Me and Mom Fall for Spencer (3 page)

Me and Mom Fall
for Spencer

Chapter Five

Game Night One

“It’s not right. It’s not right. I’ve
told you and told you it can’t be this powdered stuff it has to be grated.” I
am stirring the yellowish sauce with the bamboo spoon.

“Sarah it’s not the end of the world,”
Mom says, no energy in her voice.

Well, it’s just me, it’s not like I’m a
student…or Christine…or Spencer. Talk about energy, she has plenty when she’s
telling him my life story, all my personal business I’ll bet. I’ve forbidden
her to say anything about me, even my
name,
to the
guys she meets on the web. I’ve had to reiterate the rules to her for Spencer. She
told me to chill.
No, to chill-ax.

“Oh…nothing matters.
Right.
Nothing is important. Put all this effort in for nothing,” I say, and the truth
is I’m a nervous wreck. We’ve got all these people coming…the neighbors we’ve
lived around, well Mom has for thirty years, and me…all my life, and now this
new guy…um Spencer, and Aaron looming. What is happening to us?

“You’ve made it with the powdered cheese
before,” Mom says absently, her jeweled glasses catching the overhead light as
she sorts through the mail.

Does she not understand? It has to be
perfect! It has to be!

“Are we related?
Really?”
I ask because I’ve always had this feeling she’s holding things back.

She smirks but she doesn’t even stop
reading the Big-Mart
ad.

“Because you can tell me,” I continue as
I stir, stir, stir.

“Sarah, people are going to be here and
you’re still in your underwear.”

I look at the clock. Oh crap. Time never
gets away from me like this. I’m in my underwear and undershirt but I’m wearing
an apron so I don’t get food on me. But dude from next door is not going to
catch me this way again. You can bet on that.

“Stir this,” I say, meaning the Alfredo.

“I can’t right now, honey. I have to
change. Did you put the soda in the tub?”

“We’re not having soda. I made peach
tea.”

“Not everyone likes peach tea honey. Christine
doesn’t.”

I make a sound. Like I give a flying fig
what Christine likes.

“I made lemonade.”

She looks at me now, frowns.

“Get some Diet Cokes on ice honey. And
not a word about the fake-sugar ooze
from someone’s brain or
something.”

“Aspartame, Mom.”

“Whatever Sarah,” she says pitching the
mail in the drawer. She pushes it closed with a loud snap and she’s off to
beautify. Her hair is already perfect, she wears it short and stylish, her
clothes are fine, but she’ll want to sex it up probably and ‘work her
voo
-doo,’ as she calls it. Well she’s not bad for
forty-four. She gets a lot of hits on her dating site, not that I’m sure that’s
a compliment. She has these poodle eyes…begging to be petted or something. She
attracts losers. Like my dad the angry cop.

I always ask her, why him? Once she said
he was a good dancer and I told her I was really impressed by her criteria for
picking my dad, and sometimes she says, we were young and in lust, and that
answer always makes me scream so she’ll shut up. To be the product of
their…fever hotter than a pepper sprout…well so much for self-worth.

I turn off the burner and move the sauce
to the side. The texture is grainy because Mom can’t seem to appreciate that
when I say a block of parmesan I am not saying a can of parmesan and some
sawdust.

Someone is opening the front door as I
run up the stairs, my butt bouncing in my underwear as I reach behind and untie
the apron. I figure
it’s
Christine using the key Mom
gave her…giving out keys to our house like we’re city hall. But it’s Christine
and our new neighbor from the sound of it.

“Is that Sarah?” I hear Christine say,
then Spencer says, “Yes,” and he draws out
the ‘s’
a
little.

I run like the stairs are collapsing
behind me. He could only have seen the bottoms of my legs, my feet,
disappearing up the stairs,
not
my
jiggly
butt in the pink and purple underwear.
God no.

In my room, I consider locking my door
and refusing to come out but I know if I do that they’ll all come up here to
talk me down.

