Chapter 12 #2
Elliot cups her hand in an eager shake. “Pleased to meet you. I can see where Holly gets her beauty.”
“Eh.” Mom doesn’t look the least bit charmed. “So you date my daughter? So sudden. Very sudden. Big surprise.”
“Er…” Elliot turns to me for help. “Yes. It’s a surprise for us too. It kind of hit us over the head…” A nervous laugh. “You know what they say,” he nudges my shoulder, “young love and all.”
“Holly not young. Holly so old.”
“Mama!”
“What? You old maid. Should be married with two children now.” Mom lifts up her weights. “I walk. You join… if you can keep up.”
With another steely look at Elliot, my mom slips her visor down and speeds off. We scramble after her, catching up with her on the pathway.
Sensing us behind her, Mom checks over her shoulder. “How you meet?”
“He bought a candle from my shop.”
“Hm.” She studies Elliot. “He doesn’t look like candle man.”
“I love candles!” Elliot says. “And crystals. The moment I saw her sign, I was drawn in like a … like a…”
I cringe inwardly. See how scary my mom is? She even has Elliot, who always has a smartass answer for everything, at a loss for words.
“Like a moth to a flame,” I jump into the rescue.
“More like a bee to honey, er…” Elliot side-eyes me, unsure of what to do. “Honey.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why would a bee be drawn to honey when it already makes honey? A moth to a flame sounds like a better metaphor, um…” I grimace, “Pookie.”
“Hm. You two act so strange for couple,” Mom says. “Elliot… which candle smells you like?”
“Pine.”
“Vanilla,” I say.
Elliot glares at me. “Pine Vanilla with a note of—”
“Nutmeg,” I add. “He enjoys an outdoors-y yet festive aroma combination. That’s how I knew he’s the one.”
What my mom’s thinking at that moment, I’ll never know.
With that blasted sun visor over her face, Mom is like Darth Vader, judging you silently and intimidating you with her curt head bobs.
“Elliot-Ah… Holly’s sister tells me your man thing no work.
” She gestures to his crotch. “This very bad. You see doctor?”
“Mama!” I scrub a hand over my face. By now, I shouldn’t be surprised by my mom’s bluntness.
She’s embarrassed me in front of my friends my entire life.
But this is the first time she’s ever asked about my boyfriend’s junk.
Then again, this is the first time I’ve lied about having a boyfriend and then lied about my fake boyfriend’s impotence, so I guess I asked for this.
Mom whirls on me, exasperated that I’m exasperated. “How you give me grandchildren if you date man with no wee wee?”
“He has a—” No. I’m not calling it that. “Elliot just got kneed in the crotch, is all. He’s just temporarily out of commission.”
“Out of commission too long!” Mom swats Elliot on the arm. “I bring you soup. Ginseng and jujube berry. Will fix problem.”
“Um…” Elliot rubs the back of his neck. “That would be wonderful, Mama Lo. I love soup.”
Mom nods, pleased. “I want two grandchildren. First boy, then second boy. Girl, okay, but not difficult like Holly or Jennifer, okay?”
I shoot an apologetic glance at Elliot. He’s a touch red in the cheek, but his poker face is still set.
“Mama…” I suck in a deep breath of frigid morning air. “We’re not even married yet.”
“You hurry!” Mom wags her finger at me. “You almost forty.”
“I’m still in my early thirties!” I don’t appreciate her rounding up my age.
“Almost forty,” she repeats. “No time to waste. I prepare good date for wedding. Next February—”
“Mama Lo,” Elliot cuts her off, “you were at Holly’s Thanksgiving party. Are you aware of what Holly found after everyone left?”
I mouth a silent ‘Thank you.’ Elliot nods at me, clearly as eager as I am to change the topic.
Mom turns toward him, head tilted, judging again. “So disgusting. Poop poop under tree. Auntie Cherry’s dog…”
Mochi the English bulldog. Naturally, that’s what I thought too. You find poop in your house. Blame the dog. But the photographic evidence suggests otherwise.
