“Ahh, Mom.” I think she’s trying to out-brag everyone else in the room, and I love it. I reach for a big knife as Lindsey holds up the first poop onesie out of a baker’s dozen. When I wrapped the thirteen poop onesies, I was almost as amused as Mom. Now, seeing each of those potty-humor baby shirts laid out one by one in public, it’s just plain embarrassing for me. Mom and Janet Lyn, on the other hand, laugh so hard they have to hold their sides in pain.
Raphael flaps his wings and squawks at me. “I feel the same way,” I tell him.
“Does he talk?” Jessica asks as she stares into the cage.
“Sometimes too much.”
“What does he say?”
I turn toward the bird. “Raphael, say, ‘Shake your tail feathers.’?” Of course, he doesn’t, and I shrug. “I guess he doesn’t feel like it today.” I remove the elephant topper and slice into the top layer of the cake.
“Are you really Lulu da Love Guru?”
“Yes.” At least for now.
“I read your book.”
“Which one?” I put a piece of cake on a plate and hand it to her. “I’ve written several.”
“It was yellow, I tink, and you wrote about waitin’ tree months before you have sex wit your boyfriend.”
I stab the pointed end of the knife into the cake plate and wait. This is usually the part where I’m told that my advice sucks because (insert name) ran off with her boyfriend while she was following my rules.
“I followed it and the guy I was datin’ dumped me for a salope bonne à rien.”
I don’t know what that means, but I assume it isn’t good.
“I was mad at first, but I’m glad now. They deserved each other.”
“Sounds like you saved yourself heartache down the road.”
“Yeah.” She takes a sip of blue punch from her Little Peanut cup. “How long have you known Lindsey?”
“Almost six months.”
“Jimmy really likes her.” She turns her head and watches Lindsey rip into more presents. “I hope she’s a good person, ’cause my brother is a good guy.”
“Lindsey is a very good person.” Someone sticks a bow on her head, and she laughs. “Smart too.”
“Tony’s an asshole.” We both turn and look at Raphael. Now is not a good time for his potty beak.
“Who’s Tony?”
I shrug. “He learned that from his previous owner.”
Jessica and I watch several more bows get stuck on Lindsey’s head, and I reach for my phone and take a picture of her looking young and happy and very, very pregnant. Jim returns as I finish cutting the cake, but he’s not alone. He’s brought reinforcement with him.
“Doctor Simon,” Mom calls out as he walks into the parlor.
“Bonjour, ladies.”
There’s a round of “bonjours,” one “How’s ya’ momma an’ dem?” and Janet Lyn’s “You been behavin’ yaself, boo?”
“Always,” he answers.
Mom shoots Janet Lyn the stink eye and pats my empty place on the sofa beside her. “You can sit here.”
Lindsey holds up the “Poop Star” onesie to show Jim. “Patricia and Lou Ann got this for Frankie.”