I’m sweating and I feel sick to my
stomach. I’ll just tell myself it didn’t really happen and I’ll get through
supper without looking at Spencer and then I’ll slip back up here and hope he…they
don’t notice.

I have laid out my clothes. I never do
that. It’s just jean shorts and a top and some sandals, but I really thought
about it. And things are shaved…and plucked. And my hair is up.
Thank you YouTube, and that one girl that tells you how to make a
lot of braids in the back and pin them up.
I redid my toes. And I look
like…I’m trying.
For what?
If Jason
comes over, or Mike, they’d better not say anything.

I almost put on the mascara, but I don’t
want to go crazy here. So I get dressed really quick because my tomatoes are
still in the oven, and even that sounds sexual.

I hurry back down, except on the last
couple of stairs I stop and breathe. Then I walk more sedately into the
kitchen. First eyes I connect with are Spencer’s because I forgot to casually
look at Christine and avoid him.

“Hello,” I say to them…to him, my face
getting all heated. Spencer raises his brows and you really can’t miss it when
he does that. I almost thought he was going to whistle
cause
he made that purse-string mouth. If he would have it would be so humiliating,
like I’m going to prom. Right off I see he is harder to ignore indoors, even
with the appliances around he can’t be…dwarfed. His hair, it’s very thick and
shiny and I’ve made it sound like a new car, but it has something to do with
taking a ride and I don’t want to think that out now.

I make a racket unhooking my pasta pan
from the rack over the butcher block in the middle of the room.

Christine is
pimping
him. As a professional dater she’s a master at getting information and keeping
the conversation going. She’s wearing some perfume that is ruining the smell of
the seasoned bread crumbs on my tomatoes. She never quite…blends…Christine. And
her jewelry rattles.

“Sarah, did you make all this?” Spencer
asks, touching a couple of the pans that are still swinging from where I’ve
chosen my favorite one for pasta. He is gesturing to all the food on the
island, the appetizers. I nod, but I try not to look at him. It’s obvious I’ve
gone overboard.
So, so Marie.

When he walks closer and leans against
the counter I finish filling the pan with water and carry it to the stove. He’s
further away again.

He is…really handsome. He could be in
the movies, no lie. He’s more handsome than a lot of the leading men are. I
don’t know why I’m thinking of this.

“Did you hear what Spencer said, Sarah? He
brought some beer and put it on the back porch in the tub,” Christine says. Christine
so often requires I’m her version of polite.

Mom comes in then. She looks pretty in a
deep blue top that only shows a little of her boob crack. She wears the tight
jeans.
And the noisy
flippy
sandals.

She gushes over Spencer and strokes his
arm a little, asks him how he is settling in, thanks him for ruining our fence-hedge,
only she doesn’t say anything about it being ruined, she likes it and he says,
“If it’s alright with Sarah I’d like to keep going on it, clear it off.”

“Why in the world would Sarah mind?” Mom
says and they are all looking at me as I am adding fresh basil to the water for
the pasta and I stare at each before turning away.

I have to take my tomatoes from the oven
and that brings Spencer right there, near me, which is always annoying when
people close in on me in the kitchen. If it were Jason or Mike I’d send them
out of here, but Spencer isn’t as easy to send away. And he seems to always be
starving or something. He is a little on the thin side, but very muscular, as
I’d seen in the yard…and what he’d seen…of me…and repeatedly…I didn’t want to think
about it.

I have two trays of these monsters so I
set one on the side of the stove not in use and the other I put on a hot pad on
the island along with my dips and veggies and fruits. Then I get my bowl of
homemade pesto from the fridge and start to put some in a smaller bowl. Spencer
is at my elbow again. “What’s this?”

Mom and Christine are talking about what
music to put on, and I put some pesto on a spoon so Spencer can taste it and I
am going to hand him the white plastic utensil when he takes my wrist instead
and raises the spoon to his lips and takes in the bite.
“
Mmm
, Sarah, my God.
 
