HAPPILY EVER BEFORE (19 page)

“Are you sure you don’t want me to leave?” asked George, as Henry and Clair settled in for the night. It was the last Saturday of the month and it was baby-bonding time for the parents-to-be. George felt like a fourth wheel, but with Sal and Diane gone again and drinking no longer on her life’s agenda she didn’t have any place to go alone that she trusted herself to be. There were too many bars in Grace’s neighborhood and too many reasons to get drunk still floating around in her head.

Clair came out with a tray of snacks. “Hey, did you look over the revised business plan? I added in the marketing costs and the production fees for the packaging.”

“Yeah, I just have a few questions like the insurance issue. Henry, do you know if we have to insure the factory that makes the cookies or can we just ride on the insurance they already have?”

Before he could answer Grace fresh faced and bushy tailed in her new pregnancy jeans and a fresh white cotton Gap maternity top came out from her bedroom. “Hey! You promised me a night out. That means out!” Grace took the tray from her. “I haven’t been out in public in over three weeks.”

 George sniffed. “It’s not our fault your boyfriend keeps covering everyone’s weekend shifts.”

Grace put the tray in the kitchen and scooted Henry to the door. “He’s on his make extra money
kick
. I finally get the guy to put out and then he disappears.”

“I wanted to stay in and chill,” said Clair as she hesitated putting on her shoes.

“Screw that! We haven’t left this place unless it was to go to your house or to sample paper products.” Grace grabbed George’s arm and practically pulled her out the door. “I have about three weeks before I balloon up like the Hindenburg, so put on some lipstick and show your baby’s mama a good time! There’s a cheesy romantic comedy playing at the Three Penny at seven.” Clair and George exchanged looks. They knew they had no choice, but to follow Grace out the damn door. “I bought tickets and then we can have dinner at Rocks or Lincoln Station; I made reservations at both.”

Before long, they found themselves in the theater waiting for the cheesy romantic comedy to start. George and Grace were on line at the concession stand while Henry and Clair found seats. “Okay, what’s your poison?” asked Grace. “And, really, no more red vines; you’ve gone through three jumbo containers. How do you not have lock-jaw?”

George looked around. Everyone seemed happy and alcohol free--even the damn teenagers.  Weren’t they supposed to be pissed off at the world? “Maybe I’m gay.”

Grace searched through her bag for her buy one get one free movie watchers coupon. “The queen of the one night stands is gay?”

“Ever think that was a warning sign?” said George.

“A warning sign?
You’re an idiot. Trust me you’re not one of those late in life lesbians.” Grace finally found her coupon. “Shouldn’t you be sober for a while before trying a new sexual orientation? You experimented in college, right? That held you for thirteen years--another six months won’t kill you.”

“Maybe.”
The tall, good-looking guy standing in front of the poster of a huge robot distracted George.

Grace followed her gaze. “See, you’re attracted to guys. Oh man, that’s Rich.”

“Who?” asked an interested
George.

“Jack’s friend.
The bait and switch guy.”
Rich noticed Grace and smiled. “Shit, I’d better say hello. You wait here.” George tried to follow her. “You’re not ready for Mr. Never Dates Anyone Twice to push your buttons.”

“He could push anything he wanted,” purred George.

“Go buy candy,” said Grace as she made her way through the lobby. “Hey!”

“Who’s your friend?” asked Rich, as he eyeballed George one more time.

“She’s a living breathing human being who deserves a guy who will treat her with love and respect and not toss her out like yesterday’s trash because she’s looking for a committed relationship.”

“Feeling a bit hormonal, eh?” Rich laughed. “Okay, I deserve that, but really, Gracie, I’m just a guy looking for love.”

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hate him. “You’re looking for a one night stand. So, are you on a recon mission for a buddy?” Grace looked around the lobby trying to pick out the poor unsuspecting woman.

“Actually, I’m waiting for a very nice woman who figured out from the moment he sat down that Jack wasn’t me.”

As Grace tried to process this she forced a smiled. “Maybe I’ll meet her if she lasts longer than a week.” They laughed. “Well, I’d better go.” Grace strode quickly back to George who was buying more junk food than four people could actually eat. “He’s still dating.”

