2 Months 'Til Mrs. (2 'Til Series) Read online

  “Just haven’t found the time,” she answered dolefully, as if she too found it to be a shame, playing along because they were old and likely on their last legs, what with Aunt Judy’s drinking and Uncle Al’s two-pack-a-day habit.

  “I just hope that you don’t wait too long,” Aunt Judy cautioned. “I was talking to my Brenda about—”

  “Where is Brenda anyway?” Catherine asked, making a show of searching the room for her.

  “Oh, she wasn’t feeling well this evening… actually, quite a bit recently.”

  “What a shame,” Catherine said dutifully. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

  “Oh, nothing like that!” Aunt Judy guffawed, sloshing her drink dangerously near the rim in her excitement. “Brenda is pregnant, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” she said blandly. Didn’t happen to put that in your newsletter. Wanted to throw that directly into people’s faces and see their reactions.

  “Oh, well, she is. And she has had morning sickness—morning, noon, and night. I keep telling her that it must be twins!” She was downright gluttonous with the news.

  “Oh, isn’t that wonderful.” Catherine tried to limit the sour twist on her face.

  Pregnant! Twins! Seriously? Brenda used to eat her own boogers and now she is going to have her very own child who will probably be a booger-eater too, or twins who will eat each other’s boogers. Eew! Am I supposed to be jealous? But the envy was there nonetheless. It felt oddly like a blow to the funny bone—not funny at all; rather excruciating actually. She found that each time she was accosted with another pregnancy she became just a smidge more bitter. Even Georgia’s pregnancy had stuck in her craw. Her best friend! Getting everything she dreamed of! And instead of unfettered joy Catherine had found herself trapped somewhere between happiness for her and jealousy over every single accomplishment Georgia had made in her life—growing past 5’5”, having gorgeous strawberry blonde hair, perfect emerald eyesight, love, and Love (her married name). And now a baby, too! Beside her, Catherine just looked short and plain and usual… with brown blurry eyes and brown unruly hair and nothing as spectacular as love.

  “When will she find out what she’s having?” Catherine asked, trying to play her proper part as someone who was interested at all.

  “She doesn’t want to know! Of course she wants it to be a surprise!”

  “Isn’t it a surprise no matter when she finds out?” she asked innocently.

  “It’s a surprise that they even got pregnant at all what with her being over thirty,” her aunt lashed back. “You’re almost thirty-five, right? ... This March?” Her aunt tapped her finger against her lips like she was truly concerned.

  “Well, thirty is the new twenty,” Catherine said, shrugging.

  “From what I’ve heard, a woman can be the new husband,” Aunt Judy noted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I just want you to know that settling down… with anyone… I wholly support it. A girl shouldn’t have to live alone just because she doesn’t want to live with a man. Love blooms where it blooms.”

  -4-

  “I can’t believe my aunt called me a lesbian,” Catherine said under her breath, completely bewildered by what had just happened. She hadn’t even had a comeback. She just took it spinelessly. Though she should have expected as much from Aunt Judy; as the oldest in her mother’s family, she’d always been the bitter one. And coldhearted.

  Catherine oozed down into a chair in the corner of the family room right next to Uncle Dick. He was the perfect companion for her, seeing as how he didn’t like anybody either. And even though he was generally ornery half the time, the other half of the time he was asleep, like right now, the Christmas tree lights bathing him in a glow that made him almost festive to be around.

  “So you’re an actress. That explains a lot. Always were flighty as hell. Certainly not the brightest bulb in the package.” The old man spoke eerily, right out of a sound sleep. Or maybe he was playing possum. You could learn a lot of secrets that way. Too bad his hearing was shot.

  “I said lesb—” But Catherine stopped herself before coming out to Uncle Dick. Better an acting rumor than an alternative lifestyle chinking away at her prospects as a newly single lady.

  “What?” he cranked back.

  “Nothing.”

