Page 19 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
There’s no point in hanging up now.
I climb over my wife’s leg and lie flat on the bed beside her. “Hey, Ma.”
I can hear her sniffling.
Well, this is an unexpected, fucking unbearable added delight.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and look over at my wife, who is silently chuckling to the point of tears. She is no help to me now, and she will be punished. It’s not her fault, but she will be punished for this.
“How’s it going, Ma? You had dinner yet?”
“I’m in shock is how it’s goin’. I raised a sweet, polite boy who grew up to become a Mr. Fancypants Magee respectable New York lawyer and marry a lovely, sophisticated woman who gave birth to his darling angel of a baby. Now I find out he speaks to his beautiful wife with the mouth of a filthy criminal? May God have mercy on both our souls.”
“Okay. Laying it on a little thick, Ma.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk, mister.”
Maddie emits a snort-laugh at that, and my pained glare finally brings a conclusion to her merriment. She straightens up and clears her throat. “Mamie, I’m so sorry you had to hear that, but please know that he only speaks to me like that because he knows I like it. He just got home and had no idea I had you on speakerphone. We haven’t had time alone for quite a while, you see.”
That’s my girl.
There’s the Maddie Cooper who shields me from assholes and idiots and Boston-born Irish-American mothers who never fully remove the guilt-tipped dagger from their children’s hearts.
We hear my mother blow her nose into a tissue before responding. “Well, that’s comforting to know, I suppose, Maddie. As long as he’s treating you right.”
“Oh, very much so, Mary Margaret. As you’ve probably heard, he had a night out with Billy and Nolan this weekend, so he’s still recovering from that, I think.” She places a hand on my chest. “Declan, your ma just called to make sure we’re going to FaceTime Tony on Sunday so he can see his grandbaby, and I told her of course we are. In the afternoon. Right?”
“Absolutely. Looking forward to it.”
“Speak of the devil,” Ma Cannavale says. “I’m on the phone with Dec and Maddie!” she yells to my dad. “Your son, Declan and his wife, Maddie! …The what?! …It’s in the basement! …No, we moved it there two years ago! …Don’t go down there by yourself—the handrail is still loose! Tony! Tony! …God help us. I gotta go. I will leave you two lovebirds to—whatever—and we will see you on FaceTime on Sunday. Good night, my sweet loves.”
“Good night, Mamie!” Maddie says sweetly and then ends the call, knowing that I have used the last of my false strength.
She lies down next to me and wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest.
I manage to put my arm around her shoulder, even though I am dead inside.
“We’re never going to have sex again, are we?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“That’s too bad.” She strokes my arm. “I was really hoping tonight would be the night, and I really enjoyed that thing you said about the last supper.”
I groan, and not in the good way.
“Sorry. We don’t have to talk about this ever again, and you don’t even have to draw up an agreement.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Why wasn’t she talking when I walked in? She’s never not talking.”
“She had to put the phone down to take something out of the oven.”
“Fantastic. What time is it in Italy? Should I just send an accidental dick pic to my nonna as the final nail in my coffin?”
“Nah. You don’t want to blow your wad before Hump Day, now do you?”
I almost laugh at that. Almost.
“I’ll have two dozen yellow apology roses sent to your ma tomorrow. From you. Her sweet, polite boy.”
“I’ll do it myself,” I mutter. “But you’ll get what’s coming to you for laughing that hard, Cooper. One of these days.”
“I can hardly wait, Mr. Cannavale.”
And then we both drift off to sleep.