George said, “
he’s
single isn’t he? What’s the big deal?”

“Not him, Jack’s dating,” said Grace as she handed over her twenty.

“What does that mean Jack’s dating? Is that code for something?” A confused George handed money to the girl behind the counter and grabbed her stuff.

“It’s code for he’s still doing the bait and switch for that schmuck. And, I felt guilty about the cab ride,” Grace fumed.

“Yes, but sweetie, you should feel guilty. I think you should chalk this up to being even.”

Grace followed George into the theater. “How are we even if he doesn’t know?”

George whispered, “
but
, you don’t want him to know.”

“I know something he doesn’t want me to know and now that I know what am I supposed to do?” Grace hotly whispered, as she found Henry and headed for their seats.

“The opposite of whatever it is you think you want to do. You know Jack. He’s not doing anything but having coffee.”

“Hey, I did something that I don’t want him to know. How do I know he didn’t do something he doesn’t want me to know?” said Grace as she angrily took her seat.

“That is the point of the don’t ask, don’t tell rule.” George cut Grace off as the lights went down. “At some point, you transition from dating to seriously dating; that time in between doesn’t count. You don’t need to know if he dated other people while trying to figure out if you were the one. You don’t ask, he doesn’t tell.” George cut Grace off again. “I fucked up--not you. I broke our deal and fell off the wagon, but that’s no excuse for you to derail your relationship with Jack.”

“I’m just saying, I think I should…”

“Shut up!” yelled some guy who was sitting about two rows behind them. Grace promptly did just that, but she couldn’t keep her mind from racing.

The movie sucked. Cheesy romantic comedies with high concepts like clumsy girl meets rebound boy usually do. But, it sucked enough to occupy Grace’s mind from the Jack thing for at least part of the evening. George managed to distract her during dinner and as soon as they got home and Clair grabbed the big book of baby names hoping it would divert her sister for the rest of the night. George passed the Grace sitting duties on to Clair and beat a hasty retreat to her room. A still miffed Grace got into her pajamas and climbed into bed. Clair and Henry entered for their usual good night routine.

“So, we’re all in agreement on the nays-- no
Tilda
,
Frida
, Elaine, Geraldine, David, Sexton, Adrian, Angelo, Robert, or
Fredo
,” said Henry.

“
Fredo’s
a strong name. No one messes with a kid named
Fredo
,” said Grace.

“No one plays with a kid named
Fredo
either.” Clair came to the door, toothbrush in mouth and said between brushes, “he or she needs a non-threatening, non-alienating, can’t rhyme with anybody part name.”

“What she said,” deadpanned Henry.

Clair stressed, “
the
right name sets the tone for the kid’s entire life.”

“Yeah, well, they called me Grace,” she paused to look up the name, “as a reformed slut, I am in no way good will or a vision of the Grace of God.” She punched a pillow and put it behind her head. “And they called you Clair. No offense, but you’re an OCD freak not clear, bright, famous, illustrious, or French.”

Henry grabbed the book from his sister-in-law. “See? Henry means the ruler of the home.” He was about to make a crack when Clair leveled him with a look. “Let’s face it none of us have the right name. What would your name be if you chose it?”

Clair climbed onto the bed. “I was always envious of George. I thought it would be cool to be named Scout like in
To Kill a Mockingbird
. No one expects Scout to be a girl, so I’d be Sam or Cameron or Ryan.”

“I’d go with something tough and ethnic like Anthony or Joe.  Henry is so WASPY!”

“You got beat up a lot, eh?” asked Grace. “Me, I’d go for Natasha or Lana. Something earthy and sexy,” Grace yawned.

“How about Michael or Gabriel for a boy?” asked Henry who was now submerged in the
book.

“Maybe.”
Sighed Clair.
“But I’d rather do Gabriel and Michael for a girl.”

“If we use all the boy’s names for girls we’re shortening our list of choices.”

“But, if we like it for a boy and we also like it for a girl, then we double our choices.”

Henry smiled admiringly at his wife. “I like how you think.”

“Yeah, she’s devious.” Grace leaned back.
“Lights out people!”

