Page 15 of Mom-Com
She stared at me for a second and then began laughing too. “Oh my God. It’s so bad! Why didn’t you say something?”
“You went to a lot of trouble and I really appreciate it. No reason to complain.” I held out my hand across the table. “In fact, let me have your plate. I can put it back on the grill.”
“No, no. I’ve got it.” Lily-Marie stood up, which of course, meant I had to stand up too. She cocked her head to the side, but took my plate without a word. We discussed movies until she came back, well-done steaks still sizzling from the grill.
She sat down and took one bite before jumping up again. I stood for a third time, wondering if I should have stretched before coming over, not realizing I’d be getting a squat workout with my dinner. She gave me a look I couldn’t decipher and then sat down again without going to the kitchen. I narrowed my eyes at her and sat back down to eat the rest of my dinner without further interruption.
By the time we finished dessert, Milly was lying in Lily-Marie’s lap, completely asleep. The boys had to be rounded up and forced to quit playing. After a million “thank yous” for the dinner and conversation, we left for the long walk home.
“Whatcha smiling about, Dad?” Stein asked through a yawn as I unlocked our front door.
“Just thinking about a science experiment of mine,” I replied.
The most fun one I’d ever been a part of.
7
Lily-Marie
“I think one of the kids stole my headphones again.”
I had my cell phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder, probably giving myself a crick in the neck that wouldn’t go away for days, but I couldn’t wait to talk to Gabby. She’d been crazy busy the whole week and I hadn’t gotten to download her on how my man-pies went over with the single guys at work, or how dinner went with Jameson a few days ago.
But my hands were required elsewhere when a sewing needle was jabbing up and down in a rapid fire staccato on the herringbone twill that would soon be my new skirt. I was a mother, therefore, a master multitasker.
“You need to get a Bluetooth headset. They wouldn’t steal those.” When I snorted—because hello, have you seen how expensive those are—she continued. “Just put me on speakerphone.”
“Okay, but the kids are upstairs watching a movie, so keep the f-bombs on lockdown, sailor.”
“Yeah, yeah. What’s all the racket anyway?”
I took my foot off the pedal on the floor and straightened my back. I’d been hunched over the ancient sewing machine for thirty minutes already. My mom taught me how to sew when I was a little girl, on this same machine in fact, but it never held my interest back then. Plus, with how expensive fabric was these days it proved cheaper and easier to just buy the clothes from a store.
“I’m making a skirt.” I adjusted the material to start sewing the hem along the bottom.
There was a long pause. “Like, with a hot glue gun? Or staples or something?”
I shook my head, which is quite a talent while still holding a cell phone between one’s head and shoulder. “Seriously? Who makes a skirt with a hot glue gun?”
“Well, excuse me. You take up some crazy new hobby and I’m supposed to just know? Gonna make your shoes too now? Maybe get a horse and ride that to work?”
Now the pause was on my end. “Wow. Someone is grumpy. Hew not giving you what you need?”
“Hey, keep Hew out of this. What’s with the skirt, Martha Stewart?”
“Well, according to my list, I need to make something myself and wear it. Men derive some high level of primal satisfaction in knowing a woman can do these sorts of crafts.”
I heard a loud snort from the other end. “You know you’re single-handedly setting back the women’s movement by at least half a decade, right? I mean, what are you going to do next? Give up your right to vote so you don’t threaten the intelligence level of the male species?”
Pressing my foot onto the pedal and feeding the material through the machine slowly, I responded, “Calm down, gender inequality freedom fighter. I’m just making a skirt, not fetching ‘the man’ his slippers. Now put the filter on, I’m putting you on speaker.” I stopped the sewing machine to put the phone down on the table next to me. Not a moment too soon either, as my neck started to spasm. “It’s hard to believe, but I didn’t call you to discuss the unfair division of labor. I gotta tell you about my pies!”
Gabby laughed, sounding like my best friend for the first time this phone call. “You know, I really should stop giving you a hard time about this plan. It’s turning out to provide a ridiculous amount of entertainment for me. If you’re happy, I’m happy. Now spill. Did the apple pie give you anyAmerican Piemoments?”
I fed more material through the machine, biting my lip in concentration. “You know that makes us sound really old when you reference movies from twenty years ago, right?”
“Get to the good stuff,” Gabby deadpanned.
I rolled my eyes, which is never a good idea around a sharp needle. “I’m not sure how much good stuff there really is. I brought my pies to work and they brought all the boys to the yard, but they were so busy stuffing their faces, I barely got to talk to them. I went around the room checking out their ring finger, and if it was bare, I was on ’em like white on rice. I got a lot of ‘thank yous’ and pats on the back, but no phone numbers. You know how in marketing they say it takes seven touches before people take notice of something?”