“Mama,” I begin, “we have pictures of the party. Mochi was wearing a diaper the whole time. Remember when Aunt Cherry was going on and on about Mochi being in heat? Then Aunt Cherry had to leave early, and she took Mochi with her.”
“We don’t think the dog did it,” Elliot adds.
Mom blows off our conclusion with a wave of her hand. “Of course Mochi did it. If not dog, then Holly’s fat cat.”
“Grizzy was upstairs all night,” I say. “I can attest to that.”
Mom stops walking and lifts up her visor. Her penciled in brows furrow as she studies us. “What you think? Someone at party?”
“The poop is human,” Elliot says.
Mom’s impressively wrinkle-free face puckers up like an old catcher’s mitt. “Ugh. Nasty! Human poop on carpet?”
I nod regretfully.
“You clean yet?”
“I hired a carpet cleaner.”
Mom does an entire body shake to clear herself of the willies. “I know who pooper is.”
My eyes widen. “You do?”
Mom cups a hand over my mouth and whispers, “Dennis.”
“Dennis?!”
Mom nods conspiratorially. “Dennis.”
“Dennis, the…” Elliot yanks out his notebook, “blind date you were trying to set Holly up with.”
“Not me!” Mom steps back, affronted. “Dennis, not my idea. I never like looks of him. Auntie Cherry says ‘Oh, he’s so handsome.’ He not very handsome.
Stupid hair. Like rat tail. Minimum wage job.
No future. No money. But Auntie Cherry says, ‘Give him chance. He good guy. Just got raise at hardware store. Assistant manager now.’ I have weak moment.
Cherry have two grandchildren. I have none. Look at my Jen … she’s in gang.”
“She’s not in a gang, Mama,” I sigh. “She has one tattoo!”
“And Jen's boyfriend used to be Holly's boyfriend… still unemployed loser,” Mom continues, “Holly is old maid with old eggs. I give Dennis a chance and now,” she smacks her hands together, “poop on carpet. Wah.”
“You seem certain that this Dennis,” Elliot says, finishing off his notes, “is the pooper?”
“Dennis is stranger. Everybody family and friend. UPS man also friend. Bring my packages, never throw, always put down so gentle. Mayor is nice man. Very rich. Big mansion.”
“What’s Ivan’s mansion got to do with his innocence?” Elliot asks.
“Respect.” Mama puffs up her chest. “Ivan, very dignified man. Dennis has bad hair…a tail,” she gestures to her own midnight black perm, “so ugly.”
“She means a mullet,” I say to Elliot. “Mom’s not a fan of mullets. Thinks they’re trouble.”
“Mullet…” Mom waives her hand in disapproval. “No good job.”
“Wait, Mama…” I hold up my hand to stop her. “Are you accusing Dennis of doing it because he’s… poor?”
I don’t know Dennis very well, but I’m suddenly offended on behalf of Dennis.
Mom rolls her eyes. “If not Dennis, then who?”
Elliot and I exchange a meaningful glance.
It’s the strangest thing. I’m getting the feeling that my mom is a little too eager to point her finger at Dennis.
Again, I’ve only met Dennis once. He wasn’t my type, but he seemed like a nice guy.
Just because he has a mullet and works at a hardware store doesn’t mean he’s going to shit under my tree.
What motive does he have other than, well, other than needing to take a shit?
Something’s fishy here. Is Dennis a fall guy?
Elliot pulls out the crime scene photos. “I want you to take a look at these photos,” he says, handing my mom his phone. “What do you see?”
My mom swipes through the slideshow. “UPS guy sleeping.”
Elliot enhances the last photo. “What do you make of this?”
“Someone behind tree.” Mom peers forward. “Elbow.”
“What color is the item of clothing you see before you?” Elliot presses.
“Purple.” She peers closer. “Blue. Purple blue.”
Elliot shoots me a smug smile and goes for the jugular. “That’s a lovely puffer vest, Mama Lo. What color would you call it?”
A pin drop silence descends upon us, broken only by the crack of a twig and the quacking of the ducks.
Mom whirls on Elliot. He takes one look at her furious expression and jumps back.
