Paul’s mom was ushered immediately into the living room with the rest of the guests before she could open her racist, homophobic mouth—that incidentally looks like a dog’s anus.
She just nodded in my direction and was dragged into the midst of the celebration by my mom’s friend Mauve, who was coordinating all the activities. Yes, Mauve is a ridiculous name. It will not be on my list of suggestions for the baby if it happens to be a girl. Paul’s mom sat rigidly on the couch and then immediately started speaking to Janice, my mom’s old boss, the nicest person in the world. I wish I could’ve warned her, but that would’ve meant going over there, and I was not willing to do that. I just had to hope that Janice’s kindness would not be destroyed when it came in contact with Paul’s mom.
Maya burst through the door a few minutes later, wearing quite possibly the ugliest sundress I’ve ever seen, which I didn’t tell her. Before waving at her, I waited for my mom to say hello. I handed her a plate of cream puffs, and we watched the party unfold like visitors at some exotic zoo.
Dwight’s mom walked through the door like a pale, skinny stork. She waved at both of us before joining the crowd of squealing women flocking to my mom. I told Dwight about the party and that he was more than welcome to come, too, unless he’d rather stick pins in his eyes or get diarrhea or do almost ANYTHING else. For some reason, he opted out.
Again, I had to hear about breastfeeding because my mom got a breast pump as a gift. And then someone at one end of the room criticized someone at the other end of the room for using formula, and shit was about to get real. Everyone looked uncomfortable. Even Maya, who normally didn’t pay attention to such things, leaned forward and said in a low, creepy voice, “Blood in the water.”
But Mauve was a professional. She chose that exact moment to start another game while my mom was opening gifts. The game was being able to identify the melted chocolate bar in the diaper. I will never understand why that was an appropriate use of chocolate.
My head twinged a little bit on and off, but nothing too terrible. Maya distracted me with questions about the guests and a few robot-like observations.
“You know, you probably aren’t going to sleep much when the kid is born. They’ll probably cry and wake you up. My brothers did.”
“Thanks, Maya.”
“And the weirdest thing is going to be how nervous you are when it’s sleeping.”
“What?”
“You’re going to check on it every time you pass its room just to make sure it’s breathing.”
“Babies don’t breathe?” This was a legitimate question. I wasn’t exactly sure what babies were capable of.
“They breathe very softly. Sometimes you can’t tell.”
“Awesome.”
Sometimes it’s not actually a good idea to talk about this stuff with Maya. She’s a little too clinical, a little too real. I don’t want people to give me fluff, but I think I’d be okay if people didn’t tell me directly that I’d be worried about a kid that is not mine. She could sugarcoat things a little. When I told her this, she shrugged.
“This is your kid,” she said. “Your mom and Paul are going to rely on you way more than they would under other circumstances. You’re old enough. You’re responsible. You can handle it.”
That was when I felt the guilt. I wasn’t going to be able to help the way I was supposed to. I wasn’t going to be the big brother my mom needed me to be.
Even though I’ve been doing really well and the drug still works, they’d never leave me alone with their baby. The kid is going to grow up knowing that I am different, and then it might even feel obligated to take care of me. That was what I was thinking until the end of the party, and even though Maya didn’t say it, I could tell she was waiting for me to tell her what was on my mind. I never did. So she changed the subject.
“Hey, the prom. You’re taking me, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Aren’t I supposed to ask you?”
“I guess.”
“Why didn’t you let me, then?” I’d completely forgotten about it.
“Sorry, go ahead.” She sat back, waiting.
“Well, there’s no magic in it now.”
She rolled her eyes. “Look, I’m asking you. Will you go to prom with me?”
“I’m still missing the magic, Maya.”
“Don’t be a jerk,” she said, but her lip curled ever so slightly into a smile.
“Okay, I’ll go with you.”
She kissed me and called me an idiot. Then she left with a tray of desserts after saying goodbye to my mom. Paul’s mom watched her leave with a raised eyebrow. She pronounced the word “Filipino” weird, slowly, making sure that every syllable hit her shriveled tongue as the word slid out of her mouth. I tried to ignore her.
Everyone loved my desserts. And everyone squealed with glee when Paul showed up “unexpectedly” with roses, which my mom graciously accepted and put into the vase that was waiting to receive them. It had been Mauve’s idea, and my mom didn’t argue, even though she hates flowers.
When everyone else left, Paul’s mom started talking. “Well, that was a lovely turnout. We didn’t have quite so many contraptions for our children when Paulie was growing up.”
My mom murmured her agreement and only cringed a little when she heard her call him “Paulie.” She thinks it’s obnoxious when grown men still sport their cutesy baby names.
“You know,” Paul’s mom said in that annoying, whiny voice she adopts whenever she’s about to make a point, “it’s really time you start talking about living arrangements for when the baby comes.” My mom and Paul were both trying to figure out how to set up the baby swing they’d just gotten, and it looked like they didn’t really process what she was saying. “You can’t just pretend you don’t hear me.”
“No one is pretending that, Mother. We’re just waiting for you to make your point,” Paul said.
“Where is he going to live when the baby is born?” She looked directly at me when she said it, and I swear I heard my mom hiss.
That did it.
It might have been a pleasant, laughter-filled afternoon before that moment, but that was all over now.
“I sincerely hope you’re not talking about my son.”
My mom is nice. Mostly. But she can get scary real quick.
“No, of course she’s not,” said Paul. He glared at his mother, who did not flinch.
“Like hell, I’m not,” she said. “If you’re going to endanger the life of my grandchild—”
And from there it got pretty heated. Like, really heated. I didn’t even have time to get angry about her accusation, because my mom immediately came unglued and my unborn brother or sister was treated to some surprisingly salty language. I was a little proud. Paul had to remove his mother from our house before my mom killed her.
I sat at the kitchen table with Mom for a while without saying anything. She squeezed my hand. I squeezed back. But we were silent. I think she thought that if she tried to speak, she’d cry.
Paul came back home, and my mom went directly to their bedroom to lie down without saying a word, slamming the door behind her.