Clair turned out the lights then snuggled next to her sister. Henry put his hand on Grace’s tummy, leaned in, and whispered goodnight to the baby. Clair did the same. Grace stared out at the full moon while her sister and her brother-in-law held hands on her belly. There was something comforting in a big moon she thought. There was also something comforting about lying in the middle of so much love. Grace knew George was right. Being upset about something as ridiculous as bait and switch Rich was idiotic, especially if you consider what she did, which was far worse and telling Jack about it to make them even or if she was being honest, to make herself feel better was a dumb move. What she really needed to do was to finally tell Jack that she loved him. All this hinting around wasn’t getting them anywhere. Saying it out loud, that made it real. It made them real. Grace sighed satisfied with her decision.

“Man!” whined Henry as he hopped off the bed and ran out of the room.

“Come on!” a pained Clair added as she rolled off the bed.

“Your kid craved the chili cheese fries, you live with the consequences.”

Clair playfully pulled her hair. “You’re lucky you’re carrying my kid.”

“You can say that again.” Grace watched her beat a hasty retreat out of what was no doubt going to be one gas filled room.

“George! What the fuck?” yelled Grace, as she stepped over the huge basket of clothes that had taken on a life of its
own.
She woke up cranky today because Jack had to work last night and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t convince herself that that’s all he was doing and so cranky was how she was going to stay.

George, who was somewhere under the pile, was also annoyed. “What?”

“What are you doing?” asked a peeved Grace.

“Laundry,” sighed George. “I’m separating the whites from the colors and the colors from the black ‘cause as you know, black isn’t officially a color. It’s
gonna
take me all day to get this crap cleaned.”

“Who’s going to help me make all these
friggin
’ cookies? We’ve got two weeks to perfect these recipes,” Grace trilled. “This is about team work, remember?”

“Well, if I don’t do laundry, I’m either raiding your closest,”
snarked
George.  “Including your underwear drawer or going shopping and Sal says I’m not allowed to replace one addiction with the other.”

 “Fine, but if I go into premature labor it’s on your head.” Grace wasn’t about to bake alone, so she called Clair, who called Diane, who brought Patricia because they were in the middle of trying to plan Clair’s baby shower when Clair called.

 Grace pulled a cookie tray out of the oven when George
came
in. “Operation laundry completed?” She asked.

“Completed, Captain.”
George said as she grabbed a cookie off the tray and popped it into her mouth. “Shit! Hot, hot, hot!” she yelped, as she stuck her mouth under the faucet to cool it off.

“All of those years of drinking didn’t dull your reflexes, but sadly quitting didn’t improve your manners.” Patricia handed George a paper towel.

Diane sighed. “Okay, how many more of these do we have to make?”

“Two.” Clair grabbed the next recipe from Grace’s hand. “What does that say?
Oatmeal?”

Grace stared at it perplexed, “cornmeal?”

George grabbed it from her, “caramel.”

“Really?”
Grace and Clair cocked their heads.

“Girls you’re not exactly inspiring confidence right now,” sighed Patricia.

Diane quickly changed the subject before George went on the attack. “So,” she said to Grace, “what about a shower?”

“I took one this morning. Do I smell? Since the whole pee thing with Jack’s parents, I’m a little paranoid.”

Patricia was confused. “No dear; it’s tradition for the sister or mother to throw the baby shower.”

“I’m making her a kid and now I have to make cupcakes and punch and entertain everyone with clothespin games?”

“No sweetie, I’m officially throwing the shower,” said Diane.

“Good,” sighed Grace, “I don’t have any more time. I’m rehabbing George, starting a cookie business, and last time I checked I had ten toenails to make.”

Clair laughed. “We get it. You’re creating
life,
Mom’s throwing the baby shower.”

 “Hey, at this shower no one is wrapping string around my belly to figure out how big I am.”

“This is Clair’s shower not yours,” George said as she gave Grace a nudge.

“Okay, sis, it’s your call.  Baby shower games--yeah or nay?” whined Grace.          

“Oh God, nay, nay, nay,” implored Clair. Grace smiled triumphantly.

“So, your mom and I are going to buy the baby furniture and Grace should probably purchase the layette,” Patricia said.