  “You thespians are a dime a dozen in New York City. You hardly got a chance kid.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she groused.

  “A commercial for condiments is hardly called making it.”

  I said con-fi-dence, you old coot…. And while you’re at it, don’t knock condiment commercials. That guy—whatshisface on Friends—had his first big break in a Heinz commercial and just look where he is today—everybody remembers his name… or at least his old character name. If it’s good enough for Joey—

  “Actors.” Uncle Dick waved her off. “Your generation needs to learn how to face facts. The American dream isn’t for dreamers,” he asserted, continuing down his mistaken road. “Get a job. Make some real money. Pay your bills. You think that you should love what you do. There’s no shame in hating your job. I hated my job for over forty years.”

  “That’s quite an accomplishment,” she said sarcastically.

  “It supported me and my Sharon—God rest her soul—and that made it all worth it. We aren’t all destined for greatness. Some of us are just here to be.”

  Catherine looked over at the old man, feeling oddly repulsed and heartened at the same time. “You really loved her,” she said breathily.

  “Haven’t had a well-starched shirt since she passed. And she made a mean roast beef… although her meatloaf—” He stopped and shuddered.

  “But love is—”

  “Love is eating that meatloaf!” he guffawed. “She made it once a week for fifty years and I choked it down every time, along with the leftovers. Shoulda got a dog just for that reason alone, although even a dog would have better standards.”

  Catherine felt a tight smile come to her lips, thinking about her own kitchen inadequacies and wondering if someday some man would love her not just in spite of them, but somehow for them too.

  She watched the teeming swarm of people in the room, so many conversations going on at one time. The last she remembered her parents having a party like this she was almost a full foot shorter and she’d been in charge of watching Connor and Josephine and all the young cousins—a paid gig…. That was the winter that Josey died and the parties ended. Catherine shivered at the memory, rubbing her arms to warm herself.

  The seal broke on the front door yet again, and a gust of cold air snaked its way down the hall and directly into the family room—another insufferable guest.

  “So glad you could make it!” Elizabeth sang from the foyer. “I didn’t think we would see you what with your new addition.”

  “It’s tough to get out. We packed half the house to bring with us.”

  Catherine’s breath caught. She’d know that voice anywhere. At any other time, hearing it would make her heart warm with relief, especially after what she had been going through for the past hour. But here? Now? It was completely out of place. Like a knife in the back.

  She got up off the couch and walked toward the sounds of rustling jackets and merry greetings, ready to confront the traitor in her midst. When she reached the foyer, she found Georgia and Lacey in mid-hug. Ah, but of course—new BFFs.

  She hadn’t seen Georgia since before Christmas because she’d spent it in Minnesota with Fynn while Georgia was entertaining her parents and her in-laws at her perfect suburban home in New Jersey—her first time hosting Christmas—with her perfect newborn baby and her perfect husband. Even her ham had come out perfectly, while Catherine had brought an inedible broccoli casserole to the potluck at Fynn’s sister’s house and then burned the dinner rolls when she was put in charge of browning them—although she put the blame firmly on the electric oven, seeing as how she had a gas oven in her apartment whe
re she stored her measly supply of pots and pans, and she had never burned those once.

  “Catherine! Oh my God!” Georgia squealed with delight over Lacey’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

  Why wouldn’t I be here? This is my family. “I can’t believe you’re here,” she retorted darkly.

  “No, wait, why are you here?” Georgia asked; panic suddenly blooming on her face. “You’re supposed to be in Minnesota! With Fynn! What happened?” She came rushing toward her, arms open wide in a gesture that looked all too consoling, like she was certain something must have gone terribly awry, but even though it had, Catherine didn’t want to explain herself to people like Georgia who seemed to think that she was usually to blame when her relationships ended in Shitsville—of course in this exceptional case her friend would be right.

