom grabs a cake from the kitchen, setting it in the middle of the table. It’s chocolate icing with chocolate sprinkles.
“Kaede said you like sprinkles so I went a little crazy with them.” She did. The top of the cake is covered with them. A solid layer of sprinkle goodness.
“It looks delicious. Thank you,” Courtney says kindly.
She stands up, holding a plate out while Mom cuts a slice and plops it onto the dish.
After adding a fork, Courtney passes it to Earl.
They do it again for my slice, again for Courtney’s, and once more for Mom’s.
I like to see that Courtney jumps right in where she’s needed.
She came from money and grew up with a maid and kitchen helper, but she’s not spoiled in the slightest.
It still makes me shake my head at how fucked up in the head I was over that for so long.
The money, the social class, the whole Andrews thing.
But I can see now that they never thought of me as less-than, never considered that they were giving me handouts or charity.
They’re just truly awesome people who see a need they can help with and step in. No matter what it is.
Even cake.
Courtney takes a bite, not even waiting for Mom when there are sprinkles to be had, and moans in delight. “Ohmagawd, Donna. This is . . . mmm.” Whatever she was going to say around the mouthful of cake turns into a hum of pleasure.