“I have to get her a present?” Grace suddenly felt put upon and left out at the same time. “I’m having the kid and now I have to buy her a layette? I don’t even know what that is.” Overcome with emotion Grace took off. “I have to pee--again!”

 “She’s hit operation emotional meltdown,” Diane sighed.

George swallowed a laugh. “Let’s get these last two cookies baking before auntie mommy finds something else to cry about!”

Two hours later with the last of the cookies done, Clair cleaned the kitchen while Patricia looked over their business plan with George. Grace and Diane packed cookies into some red and white boxes. Grace tied one of the boxes with red ribbon and put a Sweet Mama’s sticker on the top of the box. “Voila!”

“I’m impressed,” Diane said, as she squeezed Grace’s hand. “I really am.”

George, feeling restless, got up.
“Anybody up for a walk?”

“Totally,” said Grace. “We can finish these later.”

“You girls want to start small, right?
asked
Patricia as she peered out from over the business plan.

“We want to stay small,” said Clair. “The goal is to be in specialty grocers, so that we can create snob appeal. You know, the old--you can’t find us everywhere, so we must be good--cache.” Clair nudged Grace, who nudged George, who turned to see Patricia working up some type of equation with her pen and her calculator. “Did I miscalculate something?” asked Clair.

“Can you make any of these cookies with mayonnaise?”  Patricia queried.

“Why the hell would we do that?” asked Grace. She of course answered her own question when her brain caught up with her mouth, “Oh.”

Clair and George traded looks. “What are you thinking?” asked Clair.

“Well,” said Patricia, “we do cookies, but we’ve been looking to acquire something with a bit more, as you said, snob appeal. Mrs. Fields isn’t snobby enough. Besides, the bitch won’t sell and Rachel Ray went with Nabisco.”

“Like the baby food. You went from Baby’s First Foods to an all natural signature line, Baby’s Finest Foods; it’s selling really well,” George said.

Impressed, Patricia smiled as Grace offered up, “why don’t we experiment with some mayonnaise recipes and if nothing pans out
no
harm, no foul because we still have the investors tasting.”

Patricia liked them, Grace and George, more than she’d admit and Clair was like the daughter she never had, but going into business with them, that was a whole other story. “I like how you think.”

As life progressed for the Higgins Sisters, in terms of the everydayness of said lives, not much changed. The baby continued to grow in Grace’s belly and the cookie business continued to be perfected under their watchful eyes. The invitations for the investors tasting would be ready to be mailed in precisely one week. By using her powers of deductive reasoning and her
Miss Manner’s Perfect Etiquette Guide
,
Clair determined that the invitations must be mailed out by next Friday in order to give everyone the proper four weeks to respond. All in all, life was good. Henry and Clair had finally decided it was time to paint the baby’s room and get all the stuff they had bought out of the garage and into the house.

Grace, on the other hand, had more pressing matters to attend too. More important than the three mayonnaise cookie recipes or even the child that was constantly pressing against her bladder, was Jack and looming in the Jack category was the old--do I really love him and should I tell Jack that I love him--dilemma.      

“You’re thinking too much,” said Dr.
Yael
.

“Or,” countered Grace, “maybe, I’m not thinking enough?”

 “You’re not trying to figure out string theory,” Dr.
Yael
continued. “But, this web of intrigue you’ve spun is ridiculous. The deal is you’re terrified of not being loved in return.” Grace hated when the NB was right. “Was it this complicated for you when you told Ray you loved him?”

“No,” whined Grace.
“But, look how that turned out!”

“But, Jack isn’t Ray.”

“Jack is nothing like Ray, but well, Ray needed me.”

“So, you have to be needed in order to be loved?” Dr. Yale studied her. “Jack clearly wants you. Isn’t it better to be wanted than needed when it comes to the romantic relationships in your life?”

“Of course.”
Grace put her feet up on the couch. “I mean it is, right?”

Dr.
Yael
caught the look of fear in Grace’s eye. “Okay, let’s do some free association. You know what love is, right?
Your definition of love?”

“Well, according to Charlie Brown
it’s
three kinds of ice cream, finding your skate key…,” Grace cautiously offered.

Dr.
Yael
rolled her eyes, “and according to you?”

“It’s calm, peaceful, challenging, fun,” Grace said.