That’s really good.” He licks his lips. “And
you grow the basil?”

“Yes,” I remember to say.

He lets go of my wrist, folds his arms. “I
saw you walking the past two nights.”

What can I say? It’s what I do…I walk at
night and look for bad guys.

“Maybe I could take a turn with you…or
for you,” he hastens to say. “I mean…it’s my block too now, right?”

I don’t know about that. It may be where
he lives…but it will never be anyone’s like it’s mine. But that’s too heavy and
ancient to try and explain. So I don’t. I shoot him a look and I’m adding some
olive oil to the water.

I always walk alone now, ever since
Cyro
lost his leg. I always walk alone.

Me and Mom Fall for
Spencer

Chapter Six

Game Night Two

Gundry likes to eat. He is interested in
all the flavors. He chews with his mouth closed, sometimes his eyes closed and
he savors.

Mom and Christine don’t know this, but I
do. Mom and Christine talk and eat, but I can see he’s like me, he wants to
remember. And one thing at a time is enough if you’re really letting it bombard
you.

But Mom and Christine are…
multi’s
. Not multi-
taskers
, they
are that, they’re teachers’…aids, but they are multi…a lot…a lot. They are the
big birds skimming over the water, wings beating fast, then dipping and dipping
for food, but not too deep, mouths…wide…open.

Gundry though…he’s something different. I
think.

And I’ll bet he’s not unpacked
because…I’ll bet he’s not. And I haven’t seen the boxes on the curb.

But he has been playing his guitar and
he did cut down a patch along the fence. Damn him. But I’ll bet other things
aren’t done. And that’s not because we’re alike, because I always finish
certain things. It’s because he doesn’t want to do them. He thinks he does, but
he doesn’t, and then he ends up playing his guitar.

What I’m saying is
,
he’s not a loser. He’s just having a season of being a loser. That’s my guess
anyway.

Or better put--he’s fallen into an
alternate universe. And here we are. We live in his alternate universe.
Which means he also lives in mine.

Mom and Christine are on either side of
him, like the stereo speakers hooked to Mom’s turntable. I try not to think
about the
twerking
sandwich. That will come later
during the dancing. I figure I’ll give him a good meal then he’s on his own.

Mom nudges Spencer with her elbow and
says something like, “So how you settling in over there?”

Christine says, “See any ghosts?” and
when Christine says that the room hic-cups us into a place I know very well…a
wt-bleep
place.

But they answer all his questions about
my food. I am anxious. I think those are my questions. But they seem ready to
answer them for me, a long habit, so I don’t have a thing to say, but the food
is good. If not for the texture of the sauce it would be great. But according
to everyone else it is great.

So I finish eating and go in the living
room to check on Merle and Pearlie. Others come and go, but Merle and Pearlie
stay for twenty minutes or so. Merle is tall and white-haired and his whole
life is Pearlie. Merle dyes Pearlie’s hair a deep flaming red like she is a
burning match. He must see her this way…his exotic, flaming Pearlie. The rest
of the world might see a short black woman with large teeth.
 

They are having pie. I made that with
Leeanne’s
apples. They tell me it’s very good. I tell
Pearlie I liked her yellow Jell-O with the grated carrots. But now I bring her
purple carrots and she loves to make it using those. Merle tells me how good
they feel with the neighborhood watch going strong. He’s been telling me this
for seventeen years, but if he didn’t say it, it would drive me crazy. So now
that he’s said it I go to the front door and look over at
Cyro’s
.
Nothing.

“Jason bringing him
over?”
Merle says. He means
Cyro
,
is Jason bringing his dad.

But you never know. I don’t. Jason has
spurts between girlfriends where he brings
Cyro
over.
But lately,
Cyro
doesn’t want to come. And I leave
his lunch on the porch because it’s the only time we can get him out of his
chair
cause
he even pees in a mason jar.

“I might go get him,” I say.