  Catherine stiffly accepted the hug, which she took more as an invasion of her personal space than a kind greeting, and found herself fighting for breathing room in Georgia’s pregnancy-and-nursing-enhanced cleavage—she has finally outpaced me there, too. Catherine had always had more curves, but her friend now had them only where they counted most. Some girls have all the luck.

  When Georgia finally pulled away, Catherine took in the black leggings and kitten heels and the belted charcoal tunic sweater that made her friend model chic. She was already looking fabulous again after popping out a kidlet a mere month ago, not that she’d even looked pregnant when she was pregnant, at least not from behind—no width and no waddle—while Catherine usually looked a few months pregnant after dessert. Both she and Lacey looked fabulous already, but that was probably because they coordinated their diets and workouts like they were twins separated at birth who’d just found each other and were making up for lost time.

  “Is everything okay with you? With Fynn?” Georgia asked earnestly, motherly concern in her eyes.

  “Fine,” she said tightly, a string pulled taut to the breaking point. Of course everything isn’t fine! I look dowdy and plain and pitiful! I didn’t just lose seven-plus pounds in one push and yet I’m the one who looks deflated! I’m all alone! And if that weren’t enough, I was left off the guest list of my own family’s party, while you—a satellite acquaintance—were included! But she refused to say any of that. Sure Georgia had coaxed her through many of life’s pitfalls since they were first thrown together as roommates—random dumb luck perpetrated by a computer in the housing department at Penn State—but now was different. Georgia was in a different stage of her life. She didn’t know what it was like to be single anymore. God and the state backed her relationship, making it practically impossible to fall apart in a stupid snowstorm. She wouldn’t understand what Catherine was going through.

  Georgia grasped her hand, holding it tightly, not letting her walk away like she wanted to, now that she’d made her point with her show of iciness. Georgia looked to her husband and flicked her head toward Catherine subtly. They don’t even have to speak, she thought bitterly, but she allowed her friend to guide her out of the foyer and through the kitchen and up the back stairs to her childhood bedroom.

  “What gives?” Georgia demanded—tough Love—leaning against the bureau.

  “You were invited to the party?” Catherine challenged, sitting down on the bed.

  “Yeah, why?” she said gruffly, sounding hurt that it would matter.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You weren’t what?”

  “Invited.”

  “But you were supposed to be in Nekoyah, sexing it up with your man,” she pointed out.

  “But I could have been invited anyway. Maybe I would have changed my plans.”

  “Yeah, right,” Georgia chuckled, throwing back her head of flowing strawberry hair.

  “I just can’t believe that no one even told me—”

  “Zzzt.…” Georgia put a hand up to stop her. She narrowed her eyes, framing them with tons of lusciously thick, mascaraed eyelashes. “You look like hell, Cat. Why are you—”

  “Why do you look even better now than you did before you got pregnant?” Catherine accused, deflecting the question and jabbing at the same time. She could just see the left half of her own reflection in the mirror over her dresser and it wasn’t pretty. In spite of the touch of makeup her mother had insisted she put on, the dark circle under her eye was garish, and coral was really not her lip color. Plus she could feel her shoulders slumped like she had a bad case of osteoporosis.

  “Seriously, Cat, what are you doing here—”

  “Incoming,” Lacey called out from the door, carrying an infant in each arm—Niki, bald as could be, and Nell with a head full of dark hair.

  “Oh, sweetie, you want your mommy?” Georgia cooed, reaching out for Nell. She cuddled her close, forgetting anyone else in the room. “You’re hungry already!” She said it like it was a newsworthy revelation.

  “They both are,” Lacey noted. “I hope you don’t mind, Cat. I thought it would be easier to feed them up here than among the masses downstairs.”

  Catherine cringed. Somewhere along the line her sister-in-law had taken to using her nickname without the proper permits.

