CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
RORKE
I definitely need to do something about the bathroom situation in my house. I already know I need a tub, but more storage is a must. Sterling’s not even living with me yet, and her stuff is taking over. I don’t mind. I just had no idea that a woman’s period required so many different types of products. There’s the box of regular tampons, the box of lite ones. There’s a box of thin maxi pads with wings. Then there’s the box of just panty liners. Then there’s the biggest box of all, containing some sort of pad designed for overnight protection that frankly looks like it goes from the bellybutton to the butthole. All that just for one week of the month! The back of my toilet looks like the feminine hygiene aisle at the drug store.
I never even had a trash can in my bathroom until Sterling arrived. Everything just got flushed or tossed in the kitchen one. Who knew that you aren’t actually supposed to flush a tampon down the toilet? Sterling wasn’t thrilled to be the one to enlighten me on that little tidbit of information. Guess this all comes with the territory of having a woman around. And I’m loving every second she’s here—period or not.
So I’m working hard to finish my place up. The kitchen cabinets are installed. I just need to finish up the concrete countertops and appliances. I can’t decide if I should start the bathroom now or not.
“Sterling,” I say, looking into the bathroom space. She looks up from her computer where she’s been working all afternoon, trying to stay up to date on everything in her office. “I’m thinking with you living here soon the bathroom needs to be expanded. What do you think about a clawfoot tub?”
“Love them,” she says. “But you shouldn’t start a renovation. You could be moving to New York.”
“With school starting up soon, contracts have been filled already. Odds are, I’m not going to get anything up there. I even checked into schools outside of Manhattan. It’s a long shot.”
“Something could open up,” she says.
“I think we have to prepare ourselves for the alternative.”
“For me to be traveling back and forth?”
“I know it’s not ideal.”
“Why can’t you just move to New York with me? You could always substitute teach and work on grant writing.”
“We’ve discussed this. I’m trying to accept the fact that I won’t ever be the breadwinner. That’s hard enough,” I remind her.
She just stares at me. I can tell she wants to say something, but I hear a knock on the door, followed by the chitter-chatter of our mothers. “Come on in,” I yell, starting for the door. When they come into view, I pick up the pace, seeing they are drowning in paper. It looks like they bought every bridal magazine known to man. “Rorke, I sent your dad into Mobile because they have a bigger selection,” my mom says, handing me her stack.
I glance at Sterling, but she’s still staring at the spot I was standing in. “And I’ve got pages bookmarked on my laptop,” her mom, Mrs. Amy, says, “and a few local brochures just as lagniappe.”
“Um.” My eyes dart around, looking for a place to set them up. “How about over here?” I say, walking over to the little buffet area in the kitchen corner.
“This is just fine,” Mrs. Amy says, looking around.
“For now,” my mom says with a giggle and wink to Mrs. Amy.
That brings Sterling out of her stupor. “Momma, we’ve only been engaged a week.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Mrs. Amy says.
Sterling flashes me a look to wrangle my mom in, but I don’t have a clue what they are talking about. If this is some weird woman Morse code, it’s working. “Aside from expanding the bathroom to add a tub, the place isn’t going to get any bigger.”
“A bathtub is good,” my mom says. “Babies like their tubs.”
Sterling gives me that look again. And I get it. We’ve barely been engaged two seconds, and our mothers have us pregnant already. “Mom, it’s a little early to be talking about all that.”
“You never know,” Mrs. Amy chimes in.
Sterling’s face tells me I won’t be getting laid in the next decade if I don’t get control of our mothers. “This place isn’t even finished yet, and it’s not exactly big enough to bring kids into the mix. So don’t go planning the baby shower.”
“Babies don’t take much space,” my mom says, and I know she’s sizing up the room, placing the high chair and baby cradle. But when her eyes land on my face, she knows she’s gone too far. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s just, the thought of this place being filled with kids laughing again like when you were little, I got carried away.”
Mrs. Amy puts her arms around my mom. “You’re going to have to fight me for them.” They both start laughing. “Half the time on the farm, half the time on the Bay?”
“Deal,” they both say in unison.
“Momma, did you forget I live in New York?” Sterling says.
All the air in the room freezes. I realize I’ve made a serious mistake not mentioning that possibility to my parents. Everything is so uncertain, I didn’t see the point. Big fucking mistake!
“Of course I didn’t forget,” Mrs. Amy says. “We’re just dreaming, having a little fun.”
Sterling’s eyes dart to my mom, whose eyes are lowered, her face sullen. “Nothing’s set in stone yet, Mom,” I say, slowly approaching her and kneeling.
“I feel so foolish going on and on like that,” my mom says, looking up at Sterling. “I apologize.”
I know my mom. I’ve seen her fighting back tears more times than I care to remember. “Mom?”
It only takes that one word for her to break. “I just kept thinking I’m getting a daughter and grandchildren one day. I never considered I might be losing my other son.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I say, “I haven’t even found a job in New York.” She only starts crying harder at the thought that I’ve even looked. “Sterling and I are still figuring things out.”
*
I spend the day working on getting my place finished up. Sterling and I leave for New York in a couple days for her business trip. As soon as we return, football practice will start up. And before I know it, the wedding will be here.
