He smiles. “Nice.”
“Cake?” I ask both men and give Jim the bigger piece because he looks hungry. He might not be, but he’s just one of those skinny people you want to fatten up.
As the party starts winding down, I pour cabernet into a Little Peanut cup and take a sip. My finger just happens to swipe across the cake plate and gather a hunk of blue frosting. Yum. Red wine and sugar take me to my happy place. I look over at my mother. She’s happy, comfortable in her environment, eating cake, and chatting with “foxy” Simon. Even her eyes are smiling.
It’s been nearly two weeks since I returned those little red pills to her jewelry box. Nearly two weeks of watching her swallow her medication. I’ve given her back the freedom to end her life. It’s her choice, and I’m okay with that, but I can’t make myself leave until I am certain it won’t be the last time I kiss her cheek good night.
I take another swipe of frosting and watch Mom in action as the aunt in the orange T-shirt shows Simon something on her phone. The two of them laugh and Mom gives the aunt the stink eye for daring to encroach on her territory. I wonder what Mom would say if she knew I made out with her boyfriend on the front porch.
“It wasn’t the pot dat doomed your marriage. It was the threesome with Rhonda June Farley.”
With the tip of my finger in my mouth, I look over at Janet Lyn and Jenny Kay.
“Oops,” Janet Lyn says into the suddenly quiet room. She turns to her red-faced sister. “Sorry, but it isn’t like folks don’ already know about dat.”
Jim makes a sound that is somewhere between choking and wheezing, and his face is back to bright red. I lower my hand and grab a napkin for my sticky finger. I didn’t know about Rhonda June Farley, probably because I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting her, and it appears the other “folks” in the room didn’t know either. Mary Sue’s mouth moves but no words come out. Everyone’s brows are raised up their foreheads, and no one knows quite what to say to fill the awkward silence.
Luckily, I have Mom. “That’s how that sort of thing goes sometimes,” says the woman with the vermilion lips. She sighs and takes a drink of her punch, oblivious that the attention in the room is now on her. “One person ruins everyone’s fun. It’s a shame.”
Simon’s eyes cut to mine. He starts to laugh, and I have to bite the corner of my lip to keep from joining him. “Mais, y’all, did you hear about that break-in at the Speedy Cash?”
“Dat guy was fou fou, yeah,” Jim says, but the room remains silent until Lindsey plops the plush elephant on the top of her belly. “I think I’ll name this guy Horton.”
“Or Dumbo,” someone suggests.
“He doesn’t have a hat like Dumbo,” a sister argues. “Tantor,
after Tarzan’s elephant.”
“Babar.”
“Heffalump.”
“Earl’s a damn good name.” I’m grateful Mom didn’t say “Tony” and set Raphael off again.
By the time the party is over, it’s three thirty, and I hand out Little Peanut favor boxes filled with small pieces of cake and butter mints. I’m sincere when I tell them, “Thank you, ladies. It was very nice of all of you to give up your Saturday for us.” I stand on the porch as the women pile into the minivan. They certainly made Lindsey’s day better.
Simon stands on the porch next to me, watching the van pull away. “Mais, that’s a load of trouble, no?”
“I appreciate them coming, and I have to thank Jim. It was nice of them all to turn out for a girl they don’t know. I’m sure they have better things to do.”
“Better than sucking up gossip about your family? I doubt it.”
“What could they gossip about?” I wave at them. “We’re not interesting.”
He laughs at that. “Folks are always interested in who’s living out here and if there’s anything scandalous goin’ on.”
“No scandal today, and for whatever reason, I’m glad they joined us. The party would have been boring without them. No labor and delivery horror stories. No one but Mom laughing at all the poop onesies. No one to talk about a threesome with Rhonda What’s-her-face.”
“Rhonda June Farley,” Simon provides.
The van turns and disappears, and I look across my shoulder at him. “You know her?”
“Cher, everyone knows Rhonda June.”
I’m dying to ask the obvious question, but I control myself as we return to the parlor. Simon has referred to me several different ways since we first met. I don’t know how I feel about “cher.” I know I like “tee Lou Ann” more than “swamp rat.” “Tee Lou” is better than “fou fou.”
“Jim made it sound like y’all were torturing him over here.”