  Without her consent or response, suddenly it was a regular boob-fest in her childhood bedroom. She hadn’t seen this many naked breasts in all of her years of gym put together. Contrary to popular belief as per every high school movie ever, the locker room in her high school wasn’t a free-for-all with chicks walking around half naked or all naked, and the showers were never used by anyone. So to have two women whip out their boobs right in front of her, even though it was completely natural and entirely shameless, was totally awkward and unnerving. Take that, Aunt Judy—lesbian, my ass.

  Catherine eyed the squatters in her midst, realizing she had become invisible as all the suckling and cooing and mothering took the forefront. A part of her couldn’t help but think that she could be getting suckled right about now, too, if she’d only had one last vacation day to use for the year and flown out Thursday instead. Or if she’d just quit her job and to hell with the consequences. But now she wouldn’t be getting suckled ever again because of her cockamamie psychic bullshit about the weather telling them something “vital” about the impossibilities of their relationship. Yes, she’d really used the word vital.

  Catherine Marie Hemmings is still a total tool.

  “I need a drink,” Catherine announced suddenly, feeling woefully inadequate. Even though she hadn’t wanted to talk to Georgia about Fynn anyway, she still felt upstaged by Lacey and their new bond—don’t you have your own friends? Do you have to take mine? Right at that moment it hit her that she was probably destined to end up entirely alone—no Fynn, no Georgia, no nothing.

  -5-

  “Is that really what I am striving to become someday?” she grumbled, pouring herself a scotch. Not that she drank scotch, but it was stronger than wine and her faithful bar pals, tequila and vodka, weren’t in evidence. “They’re obsessed with boobs and burping and—”

  “Now dear, I understand that you’re confused,” Aunt Judy said soothingly from behind her.

  Catherine whirled around to face her, noticing the spit and fire in her aunt’s eyes that didn’t mesh with the concern in her voice. Uncle Al was dutifully one step behind as usual, like he was on a short leash.

  Judy pried the glass out of Catherine’s hand before she could take a first sip. “I hardly think you should do anything so drastic as a change of that magnitude without proper consideration of the consequences.”

  “I went from wine to scotch. Big deal,” she retorted.

  “I was talking about the change,” she enunciated. “I know that Cher’s daughter did it, but really Catherine, do you want your mother to have a heart attack? My sister isn’t as forward-thinking as Cher. I would be fine with it. No shame in my niece becoming a nephew.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The boobs and burping,” she said quietly, like they were foul words. “Men are… well… crass. Quite honestly I don’t
know how they live with themselves.” She threw her head toward Al with disgust. “Then again, I guess if you’re swilling scotch you’re already halfway there.”

  Catherine looked up to the ceiling as if for strength, realizing what her aunt had overheard with her dog ears. “I was talking about having a baby.”

  “A baby? Are you pregnant?” Judy asked, almost salivating over the gossip-worthy news that just kept getting better—her younger, prettier, nicer sister with a lesbian, transgender, pregnant-out-of-wedlock daughter!

  “No, I’m not pregnant.”

  “Oh,” Judy said curtly. “Well, you really should consider thinking before speaking. This house is full of petty gossips.” Then she spun on her heel and stomped off with Catherine’s drink, tugging Uncle Al along behind her. It seemed that swilling scotch was only untoward and manly if Judy wasn’t the one doing it.

  Catherine shook her head, turning back to the makeshift bar and pouring herself another round of scotch.

  “Pour me one of those while you’re at it,” Uncle Dick cranked from her right, still seated exactly where she’d left him by the tree.

  She grabbed another glass—it was better than drinking alone.

  As she handed a scotch to the man who had terrorized her and all the neighborhood kids since the beginning of time, she couldn’t help but wonder if there were only two options in life: have kids and become an insufferable, self-absorbed, gooey-hearted bore; or have no kids and become an insufferable, self-absorbed, crotchety dickhead. Perhaps Uncle Dick would have been a sweetheart if only he and his wife had had children…. Maybe she was singularly destined for a dark and crabby heart, too.