Sticking my head out from under the kitchen cabinets, I hear Sterling and our moms laughing, stacks of bridal magazines surrounding them. It seems, at least for the time being, they’ve all relaxed about who’s living where. “Rorke, come here for a second,” my mom calls.
Wiping my hands on my shorts, I walk over. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to see this before the wedding.”
“That’s only the dress,” Sterling says.
“What do you think about a live band?” her mom asks. “Your mom and I think that’s much classier than a DJ.”
“Umm, why do we need a band or DJ?” I ask.
“For the first dance,” my mom says. “And the father-daughter dance and my dance with you.”
“I’ve been trying to tell them,” Sterling says, “we just want something simple and small.”
“A hundred people is small,” Mrs. Amy says. “Look how many people were at our anniversary party last month.”
Both our moms start pulling out magazines, lists, and random pink heart sticky notes with little ideas on them. It looks like the sticky notes were the only input Sterling’s had. “The guest list is six,” I say.
“You can’t get married with just six people,” Mrs. Amy says. “There are Sterling’s co-workers, the teachers you work with at the school, friends. You know Ms. Mirabelle will be so disappointed.”
“And what about your cousins and aunts and uncles? We have to invite them.”
“No, we don’t,” I say.
“It might be nice to have Ms. Mirabelle and the girls from book club,” Sterling says, looking at me. She has to know I’ll give her whatever she wants.
“Your daddy and I have been saving for this day since you were a little girl,” Mrs. Amy says.
“I know. I appreciate it. And I do want fabulous flowers and a huge, decadent cake.”
So she’s going to let her parents pay? Obviously, that’s more out of respect than necessity. “A photographer?” Mrs. Amy asks.
“Of course,” Sterling says. “This is good. Why don’t we each get one wish for the wedding?”
“But not on the guest list,” I say, seeing my mom already about to open her mouth.
“I’m the bride, so I get two,” Sterling says. “Cake and flowers. And Momma wants great pictures.”
“Rorke?”
“I get to surprise you with the honeymoon.” Our moms collectively sigh. “What about you, Mom?” I ask.
“A string quartet,” she says. “I want one dance with my baby.”
*
Pink sticky notes have invaded my entire house. They serve as reminders of wedding details, random work thoughts for Sterling, and lists of what to pack for our trip to New York. We’re heading out in a few hours.
Sterling and our moms are dress shopping today. With a short engagement, there doesn’t seem to be a minute to waste. Actually, I can’t believe Sterling’s not doing that in New York. The shopping’s got to be better there. She really is a low maintenance woman. And it was sweet she asked my mom to be a part of it, knowing my mom wouldn’t ever have the opportunity to shop with a daughter for a wedding dress.
And it’s given me some time with my dad. He helped me finish up the kitchen and think through a possible bathroom expansion. We’ve worked on the farm some, and I’ve filled him in on the camp project. Now that he’s gone and I’ve got some free time, I need to figure out the honeymoon. There are just a couple of problems: my budget isn’t unlimited, and Sterling’s been everywhere.
I’ve been staring at the computer, searching all these stupid wedding sites for over an hour, and I’m no closer to coming up with anything. She’s been to Paris and Hawaii. Disney World doesn’t seem very honeymoon-ish to me, although it’s on some of the lists I’ve seen. She lives in New York, and we just went to New Orleans. Nothing seems to be the perfect fit, either for us or my budget.
Perhaps I’m thinking about this the wrong way. What do I want to do on my honeymoon? That’s a stupid question. I just want her naked in bed for a week. Shakespeare had it right in Hamlet, “That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs.” Honestly, it doesn’t get any better than that.
What does she want in a honeymoon? I hope the answer is me, naked in bed for a week. So maybe it’s not the destination that’s important. Maybe as long as the room is nice, it doesn’t matter where we are.
The door flies open, and I quickly close out my computer screen. “I’m marrying you naked!” Sterling says, smiling.
I guess dress hunting was as successful as my honeymoon search. “Sounds good to me.”
She giggles, walking over to me, and I pull her down to straddle my lap. “Why are we doing this? Can’t we just live in sin?”
“There hasn’t been enough sinning going on,” I say, tickling her.
“Our mothers our insane. Bands and DJs, a five-course dinner. I think one of them even mentioned swans. And what was that whole baby thing?”
“I thought we had the wedding stuff all worked out?”
“I had to remind them of that a dozen times.”
“I’ll talk to my mom again.”
“My mom is the problem. Yours just drops hints about us not moving every five seconds.” She gets up from my lap and starts doing these little circles around my bed. “I feel so bad. Like it’s my fault she’s losing her baby, the only son she has left. It’s going to crush her if you move, and I’ll be the reason.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“And to top it all off, I look like a complete idiot in wedding dresses. Yes, all wedding dresses. I can’t wear the sheath style because I’m too hippy. The fit and flare just makes my hips look bigger, and the puffy ball gowns weigh like fifty pounds.”
“So don’t wear one,” I say.
“Do you want to see our moms’ heads explode? I tried on fifty dresses today. One of them cried for each dress. Sometimes they both cried. Even if they agreed I looked heinous in certain ones, they still cried!”
“So nudist wedding?” I tease.
“Or pajamas?”