“Who do you love?”

“Jack, Clair, Henry, this baby, my mom, George, ice cream.”

“Who are you in love with?”

“Jack,” Grace smiled “And ice cream.”

“Grace,” Dr.
Yael
smiled, “
stop
thinking. Just be.”

“Just be? I’m not sure that’s me,” Grace huffed.

“Try saying this whenever you panic about it: just be calm, just be quiet,
just
be.”

“Will this work for anything? ‘Cause we have our investor tasting coming up and I’m scared shitless. Plus, Patricia is toying with the idea of actually investing in us or buying us and that totally screws with my mind.”

“Why?”

“Let’s see. She bought me a place to live and then this? I don’t mind being a kept woman, but that’s too much even for me.”

“So, what’s the downside?” asked Dr.
Yael
.

“Well, we’d never know if we could have made without the mother-in-law who decided to humor her daughter-in-law.”

Dr.
Yael
stretched. “From what you told me she’s a pretty smart lady who wouldn’t view humoring her daughter-in-law as a sound investment. Am I right?” Grace nodded yes.  “Okay, so it’s time for you to move on from being the doubting nothing ever turns out right Grace to being the confident believing in yourself Grace.”

“What does that have to do with Jack or the cookie thing?” an exasperated Grace sighed.

“If you don’t know that then I can’t help you and I’m not just saying that because our time is up,” Dr.
Yael
cracked.

“Are you ready?” asked Clair.

“For what?” asked Grace, as she pulled her ass off her sister’s couch to go to the bathroom,
again.

“To mail our invitations and, well, Lamaze?”
Clair hurriedly said as she licked the last envelope shut.

“You want to send out Lamaze invitations?” Grace huffed.

“Henry and I signed us up for Lamaze.” Clair leaned against her yellow kitchen wall waiting for Grace to get her fat ass out of the bathroom.

“Well, you guys should have fun, might even be the talk of the class with no actually baby bump to speak of,” Grace said as she opened the door. “Seriously, you want me to go through huffing, puffing, deep breathing natural childbirth?”

Clair deadpanned. “You can still have an epidural.”

Clair rolled her eyes and handed her a pile of envelopes. “Okay smart ass, let’s get these going.” Clair picked up a box of envelopes, opened the door, and waited for Grace who grabbed the other box on her way out.

“This is a lot of invitations,” a nervous Grace sighed.

“One hundred and twenty-five to be exact.”
Clair shut her door and put a huge bucket of candy on a table at her front door with a sign for kids to help themselves.

Grace pulled out a couple of pieces. “Now where the hell is this mail box?”

“About three blocks away.”

“We’re walking three blocks?” Grace bellyached.    

“You need to walk,” Clair said. “Frigidaire gave explicit instructions to keep you mobile.”

Grace sighed, “I love to walk.” She stopped when the baby kicked. “Your kid keeps pressing against my bladder or jumping around when I’m trying to sleep and now the new thing is whenever I put on a seatbelt I get jabbed. What is that?”

“Payback,” deadpanned Clair, as she watched a group of five year olds trek from house to house. She couldn’t believe she was about to have one of those. “What do you think we’re having?”

“A ten pound watermelon, but what do I know?” Grace sarcastically offered.

“No seriously, they say a mother knows.”

“I’m not the mother. I have no idea. I’m detached--in a good way, but detached nonetheless. It’s healthy. It’s big. It’s a baby. That’s what I know.”

“Oh, well that’s good I guess. Mom and Patricia think it’s a boy.”

“Well, they’ve had kids, they should know. I guess. I mean does it really matter?”

Clair nudged Grace to cross the street.
“I know, you’re right.
A healthy kid is a healthy kid, but, well, a boy? How can I be a mom, a good mom, to a boy?” Clair asked.

“You’re kidding me, right? That’s ridiculous.”

“This from the woman who just came back from a session with the NB because she’s afraid to tell the man she loves, she loves him?”
snarked
Clair.

They stopped as a parade of loud young girls went past. “That I understand,” sighed Clair.
“Princesses and
Barbies
.”
She pointed out a few boys dressed as super heroes. “That, I don’t get.
And puberty?
If boys don’t get periods, what happens to them?”