A Bump in the Road (31 page)

“An apple martini and a water,” I said again.

“Steve! On my tab,” Mark yelled.

“Thanks, bro. Web design lucrative these days?”

He smiled and sucked down half of his beer. “Not really. But remember—I live on ramen noodles.”

“Unfortunately, so do I.”

“Listen, I—”

“Lemon drop shots!” one of Mark’s friends yelled. He thrust a tray containing what looked like five thousand shots in front of us. Mark picked up two.

“That for me?” Julie said from behind me.

“Yep. Here you go. Toast?”

“Sure. Here’s to big tits,” she said.

“Seriously, you have to marry me,” Mark said.

“Marry? Dream on. Everything else is fair game.”

“Fuck me,” Mark said after he downed the shot.

“OK.” Julie smiled at him.

“We have to go,” I said, and grabbed Julie’s arm.

“What? No way. I’m not ready to leave,” she said, wiggling out of my grasp.

“C’mon, Clare, let her stay. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman and get her home safe.”

“I don’t care about safe, I only care about
alone
.”

“Sure,” he said, and smiled sweetly at me.

“Not buying it. Let’s go.” I grabbed Julie’s arm again and led her out the door.

“You really have to get over this overprotective older sister bullshit,” she said once we were outside.

“Julie, I am too pregnant and too sober to deal with the consequences of you two hooking up.”

“Fine. But after you’re done being knocked up, game on.”

“Don’t hold your breath. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be ‘knocked up’ forever.”

When I finally got home it was almost eleven. I collapsed into bed next to an already snoring Jake and promptly passed out.

Seeing how supportive my in-laws were regarding the Great Day Care Debate, I really couldn’t be happier they’re staying with us this weekend during their kitchen remodel.

Jake and I spent the past two days cleaning, organizing, and straightening our place until it is overnight-guest ready. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I realized sometime late last night I’m going to have to deal with my mother-in-law for an entire weekend without a drop of alcohol. I’m going to have to survive forty-eight hours without help from my friends Mr. Jack Daniels, Ms. Grey Goose, or Mrs. Heineken.

So I present:
My Weekend
, a screenplay.

Friday, 5:38
P.M.
Interior apartment.

Jake and I sit apprehensively, trying to watch the Weather Channel to distract ourselves from the incoming hurricane. I’ve already chewed off most of my nail polish and started on my cuticles. I start to regret the thirty-five bucks I just paid to get a manicure, seeing as how I’ve rendered it almost completely obsolete.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and Jake and I look fearfully at each other, although not surprised since his parents know we get home from work around five thirty. We take a deep breath, look at each other, and open the door with huge smiles.

5:43
P.M.

Marianne (surveying the guest room we spent the better part of the week decorating and cleaning): “I see you took it to heart when I said you shouldn’t go out of your way for us!”

6:07
P.M.

Jake: “So, we thought we’d take you guys out to dinner tonight.”

Frank: “Sounds great. Where do you want to go?”

Marianne (turns to me): “You know, you’re going to have to learn how to cook sooner or later {tinkling laugh}. You don’t want to eat out every night when the baby comes, now do you?”

All three look at me. So, I look at Jake and say, “That’s true. You should learn how to make dinner.”

7:18
P.M.
Interior restaurant.

I down another glass of lemonade, desperately hoping to catch a raging sugar buzz if nothing else. I look down at my shoes and a little sigh escapes from my mouth. Excellent planning to wear my new
Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes I bought off eBay because while sticks and stones and snide remarks may break my bones, no one can take my shoes from me. I’d fallen in love with them ever since the urban shoe myth episode of
Sex and the City
and stumbled across them on eBay for half price. It was truly a gift sent directly from the heavens above.

7:49
P.M.

Marianne: “Have you two looked at houses yet?”

Jake and I stare at her.

Marianne: “Houses?”

Again, she is met with
what the fuck
looks.

Frank: “Are you planning to move after the baby is born, Jake?”

Jake: “No.”

Marianne: “You might want to consider it. You only have two bedrooms. You’ll need one for the nursery and you’ll need at least one more bedroom for your overnight guests.”

Me: “We aren’t planning on having any overnight guests right after the baby is born.”

Problem solved.

Marianne: “Don’t be silly. Of course, I will come and stay with you two for a few weeks after the baby is born to help you get adjusted to being new parents.”

Simultaneous looks of fear and shock pass over our faces.

Me: “Thanks for the offer, but we’d like to keep it just us after he comes.”

Marianne: “Well, OK. I just thought you might need some help.”

Frank: “Where are you going to put the litterbox?”

Ah, yes. The litterbox. That is currently in the guest bedroom. The litterbox we temporarily moved to our bathroom while Frank and Marianne are staying with us, even though I was completely fine with telling them they had to leave the door open in case Butterscotch needed to come in and take a crap. The litterbox we will have to find a permanent place for after the baby comes. The litterbox
Butterscotch only occasionally uses, depending upon if he feels content with the attention he received that week.

Jake: “We’ll figure it out.”

Marianne: “I think children should be raised with a yard to play in, with—”

Jake: “Mom, we can’t afford a house here. We don’t have half a million dollars.”

Marianne: “You could always move closer to—”

Me: “NO!”

All three turn to look at me.

Me: “Um, I mean, we like our neighborhood.”