“I like the purple carrots,” Pearle
says, beautiful smile. Merle pats her hand. Pearle is on a delay and it’s not
old age, it’s always been that way.

I go outside, head down the porch stairs
and across the street, and try not to remember Spencer’s song with the two
verses he sang for me when he watched me cross the street the other day.
Leeanne
is walking toward my house carrying a bowl. I know
it’s
kale chips. We don’t wave because she knows I see her.

I get to
Cyro’s
and take the stairs. I cup my hands around my eyes and look in the door. He’s
in his chair. “Want me to take you over?” I call.

“No.”

“He
coming?”
I
mean Jason. I really mean is Jason getting off in time to bring
Cyro
, or is he on a date, or does
Cyro
want to come, or is he being morose? That’s Marie’s description--morose.

Cyro
waves like I should leave him alone.

So I do. But if he doesn’t come I always
send a plate.

Two things happen as I’m re-entering my
house. Jason gets home from work and pulls in
Cyro’s
drive-way, and Aaron Heinz pulls a low to the ground shiny car in front of my
house. I know
it’s
Aaron because his hair is one of a
kind hair and even though he gets it cut in different ways and he likes to wear
hats, it’s still his crazy Aaron corkscrew hair. I know at the office they call
him Shirley Temple, but I can’t remember if they do that in front of him or just
behind his back.

I hold the door for
Leeanne
and she says, “You were short on cauliflower again.”

“I only had five,” I say. She has the
produce for the Saturday morning market. She thinks I make this stuff in an
oven or something.

“Only God can make a tree,
Leeanne
. Read Kilmer,” I say.

I go on in and try to get my face right
for seeing Aaron. I never, ever want to see someone here from work.

And voices are coming from Mom’s
bedroom. Mom and Christine and Spencer are laughing in there. Spencer’s laugh
with their laughs is like change left in the dryer. What I mean is
,
you know it shouldn’t be in there so it’s just annoying.

I look in there because Aaron is here
and I don’t want to answer the door. I need her to come out and greet Aaron.
 

But the three of them are lying on their
backs on Mom’s king-size. Spencer is in the middle. They all have their ankles
crossed, and they’re holding bottles of beer against their stomachs, and
they’re looking up at the ceiling.

“Sarah, this is amazing,” Spencer says
soon as I show. “You’re a Renaissance woman!”

One second ago I was mad, but now that’s
bent into…Renaissance woman? A cliché and something so new for me so is it a
cliché? Yes it is.

I don’t know why I am so mad…well I
do…there are many reasons.

“Mom you have to come answer the door. And
Mom, Merle needs coffee,” I say in the hope of shaming her out of that bed with
Spencer cause Merle….. She needs to help me.

“Are you ready?” Mom says to the others
as if I haven’t spoken. She reaches onto her nightstand and turns on the
cylindrical lamp there and stars take over the room, a slow, steady explosion
of them, they’re everywhere and they move around the painted ceiling, my
almost, and embarrassing masterpiece, and the walls and furniture, and on us,
the same stars over and over, sliding on me…sliding on Spencer. He’s watching
them, on me, his head still lifted, he grins and watches.

Aaron’s knock pulls me out of it. “Mom,
Mom,” I say again more urgently cause Merle is also calling me to come get the
door.

Spencer’s head is still lifted. He looks
from me to Mom and that makes Mom lift her head.

“We should…Sarah needs….” He says this.

Mom starts singing some crazy hippie
opera from the sixties, letting her head drop on the pillow. She quotes that
old stuff all the time, well hardly ever, but enough.
God.

“What was that?” Spencer laughs.

Mom continues to sing more loudly.

“Mom’s on a drug-free acid trip,” I
explain to Spencer, but I say it like I’m ready to slap a hippy.

I leave then
cause
Mom is so embarrassing.

I go in the living room and Aaron is
standing there holding the binders I don’t want. Merle let him in. “This fine
young man says he’s your boss,” Merle says.
 
