A Mother to Embarrass Me (9 page)

The first thing I did, before Mom caught me and started our little “chat,” was grab my list and add something.

Mom waited till after breakfast for the three-hour lecture on why it's rude to listen in on a private conversation (“But you were talking about me!” “And your point is… ?”) and why feigning a concussion could be a dangerous pastime (“For heaven's sake, Mom. I had to do something. I'd just fallen into the room where I was listening in on the two of you.” “And now we see why private conversations should be kept private”).

It seemed like Mom spent every minute of the
next few days telling me why I should be really nice to Christian. At least every minute she was home. The rest of the time she spent at the fitness center taping her commercial. She wouldn't tell me what she was wearing in the ad. All she would say was, “It's going to be a surprise, Laurie girl. But I can't wait for you to see it.”
I can wait
, I thought.
I can wait a long, long time.

One afternoon we were on the way to Dr. MacArthur's office for Mom's monthly checkup when she started talking about Christian again.

“He's a nice boy, that Christian,” Mom said. “He reminds me of your dad.”

“Christian's not a geek,” I said. I stared out the window as we passed through Springville and traveled toward Provo. Traffic was a bit lighter than normal because most of the BYU students were gone for the summer.

“Well, Laurie, neither is your father.” Mom smiled at some remembrance. “I'll never forget the first time I saw him.”

Oh no
, I thought.
Not a memory trip.
I rolled my eyes, then pretended I'd never been more interested in the houses built near Ironton than I was at that moment.

“He was so cute.
Vogue
was here in Utah, doing a shoot in Park City.”

“I know the story,” I said. I felt kind of grouchy. My forehead still had a red mark on it from where I had smacked the step. Mary and
Maggie had laughed their heads off when I told them what happened, and Mom's lecture hadn't helped any.

Mom didn't stop talking or smiling. “I know you do,” she said. “But I like the story. It makes me feel good to think about it.”

What it made me feel was weird.

“A bunch of other models and I headed down to Provo because we heard there were places to dance there.”

I kept staring out the window. Every other person I knew loved to hear the story of how their mom and dad met. Not me. Not now. Not since the change.

“He was a bouncer at the place we went.” Mom giggled. “A BYU bouncer.”

What was so funny about that?

Mom seemed to read my mind. “As if an off-campus BYU dance would need a bouncer. We saw each other and it was like… well, Laurie, I've never told anyone this, but it was love at first sight.”

“You've told me that,” I said.

We were in Provo now, headed up University Avenue, a street lined with old shops and trees. The mountains were golden from the summer heat. Mom headed on up the road. She kept talking.

“When I saw your father—and I knew right then he was going to be your father, I just knew I
was going to have all girls. That's what I wanted, all girls. Anyway, when I saw your dad standing there in his dark pants and white shirt and tie, I wanted to go ask him to dance.”

“And you did,” I said.

Mom grinned big now, her puffy cheeks looking puffier than normal with her smile.

“And I did,” she said. “I walked right over and said, ‘Hey, you wanna boogie?’ And your father said, ‘Sure.’ And then we were dancing so that everybody in the room watched.”

“I can imagine,” I said. “Especially if Daddy danced like he did at my boy-girl party.”

“Now—” Mom said, but I interrupted her.

“Did people really say ‘boogie’?” I couldn't look at her when I asked the question, the word was just too horrifying.
Boogie
seemed to me a baby word for something that comes out of your nose.

“You bet,” Mom said. Lucky for me, we were at a red light and the car was stopped. Lucky for me also that all the windows were up to keep out the heat, because Mom threw back her head and crowed—and I mean crowed—“Get down, boogie-oogie-oogie. Whooo-oooo!”

I glanced at her, then looked away again. I noticed that my reflection was pink.

Mom turned at Magleby's Restaurant, a place where they know us by name, we come in so
often. She started the final bit of driving to Dr. MacArthur's office.

I wanted to look at her, stare at her, will her never to shout such a word in such a loud voice, but I never got the chance. Mom braked hard, throwing me forward. Just one mile an hour faster and I'm sure the air bag would have popped out, possibly killing me.
That
would have made my embarrassing mother feel bad.

“Mom,” I said. “What in the world?” My voice sounded angry.

“It's Gary Price's new piece.”

I looked at the sculptures that circled the small lawn in front of Magleby's.

“I just love his stuff,” Mom said. She put the car in park and climbed out, Elmo slippers and all, to get a closer look. The lunch crowd had gathered on the lawn, waiting for a table inside.

I stared out my window so no one would see that I was with the pregnant Elmo lady. “Mom.” I breathed the word and a bit of steam touched the glass. I would have rested my head, but my injury hurt still. I hoped I wasn't permanently damaged.

Mom climbed back into the car. She was huffing a little. “I used to be in such good shape,” she said. “Now I can hardly walk and bend over without getting out of breath.”

“Hmim,” I said. I tried to make it appear that I was not ignoring my mother.

Mom touched me on the arm. “Laurie, honey,” she said. “Listen. Christian is a good boy. And he's just right for you. Quinn is… he's too old.”

“No more lectures, Mom,” I said. “Please. You're going to be late.” I nodded at the little quartz clock, and she shifted into gear and drove us straight to Dr. MacArthur's office.

I went in for Mom's checkup so I could hear the baby's heartbeat.

“Urine specimen,” the nurse said once we were in the checkup room. “Here's your cup.” She handed Mom a small Dixie cup.

“For me?” Mom said. “Well, maybe I'm a little thirsty.” She faked like she was taking a sip of something, then made a face.