Marianne: “Well, Natalie and Doug’s house is really coming along. She is such a great decorator and all of her furniture is restored antiques from the 1920s. She had all of her curtains custom-made and . . .”

Fade to black as Marianne drones on and on about Natalie and Doug’s house and how “amazing” everything in it is.
Of course
it is amazing—you can practically build a house using expired Wal-Mart coupons out there.

Saturday, 1:28
P.M
. Cubs game.

Jake: “Dad, want another beer?”

I give him a look of death, as I want more than anything an ice-cold beer to wash down my pride after hearing a lecture from Marianne on the importance of watching my weight during pregnancy. After she watched me scarf down a foot-long hot dog. Not to mention the fact that, seemingly overnight, my butt doubled in size.

Mark sends me a text message to look for him in the bleachers. I crane my neck to spot him but can’t make out anyone specific among the mass of wasted people wearing Cubs shirts, so I call him.

Me: “Hey! Where are you? Wave.”

Mark: “HEY, CLARE! HOW’S IT GOING?”

Me: “Fine. You sound like you’re having a good time.”

Mark: “WHAT? OH, YEAH! I’M HAMMERED.”

Me: “Yep.”

Mark: “WHERE’S HOTTIE JULIE?”

Me: “Not here. I’m here with Jake’s parents.”

Mark: “IS YOUR STICK-UP-THE-ASS MOTHER-IN-LAW WITH YOU? SHE’S A REAL BITCH.”

Me: “Um, gotta go.”

Marianne: “Who was that?”

Me: “My brother, Mark. Why?”

Marianne: “I heard the end of the conversation but I didn’t catch who it was.”

Me: “Oh. Um. Yeah. He’s pretty drunk.”

Marianne: “Does he have a drinking problem?”

Me: “No. He’s twenty-two and at a Cubs game.”

Marianne: “Binge drinking is a slippery slope, you know.”

Me: “Thanks for the tip. So, Marianne, how are Carrie and Patrick’s wedding plans coming along?”

Marianne: “Just fine, dear. I think it’s going to be a beautiful wedding. Very large. They’re planning on inviting all of the relatives, since they are so family-oriented and wouldn’t want to leave anyone out.”

Me: “We would’ve loved to invite everyone, too, but you know how expensive it would’ve been.”

Marianne: “Yes, I know. You mentioned it. However, it was such a shame some family members were left out for the sake of money.”

Me: “Yeah, a real shame.”

Marianne: “What do you think you’ll wear to the wedding?”

Me: “I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to see what fits after he’s here.”

Marianne (after surveying my waist): “You’ll probably have to buy something new.”

10:02
P.M
. Interior apartment.

The news comes on and Jake quickly reaches for the remote but it is too late. The lead story is about a roadside bomb exploding in Iraq.

Marianne: “I just don’t know why it is only the negative circumstances constantly reported about Iraq. We have done so much good
in that country with freeing the Iraqi people and removing Saddam from power but we never hear news stories praising those efforts. I am so sick of this media.”

Jake: “Look!
The Three Stooges
is on.”

Sunday, 11:31
A.M
. Brunch.

Marianne: “Clare, I saw this book the other day at the bookstore and thought of you. Here it is:
You Can Do It! How to Be a Stay-At-Home-Mom on a Tight Budget
.”

Me: “Thanks, but I’m going back to work.”

Marianne: “I just want you to make sure you’re making an educated decision on all of this day care nonsense.”

Jake: “Uh, Mom, we already figured all of that out.”

Marianne: “I know, honey. I just feel very strongly that a child is best with his mother rather than at a day care center. A child is best raised by his parents.”

Jake: “Mom, this isn’t open for discussion.”

Marianne: “Well, Natalie stays home with Ash Leigh every day and she is already so far ahead of other kids her age. I can’t imagine leaving such a young child at a day care center with people you barely know. I can’t imagine trusting—”

Frank: “Lay off, Marianne.”

Random Woman with Horrible Timing But Very Good Taste: “Hey! Are you Clare Finnegan? Who has the blog?”

12:59
P.M
. Exterior apartment.

Frank and Marianne’s car is loaded and they are getting ready to get in the car and get the fuck out.

Me: “Thanks for coming.”

Frank: “Thanks for having us.”

Jake: “Anytime.”

Marianne: “Now, remember, be sure to call us right when you go into labor so I can be there when he’s born!”

Me: “Thanks, but like I said, it’s just going to be Jake and me.”

Marianne: “Oh. Is your mom going to be there?”

Me: “I’m not sure yet. Probably.”

Looks of shock and dismay.

Jake: “Talk to you soon!”

We sighed as we waved good-bye to the Grandalskis. Once they were firmly out of sight, Jake turned to me and grabbed my hand. “I have a surprise for you,” he said, then disappeared into the bedroom.

“What is it?” I called after him.

“Here,” he said proudly as he held out a tiny package wrapped in tissue paper.

I took the three-inch-by-four-inch square from him and gingerly peeled back the paper.

“Perfect!” I exclaimed as I held up the miniature Cubs jersey. “When did you get this?” I asked him, incredulous.

“At the game. When you were in the bathroom. You made it easy since you went like twice each inning.” He grinned down at me.

“This is great. Skeletor will be a Cubs fan from birth.” I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Well, then he’d better get used to lots of disappointment,” Jake laughed as he patted my back.

“Oh, I’m sure he will be. I’m going to be his mom, remember? Disappointment all over the place.”