The Trouble with Being Born: A Novel

Mother

136 Joe’s already left. He doesn’t like fireworks because they remind him of the war. That’s what he said. Babe was in the war and he loves fireworks. Joe just doesn’t like children. Or maybe he has somewhere else to go. I don’t mind. He can go you-know-where for all I care. Babe sure likes kids. Virginia too. I wonder why they never had any of their own. I know it’s none of my business, but it doesn’t hurt to wonder. They were in their mid-thirties when they got married, but so were Joe and I. Joe blames Virginia, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. Joe and Virginia don’t get along. She says, “I was raised in Oklahoma and in Oklahoma we don’t take any crap off men.” Too bad I wasn’t raised in Oklahoma. Jeff loves fireworks. He hasn’t been able to sit still since we arrived. Bo and Bobby like fireworks as well. I don’t think Marilyn and Patti appreciate them much though. “You like some more wine, Frances?” “I believe so.” “Give me your glass, hon.” She takes my glass and fills it to the top. Oh dear. I meant to say I didn’t want any more. “Another hamburger? Hot dog? Babe’s got some fresh ones, hot off the grill.” I’ve only had one hamburger, and if I’m going to drink some of this wine I should have more to eat. I don’t know. Jay thinks Mother 137 I’m overweight. I guess I am. “We got more than enough, Frances. He’s got a mountain of meat on that grill.” “I’ll have another hamburger, yes, please.” “Longie? Robert? More wine? Beer? Another hamburger or hot dog?” “I’ll take another hot dog. And I’ll get myself another beer.” “Longie?” “Nothing for me, thanks Virginia.” “There’s a cooler down here, Robert. You don’t have to go all the way to the kitchen.” “Thank you Virginia, but he’s got Coors upstairs.” “We’ve got Coors down here, too,” Virginia says under her breath, “he just wants to go up and hit Babe’s whisky. I don’t mind the drinking, it’s the sneaking around.” “I think Dorie minds the drinking,” Longie says. “And there’re kids around.” “When you’re right, you’re right, Longie. Where’s Joe off to, Frances?” “I don’t know, Virginia, I don’t know.” She shakes her head and gives me a sympathetic look. She says just loud enough for Longie and me to hear, “This family, this family…” “It’s almost dark, Aunt Virginia, it’s almost dark. When can we start the fireworks? Can we light some bottle rockets now?” “We’ll have to wait until your uncle finishes cooking.” “He says he’s finished now and to ask you.” “People are still eating, honey. Do you want a hot dog or hamburger?” “They can watch and eat at the same time.” “Jeff,” I say, “don’t be rude.” “Maybe we should start. Babe went overboard as usual: he must have a truckload of fireworks in the garage. Okay, honey, you tell your uncle to start setting up.” I’ve never cared for fireworks. I always think they’re going to shoot off into someone’s eye. I read in the paper where some kid in Pueblo lost four fingers of his right hand. Babe is pretty careful with the kids, but you never know. And I can’t tell Jeff to watch himself or anything like that. He’d get mad and wouldn’t listen. His father already thinks I’m making him into mother 138 mother a mama’s boy. What does he expect? He’s never around. I have to be both mother and father to him. Jeff’s yawning. He must be getting tired. They’re all getting tired. They’re shooting off four or five at a time now. I don’t see Marilyn and Patti. Jay and Ted and Ange and Longie are still here, so the girls must be inside. Robert’s hunched over in his lawn chair. It looks like he’s sleeping. I wonder if he’s drunk. Dorie’s chatting to Ange and Ted, and Virginia’s laughing and clapping after every whoosh or bang. She’s...