“Gross, Mom,” I said. I looked at the nurse, who was grinning her head off.
It's not that funny
, I thought, but I didn't say anything.

“Go do your thing, Jimmey,” the nurse said.

“Yeah, Mom.” I was mumbling.

“Time to go pee-pee,” Mom said.

“Thanks for the news flash,” I said. I looked toward a large poster of a huge, naked pregnant woman. You would think peeing in a cup would be a private thing, but even the naked poster woman watched us. Mom waddled into the bathroom, and I waited where her blood pressure would be checked as well as her Dixie cup of surprises.

“Everyone pees here,” the nurse said. She smiled at me. “I bet even you do.”

“Well, yeah,” I said. I felt my face turn red. “Sometimes.”

Mom came back in the room and presented the cup like it was a gift. “Here you go, Kathy,” she said.

“Hop on the scale.”

Mom did.

Kathy, the nurse, moved the weights on the scale. “One fifty-three,” she said after a moment.

Mom gave a groan. “I hope it's all baby. A thirty-five-pound baby.”

“Blood pressure,” Kathy said. And then, “You
are
going on eight months pregnant. This is when the baby puts on all its weight.”

“Her
weight,” I said. “The baby's a girl, huh, Mom?” I climbed up on the scale after Mom sat down at a small table, and began adjusting things to find out how much I weighed. The nurse started working to find Mom's blood pressure.

“Whoa,” said the nurse. “It's getting up there, Jimmey.”

“What do you mean?” Mom's voice sounded funny. I turned and looked at her.

“Let me check again,” the nurse said, and pumped up the black band around Mom's arm.

“One sixty over ninety-two,” she said, like she was thinking. “Dr. MacArthur can talk to you
about this,” Kathy said, and hustled Mom into an examination room.

Mom cried all the way through Provo, then through Springville, and into Mapleton. I patted her hand.

She didn't joke with me, not even once, but she did run a red light because, she said, she couldn't see through the tears.

Dad waited for us at home. Mom had just opened the car door when he swept into the garage, scooped her up and carried her inside.

I followed, listening to them talk. Mom was sobbing now.

“The doctor said”— Mom gulped air between all the words—“bed rest.”

“Now, now,” Dad said.

“Me on bed rest, I don't think I can do it.” Mom looked at me over Dad's shoulder. “Who'll take care of Laurie?”

“Mom,” I said. “I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“Now, now,” Dad said again. He chugged up the stairs like a train. Mom was his weeping cargo.

“He said that this could make the baby come early. She could be here too soon.”

That's when Mom broke into such sobs that even my eyes got a little wet listening to her sadness.

When Dad said, “Now, now,” the third time, I could hear how sad he was too. Maybe Mom would be great in a commercial. I mean, she was making us all sad, and over bed rest, for heaven's sake.

“Danny,” she said. Her words were a little mumbled because her face was pressed into his neck. “I couldn't stand to lose this baby. I've been feeling her move for so many months now. I couldn't stand it.”

“Don't talk that way,” Dad said. “Kyra's going to be just fine.”

Kyra
, I thought.
They already named her?
Somehow the name made this unborn baby even more real in my mind. Sure, I had seen her image in the ultrasound. I had also seen her moving in my mother, rolling. Seen what Mom said was an elbow or a foot, pushing like it wanted freedom. But I hadn't realized they had chosen a name for my sister.

“Five babies dead is too many already,” Mom said. “This one
has
to live.”

“Don't say that,” Dad said. “The doctor said bed rest, so that's what we'll do. You have just a few weeks before your due date. Kyra can be born at any time and be just fine.”

Down the hall we went, me following behind my parents, so that I almost stepped on Dad's heels.

“Laura,” Dad said when he had settled Mom on the bed. “Go get your mother her pajamas.”

I hurried to Mom's tall bureau and pulled open her pajama drawer. Mom has a million nighties. She says she inherited her love of night-clothes from the grandmother she was named after, Jimmey Doris. Only, Mom's name is just plain Jimmey. I never met this grandmother, because she died before I was born, but I can't imagine that she had the pajama collection my mother has. Some are flannel things with feet, some are long, silky things with lots of lace, some are just plain cotton with pictures of Winnie-the-Pooh or Peter Rabbit.

“What do you want?” I asked her.

Dad had removed the Elmo slippers and was rubbing Mom's feet. She sniffed now, using the corner of the pale yellow sheet to dab at her nose.

“My Anne Geddes,” she said.

I dug through the nightgowns until I found one that was a creamy blue color. On the front
was a picture of three babies with purple flowers on their heads. Two grinned and one looked like she had just gotten through crying.

I took the clothing over to Mom, and Dad helped her change. The whole time he talked to her in soothing tones, but I didn't really listen to him. I just thought of Mom, and all those babies she had lost and how I had seen baby Kyra myself in that picture so long ago.

“Laura,” Mom said.

I came over next to the bed and stood near her.

“Laurie,” she said. “I love you so much.” She started crying again.

To my surprise, I started crying too. I grabbed hold of her hand and brought it to my cheek. “I love you, Mom. I do.”

I knew right then that those words couldn't be truer. So what if she shouted crazy words in the car? So what even about the Elmo slippers and working in pajamas? So what about her public singing and dancing? Mom had to be one of the best people I knew.

It was two weeks later that Mom got the phone call. I was in bed, asleep, when her scream awakened me.

“Baby's coming,” I said. I leapt to my feet, still asleep really, and tried to hurry down the hall toward my parents' room. Somehow my feet got
tangled in my bedsheet like it had become rope. My attempt to run nearly killed me. Only the top half of me moved and the movement was in a downward motion. I just missed crashing into my desk.