Oh, great. Time to go home.
Sunday, September 13, 9 p.m., the loft
I’m sooooooooo glad to be back. It feels like I’ve been gone for SO MUCH LONGER than just two days. Seriously. It feels like a YEAR since I last lay on this bed, with Fat Louie curled around my feet, purring his head off, and the dulcet tones of Lash in my ears, since I don’t have to listen for Rocky’s mournful cry, because my mom cured him of the crying-to-get-attention thing. Apparently, she did it by leaving him with Mamaw and Papaw to babysit while she and Mr. G went to a classic car show in the parking lot of the Kroger Sav-On, because that was the closest thing to a cultural event that was actually going on in Versailles this past weekend.
By the time they got home—four hours later—Mamaw and Papaw were still sitting exactly where they’d been when Mom and Mr. G left (in front of the TV, watching reruns of America’s Funniest Home Videos) and Rocky was sound asleep. All Mamaw said was, “Well, he’s got a set of lungs on him, I’ll say that fer’im.”
Anyway, Mom says Mr. G was a real trooper, and that if she hadn’t been sure he loved her before, she definitely knows it now, because no other man would willingly have put up with as many indignities as he endured on her behalf, one of which included riding on Papaw’s tractor (Mr. G says the closest to a tractor he’s ever been before is the Zamboni at a Rangers game). Mr. G says he was particularly impressed by the road signs he saw along the highway from the Indianapolis International Airport, urging him to repent his sins and be saved. Although, he reports that sadly, the Versailles County Bank appears to have taken down the IF BANK IS CLOSED, PLEASE SLIDE MONEY UNDER THE DOOR sign I loved so much.
I was very pleased to hear that they followed all of my advice and kept Rocky far away from hay threshers, copperhead snakes, and Hazel, Mamaw’s goat. Mom did say something about how it wasn’t actually necessary for me to have called every three hours to let them know that there was no cyclone activity on Doppler radar in their area, but that she appreciated my sisterly vigilance on Rocky’s behalf.
Later, while Mr. G was struggling to fit their suitcases back into the crawl space, I asked Mom if she’d happened to look up Wendell Jenkins, and she was all, “Why would I?”
“Because,” I said. “I mean, you loved him.”
“Sure,” Mom said. “Twenty years ago.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But you loved Dad fifteen years ago, and you see still see him.”
“Because I have a child with him,” my mom said, looking at me sort of strangely. “Believe me, Mia, if it weren’t for you, your dad and I probably wouldn’t have anything to do with each other. We’ve both moved on, just like Wendell and I moved on.”
Then my mom went on, “If I hadn’t met Frank, maybe I’d regret breaking up with Wendell or your dad. But I’m married to the man of my dreams. So, in answer to your question, Mia, no, I didn’t look up Wendell Jenkins this weekend.”
Wow. That is just…I don’t know. So nice. About Mr. G being the man of my mom’s dreams. I mean, I hope he realizes it. How lucky he is. Because whereas I strongly suspect there are a lot of women out there who might consider my dad, being a rich prince and all, the man of their dreams, I don’t think there are a whole lot of ladies who are going, “Hmmm, I wish I could meet a poor, flannel-shirt wearing, drum-playing Algebra teacher named Frank Gianini,” like my mom evidently did.
Anyway, that’s kind of nice. That both my mom and I are with the men of our dreams at the same time…
Except that mine is about to break up with me.
But would the man of my dreams REALLY tell me he’s not going to wait around for me forever? Wouldn’t the man of my dreams be willing to wait around for all ETERNITY to have me? I mean, look at Tom Hanks in the movie Cast Away. He TOTALLY waited for Helen Hunt. For FOUR years.
And okay, it’s not like he had much of a choice since there weren’t exactly any other girls running around on that island with him, but whatever.
Anyway, when I got home, I found a message from Michael on the answering machine. It was almost exactly like the one he’d left for me at the hotel, asking me to call.
And when I turned on my computer, there was an e-mail from him, too, saying basically the same thing he’d said in both phone messages: to call him.
No way am I falling for that one. I’m not calling him, just so he can break up with me.
Ooooooo nooooooooo Instant Message!
Let it be Michael.
No, don’t let it be Michael.
Let it be Michael.
No, don’t let it be Michael.
Let it be Michael.
No, don’t let it be Michael.
Let it be Michael.
ILUVROMANCE: Hey! It’s me!
Oh. It’s Tina.
FTLOUIE: Hi, T.
ILUVROMANCE: Just wanted to say thanx again for the GR8 time on Friday nite. It was SO MUCH fun.
FTLOUIE: OK. Thanks.
ILUVROMANCE: Hey, what’s the matter?
FTLOUIE: Nothing.
ILUVROMANCE: SOMETHING is the matter. You haven’t used a single exclamation point yet! What’s wrong? Did you and Michael have The Talk?
Sometimes I think Tina must be psychic.
FTLOUIE: Yes. And Tina, it was AWFUL. He totally shot down the idea of Doing It on prom night, and says he can’t afford the Four Seasons. He was nowhere NEAR as nice as Boris about it. He even said he wasn’t going to wait around for me forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
ILUVROMANCE: NO! He did NOT say that!!!!