“You accuse me of pooping under own daughter’s tree?” She’s huffing and puffing and about to blow us both down.
Elliot holds up his hands. “I’m not accusing, only asking you what color your vest—”
“I was in kitchen all night. I clean up. No sit down. No time to use bathroom.”
“Because Jen was in the bathroom,” I add, and quickly scuttle behind Elliot as she whirls on me. “She was hogging the bathroom all night.”
“Did you want to use the bathroom?” Elliot asks.
I shake my head at him, terrified. But the question had to be asked. Better him than me.
“Maybe you held it all night,” he continues, “with the first floor bathroom occupied and Holly’s private bathroom all the way upstairs. Maybe a um… a woman of your age just couldn’t make it. The Christmas tree nook is private, isn’t it? As private as private gets. Maybe it called to you and —”
“Listen, you,” Mom pokes Elliot in the chest, “I do not like you. You disrespectful.”
“I’m sorry, Mama Lo,” Elliot says. “It’s a matter of procedure. I just want to help Holly catch the shitter.”
“I am her mother,” Mom snaps. “A mother never shits under own daughter’s tree. Her house is my house,” she taps her chest, “her floor my floor. Poop on her floor like poop on my floor. Why I poop on my own floor?”
“I never said you did.”
“You imply. Oh, you accuse me.” Mom wags her finger in Elliot’s face. “You think just because I’m old woman. Old woman can’t hold poop. You ageist.”
I blink, surprised my mom knew what ‘ageist’ meant. “I’m sorry, Mama. He doesn’t mean—”
“You should be sorry.” Mom spins around to face me. “You pick bad boyfriend. Disrespect future mother-in-law. You break up with him now.”
“I don’t want to break up with him…” I tighten my grip on Elliot’s arm. “I’m very fond of him.”
“Aiya!” Her shaming finger wags at me now. “You listen to mother.”
“No! You can’t tell me what to do or who to see.
I-I-” I look up at my fake boyfriend with new respect.
He braved my mom’s wrath and asked the tough questions.
Anyone who could ask your mother if she took a shit under your tree had guts.
“I… I … um… I love him?” I blurt out. It comes out as a squeak.
“I mean, I love him. Yes. That’s it,” I add with a nod.
Elliot raises his eyebrows, amused. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “I love you too.”
“You do?” I feel warm and fuzzy, like I’ve just downed a mug of hot chocolate.
Elliot chews on his inner cheek. “Sure,” he says, “why not?”
‘Why not?’ That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. At this moment, I wish Elliot were my actual boyfriend.
Mom's steely gaze switches between the two of us. “You strange, strange man. Just like Holly. Perfect for Holly.” She shakes her head and swipes at the air, washing her hands of us.
Mom storm off, swinging her weights with a huff.
“Dinner on Sunday?” I call after her.
“Bah,” she says, ignoring me. Suddenly she stops and says, “bring boyfriend.”
As we watch her recede into a tiny dot of purple, Elliot asks, “So she doesn’t want us to break up anymore?”
“She said you can come to dinner,” I explain. “That means she likes you.”
His eyes widen. “That’s her liking me?”
“You’re in the club, buddy.” I shove my hands in my coat pocket. “Do you think she did it?”
“From what I’ve witnessed of your relationship, you’re more likely to shit on her floor rather than the other way around.”
I heave a deep sigh. “My mom and I have a ‘trying’ relationship, but she’s my mom.
You heard what she said. My floor is her floor.
She helped me with the down payment and she’s always on me about tidying up.
Plus… she’s spry. You said so yourself. But her flexibility works for her case, not against her.
” I gesture to the tiny Mom-shaped dot in the distance.
“She’s sixty-seven going on forty-seven.
She’s in great shape and master of her guts.
I think she can hold it if she had to use the bathroom… ”
“I’m not ruling her out just yet,” he says, shielding his eyes against the sun. “But the day’s still young. Let’s visit the hardware store and frisk this… Dennis.” He clears his throat. “What’s his last name?”
I think for a moment. “I don’t think anybody knows.”