Chapter 4
Visiting with Drew’s family is never boring. Coming from a single-child home, I found the family gatherings a little overwhelming at first. But now I’m used to it.
Drew and I arrive last.
Frank Fisher—Matthew’s father—and John Evans stand by the wet bar in the corner, trading stock quotes. Delores is perched on the arm of the recliner beside Matthew, watching the football game, while Drew’s sister, Alexandra, aka “The Bitch,” and her husband, Steven, sit on the couch.
Mackenzie, Drew’s niece, sits on the floor. She’s changed since the last time you saw her. She’s six years old now, her hair is longer, her face a little thinner—more girlish, less toddler, but still adorable. She’s playing with a gaggle of dolls and miniature nursery accessories.
Drew’s mother, Anne, and Matthew’s mom, Estelle, are most likely in the kitchen. And if you’re wondering where Steven’s widowed father, George Reinhart, is, we won’t be seeing him until later.
As we walk into the room, Steven greets us and offers us both a drink.
We settle on the love seat, drinks in hand, and watch the game.
Mackenzie pushes a button on one of her dolls, and an animatronic voice fills the room. “No, no, no! No, no, no!”
Mackenzie’s head tilts as she looks at the annoying doll. “I think you’re wrong, Daddy. No-No Nancy doesn’t sound like Momma at all.”
The comment gets Alexandra’s attention. “What do you mean, Mackenzie?”
Behind his wife’s shoulder, Steven shakes his head at his daughter, but unfortunately for him, she doesn’t get the message.
Instead she explains, “The other day, when you were out, Daddy said No-No Nancy sounds just like you. But instead of no, you say, ‘Nag, nag, nag.’” All heads turn to Alexandra, watching her like a ticking time bomb counting down to zero.
Steven tries valiantly to defuse her. he smiles and teases, , “You have to admit, honey, the resemblance is uncanny. . . .”
Alexandra punches him in the arm. But he tightens his bicep before she makes contact, absorbing the blow. She punches him again, less playfully.
Steven just boasts, “You can’t dent steel, babe. Be careful— don’t want to hurt your hand on the gun.”
Faster than a speeding bullet, Alexandra’s fingers lash out and pinch the tender flesh on the back of his tricep, bringing him to his knees.
Drew grimaces and rubs the back of his own arm in sympathy.
“That’s gonna leave a mark.”
Alexandra’s voice is firm. And final. “I don’t nag. I’m a kind, nurturing, supportive wife, and if you would just do what you’re supposed to, I’d never have to say anything at all!”
he yelps, “Yes, dear.”
She releases his arm and stands. “I’m going to help my mother in the kitchen.”
After she leaves, Mackenzie looks down at the chastising doll thoughtfully, then up at her father. “Actually, you’re right, Daddy.
Momma really does sound like Nancy.”
Steven puts his finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”
A while later, Drew, Matthew, Delores, and I are in the den for Mackenzie’s guitar lesson.
I’m teaching her to play. I was five when my father taught me.
he told me music was like a secret code, a magical language that would always be there for me. To comfort me when I was sad, to help me celebrate when I was happy.
And he was right.
It’s a lesson I’ve treasured my entire life. A small piece of him that I was able to hold on to after he was gone. And I’m thrilled to be able to pass that knowledge on to Mackenzie.
She’s playing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” right now.
She’s good, isn’t she? Focused. Determined. I’m not surprised—she’s Drew’s niece, after all. As she finishes the song, we all clap.
Then I turn to Delores. “Billy called me last night. he’s got a few weeks off. he’s coming to the city next week and wants to meet up for dinner.”
Sarcasm drips off Drew’s words like chocolate on a strawberry.
“Jackass is coming to town? Oh, goody. It’ll be like Christmas.”
Delores looks at Drew. “hey—Jackass is my nickname for him. Get your own.”
Drew nods. “You’re right. Douche Bag has a much nicer ring to it.”
Are you wondering about the Bad Word Jar? For those of you who don’t know, the Bad Word Jar was started by Alexandra to financially penalize anyone—usually Drew—who cursed in front of her daughter. Originally, each curse cost a dollar, but when Drew and I were working through our issues, I convinced Mackenzie to bump the price up to ten. Color me vindictive.
Anyway, these days, the Jar is no longer used. Mackenzie has a checking account now. And since she’s old enough to write, she keeps a log of who owes what in that blue notebook there—the one she’s scribbling in right now.
We’re all expected to pay our fines before we leave. Or run the risk of a 10 percent late fee.
I have a feeling Mackenzie’s going to be a brilliant banker someday.
She puts her book down and goes back to strumming her guitar. Then she turns to Drew.
“Uncle Drew?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Where do babies come from?”
Drew doesn’t even hesitate. “God.”
I got the basics when I was eleven. My mother took the “stay my little girl forever and don’t ever have sex” approach. Amelia Warren, on the other hand, was more than willing to fill in the gaps. She wanted her daughter Delores and me informed. And prepared. By the time we were thirteen, we could get a condom on a banana faster than any hooker on the strip.
Whatever you do, don’t let your kids learn about procreation from “The Video.” Finding out about the birds and the bees is a lot like finding out there’s no Santa—kids are bound to figure it out eventually, but it’ll go down much easier coming from you.
Mackenzie nods and goes back to her guitar. Until . . .
“Uncle Drew?”
“Yes, Mackenzie?”