He is tying a scarf under Pearlie’s chin. It
is hot outside, but Pearlie doesn’t make heat anymore. She’s already wearing a
sweater. They will go home now. I’ll put his coffee in a paper cup. So Aaron follows
me into the kitchen and I’m pouring the coffee and I hold up my finger, not the
one I want to hold up, but the
pointer,
and I take the
coffee to Merle. He takes a sip and nods like I got it right, then he
holds
the door for Pearlie and they toddle out.

I can see Jason pushing
Cyro
across in his chair. Jason is still wearing his white
uniform from the store.
Cyro
holds a box on his lap
which means butchered and bloodied cow or pig wrapped in waxy white paper. Jason
works in meat.

How has Aaron ended up in Mom’s room? But
when I go in back, there is my boss standing in the doorway to my mother’s room
and
Loonie
One and
Loonie
Two are inviting him into the love-in. Spencer has just shaken Aaron’s hand and
squeezed around him. He is smiling at me. My arms are folded. Aaron is being
sucked into the star-studded vortex now. Good riddance.

So embarrassing.

“I feel like I just got off the
psychedelic bus,” Spencer says, smoothing two hands over his hair.

Not only am I distracted by how tall Spencer
seems in our hallway, but Jason is behind me with the box of animal and that is
distracting. He’s says something like, “Hey I got meat,” and I say, “Okay.”

Spencer introduces himself and Jason
just nods with that bunchy mouth.

“Old lady Frieda’s?
Yeah we wondered what fool….”

“It’s a long time ago, right?” Spencer
says, leaning near me once again as I fix
Cyro
a
plate.

Spencer says, “Where is this going?”
meaning the plate.

So he takes it to
Cyro
.
That’s very nice.

Jason goes to the fridge and unloads the
box into the freezer section.
“Brought you some chops and
chorizo.”

“Thanks,” I say gathering some dishes to
be washed.

“You look….” He motions over me like
he’s the pope giving a blessing.

This is what I feared, that he’d
notice…the effort. I mean, for me it’s like going from zero to five or six.

I hand him a plate as in, fill up that
mouth with something besides your next words.

Singing from Mom’s
bedroom again.
Aaron knows the oldies apparently.

I check the living room. Mike is here
with his mom Tammy. Spencer is standing, shaking Tammy’s hand. Mike is already
whistling at me saying, “Dang girl.”

I hurry back to the kitchen and Jason is
washing his hands. The empty box is on the floor. It feels too crowded now. Usually
I go outside and walk in my garden, or in winter I walk in the yard, or I leave
on patrol. No one notices.

But tonight I have taken the box Jason
brought to the trash cans outside. I smash the box and from in the house I hear
laughter and someone starts the music. They’ll dance now. It will get loud and
crazy and then it will calm down and then it will be over and I’ll clean.

But I am outside looking up at the real
stars when the screen door slaps. “Sarah?”

It is Spencer. “Sarah?” he says again. I
can’t believe he came out here.

“I’m right here,” I say, because if he
will look to the left, here I am.

He comes down the steps. “Nice night.”

“There are no bad nights. We’re alive.” I
nearly groan. What am I talking about?

He has his hands in his pockets. His
feet are bare. I guess I’m staring at his feet, mostly wondering if any part of
him is just a little gross so I can feel more hopeful about myself.

“I took them off…God in your mother’s
bedroom. That sounds…just wrong,” and he laughs.

It does sound wrong.

“Those guys are asking about you,” he
says, and I can hear those guys from in the house. Their voices carry. His eyes
pick up the light from the moon. I believe the full moon makes people crazy.

“When do we start playing games?” he
asks.

I am staring. I’m actually very
conversational just not out-loud.

“What games?”

“Um…game night…right?”
His smile…it does nice things to his eyes.

“Oh…no games.”

He laughs. He needs to quiet down or
they’ll all be out here.