“I assumed she knew what that was and we’d get a good laugh about it. How was I supposed to know she’d go on Google looking for a recipe?” he whispers back. “Oh Jesus, your mom would have been sitting at her computer in her housecoat and slippers with curlers in her hair looking at pictures of furry pussies! This day is full of win!”
I smack him in the arm as we walk into the dining room and take our seats.
As soon as we’re seated, my mom takes the cover off of the pan in the middle of the table.
“Drew, I hope stuffed clams are as good as bearded clams!” she says with a smile.
“That’s going to be tough because Jenny has the most DELICIOUS bearded clam, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed,” Drew says, trying to keep the laugh in with is hand tightly covering his mouth, but it was no use.
“Jenny, I didn’t know you made a bearded clam before. “Does it have mustard in it?” my mom asks.
“Only if you’re doing it in the parking lot of a baseball game,” Drew snickers.
“So, Mom, what’s this award you were telling me about?” I ask, changing the subject as far away from my clam as possible as she goes around the table to serve everyone.
“Oh! I was voted Most Caring at the KC Club this year!” she says excitedly as she gets back to her seat.
“Why does Kasey have a club?” Drew asks through a mouthful of food.
“No, not Kasey, KC Club,” my mom explains.
“I know. But who is this Kasey chick and why does she have her own club?” Drew questions.
“KC, for kindness and caring. Get it? KC Club,” my mom tries again.
“Who decided Kasey was kind and caring? I seriously want to know what the deal is with this bitch. I don’t get it.”
My mom just continues to try and explain it to him while I help Veronica with her food, trying not to roll my eyes or make them stop.
“No, no, no. KC. Capital 'K', capital 'C',” my mom says.
“That’s the dumbest spelling of Kasey I’ve ever heard of,” Drew tells her.
This just keeps getting worse.
“Hey, Dad, did you and Mom ever go to marriage counseling?” I blurt out.
Drew flicks my thigh with his finger and looks at me funny.
He’s probably not happy I’m bringing this up because he doesn’t want anyone to know about the marriage counselor thing. I don’t know what the big deal is. When we got home and Drew asked if he could hug my vagina, I told him no and he started sobbing. He can’t say marriage counseling didn’t work on him. Look at how he wasn’t afraid to show his emotions? That’s a total breakthrough. I’m just curious to see if my parents ever went through hard times with each other.
“Nonsense! That crap is for sissies and girly-men. If you can’t fix your own marriage, how the hell can anyone else? What those quacks charge in an hour could feed a small country for year,” he complains.
“Seriously? A whole country? Like, which one? Texas?” Drew asks in astonishment.
“Drew, you silly! Texas isn’t a country!” my mom says with a laugh. “It’s a consonant.”
My dad continues to complain about how young people now-a-days can’t even wipe their own ass without help and how the institution of marriage is going down the shitter. Obviously asking this question hadn't been the best idea.
“Here’s another question for you. Have you ever fallen asleep during sex?” Drew asks, looking over at me with one eyebrow raised.
I look away from him because I know exactly why he's asked that question. I’m still living by the fake-it-till you make rule, and I had wanted to try and do something for Drew, so when he got home from work the other night, I asked him if I could give him a hand job. I don’t mean to brag or anything, but I’m kind of awesome at hand jobs. Just the right amount of pressure mixed with the right amount of lotion and he’s done in fifteen point seven seconds. I really hadn't meant to fall asleep in the middle of it the other night, but come on! Drew gets home from work at four in the morning. I've been exhausted. One minute I’m stroking away and Drew is loving it, and the next, he’s shaking me awake, yelling because in my sleep, my grip tightened on his penis and it was cutting off his circulation.
“Please don’t ask my parents about sex at the dinner table. I’m trying to eat here!” I whisper to Drew.
“I’m still trying to get over the fact that my penis put you to sleep!” Drew argues back in a loud whisper.
Luckily, my dad had got distracted by Billy spitting up in his arms and the question is forgotten. I don’t want to have to hear anything that has the words “my parents” and “sex” in the same sentence, but I kind of wish I would have heard my dad’s answer. I cannot possibly be the only woman who has fallen asleep during a hand job.
“Ma, what kind of seafood did you stuff this thing with? It’s amazing,” Drew tells her.
“A little crab and some lobster. I wanted to put salmon in it, but I’m confused by salmon. I mean, what part of the fish is salmon cut from? I asked the guy at the fish market but he didn’t know either. I wonder if salmon is a fancy word for stomach or fin. They should just call it stomach or fin. All these different words for things are weird,” she explains.
We finish dinner and then move into the living room for coffee.