“The baby grows in the mommy’s tummy, right?”
“More or less.”
“how does that happen . . . exactly?”
Drew rubs his fingers over his lips, thinking it over.
And I hold my breath.
“Well, you know when you’re painting? And you mix blue and red together? And you get . . .”
“Purple!”
“Excellent, yes, you get purple. Babies are kind of like that. A little blue paint from the daddy, some red paint from the mommy, shake it all together, and boom—you get a whole new person.
hopefully not purple, but if Aunt Delores is involved? Anything is possible.”
Delores gives Drew the finger behind Mackenzie’s back.
Mackenzie nods. And goes back to strumming her guitar. For one whole minute.
“Uncle Drew?”
“Yep?”
“how does the daddy’s blue paint get to the mommy’s red paint?”
Drew raises both eyebrows. he stutters, “how . . . how does it . . . get there?”
Mackenzie gestures with her hand. “Well, yeah. Does the doctor give her a shot of blue paint? Does the mommy swallow the blue paint?”
Matthew snickers. “Only if the daddy is a very lucky guy.”
Delores smacks him on the head. But Mackenzie’s round blue eyes stay on Drew, waiting for an answer.
he opens his mouth.
And then closes it.
he starts again.
And then stops.
Finally, like cannon-balling into a pool on the first day of spring, he takes the plunge. “Well . . . the mommy and daddy have sex.”
It’s official. Alexandra’s going to kill him. For real this time. I’m going to be a widow before I’m ever a wife.
Mackenzie’s face rumples with confusion. “What’s sex?”
“Sex is how babies get made.”
She thinks about it a moment. And then she nods. “Oh. Okay.”
Wow.
And I thought the final exams in business school were hard.
Drew handled that pretty well, don’t you think? he’s good with kids. Which makes sense, because in so many ways . . . he still is one.
Alexandra walks into the room. She seems happy, now—now that she’s showed Steven that his “steel guns” can, in fact, be dented.
She’s all glowy.
“What are we doing in here?”
Drew smiles innocently. “Talking about paint colors.”
Alexandra smiles and strokes her daughter’s hair.
As Mackenzie adds, “And sex.”
Alexandra’s hand stops. “Wait . . . what?”
Drew leans over and whispers in my ear, “We should probably leave the room now.”
As the door swings closed behind us, we hear “Drew!” And Alexandra doesn’t sound so happy anymore.
At last, dinner is served. The actual eating of the meal is unevent-ful, but during dessert, Alexandra taps her glass with a spoon.
“Everyone—can I have your attention, please?” She beams at Steven and then goes on. “Mackenzie has an announcement she’d like to make.”
Mackenzie stands on her chair and proclaims, “My mom and dad had sex!”
The entire table is silent.
Until Matthew raises his glass. “Congratulations, Steven. It’s like halley’s Comet, right? You only get to come every seventy-five years?”
Delores laughs.
And John clears his throat. Awkwardly. “That’s, ah . . . that’s . . .
very nice, dear.”
Then Frank decides to share. “Sex is good. Keeps you regular. I make sure I have sex at least three times a week. Not that my Estelle is into any of that freaky-freaky stuff, but in forty years of marriage, she’s never had a headache.”
Estelle smiles proudly beside him.
And Matthew covers his face with his hands.
The rest of us just stare. Eyes wide, mouths slightly opened.
Until Drew throws his head back and laughs. “That’s so great.”
he wipes his eyes, practically crying.
Alexandra shakes her head. “Wait. There’s more. Go ahead, Mackenzie.”
Mackenzie rolls her eyes. “Well, that means they’re gonna have a baby, of course. I’m gonna be a big sister!”
Congratulations erupt all around. Anne tears up as she hugs her daughter. “I’m so happy for you, honey.”
Drew stands and hugs his sister sweetly. “Congratulations, Lex.” Then he smacks Steven on the back. “I’ll keep the guest room ready for you, man.”
I’m confused. “Guest room?”
Drew explains. “The last time Alexandra was pregnant, she kicked Steven out—not once, not twice, but four f*cking times.”
Matthew joins in. “And that’s not counting the time she let him stay, but she threw all his shit out the window.”
Drew chuckles. “It looked like a Barney’s delivery truck exploded on Park Avenue. The homeless were never dressed so well.”
Alexandra rolls her eyes and turns to me. “Pregnancy hormones. They can cause some pretty bad mood swings. I tend to get a little . . . bitchy . . . when I’m pregnant.”
Drew smirks. “As opposed to the rest of the time, when you’re just so pleasant?”
You know how some dogs still keep chewing your shoes—no matter how many times you smack them with a newspaper? They just can’t resist?
Drew is one of those dogs.
Alexandra turns on her brother like a cat hissing at a snake.
“You know, Drew, being with child? It’s kind of like a ‘get out of jail free’ card. There’s not a jury in the country that would convict me.”
he backs away slowly.
I shake my head at him, then ask Alexandra, “Other than that, how are you feeling?”
She shrugs. “Tired, mostly. And the vomiting doesn’t help.
Most women get morning sickness, but I get it at night, which sucks pretty bad.”
Huh Vomiting.
Tired.
Moody.
They certainly sound familiar.
What? Why are you looking at me like that?
No, no—everyone knows the surest sign of pregnancy is a missed period. And my period’s not due for . . . one . . . two . . .
four . . .
Five . . .
My period was due five days ago.
Oh.
My.
God.