The snow is coming down hard when we leave Brian’s, so I cave in to Mom’s request that I spend the night. It’s not far from Brian’s. I don’t see how it could hurt. Besides, I’d love to talk wedding details with Shelly.
I’m almost positive the cabbie has never driven so much as a block in snow before because after about six near-collisions he looks almost sick when he slides the cab to a stop in front of Mom and Dad’s place.
I fish around inside my purse looking for my cell phone and call my own apartment. Dancy picks up.
“I’m staying at my parents’ tonight,” I say. “The weather’s pretty bad. Mom and Dad’s was closer.”
“Okay. David’s called twice. Want me to give him your cell phone number next time?”
“David Gray?”
“How many Davids do you know?”
“Just him. What does he want?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.” She pauses. “Maybe he wants to ask you out.”
“Fat chance.” Still, at the mere suggestion my heart does some major flip-flops.
“Okay, give him my cell phone number next time he calls.”
After I hang up, I poke my head inside Shelly’s room. “Hey, can I borrow a pair of PJs?”
“Sure,” she says, stifling a yawn. “Bottom drawer.”
“Thanks.” I pull out a heavy sweatshirt and a pair of lounge pants with a drawstring. “So…”
“Yeah.” She stares at the diamond ring on her finger. “He really wants to marry me. Baby and all.”
“I know. I’m glad.”
She pulls her gaze from the ring and meets my eyes. “You really don’t mind?” Okay, is this like the hundredth time or what? I’m starting to get annoyed at their sensitivity.
“Look, Shelly. Brian was never my type. He’s Mom’s type and apparently yours too. Be happy and don’t worry about me. I couldn’t be more pleased that the two of you found each other.”
“Thanks. Turn off my light when you leave, okay?” She gives me a sleepy smile and closes her eyes, probably drifting to sleep amid thoughts of white lace and promises.
I call Jerry Gardner in the morning to let him know I won’t be coming to work. “I got caught in the weather and ended up at my mom and dad’s last night.”
“It’s okay. The twins have the chicken pox or some such nonsense, so we’re going to shoot around Felicia’s story line for the next few days. Why don’t you take a couple of days?”
“You mean it?”
“Sure. Just be ready to work your tail off when you get back.”
“Thanks, Jerry, I will.”
Chicken pox? Those poor kids.
Shelly comes into the living room, her tummy preceding her.
“Wow, the baby has really grown in a couple of weeks, Shell.”
“I’ve put on five pounds in fourteen days,” she grumps. “I think I’m just getting fatter. I weigh nearly one hundred twenty-five pounds.”
I oughtta slug her. I have to eat like a bird to maintain one hundred thirty. And she thinks she’s fat at five months pregnant?
“How are you feeling these days?”
She shrugs and plops onto Dad’s overstuffed recliner. “Not too bad, really.”
Mom bustles into the room a few minutes later. “Coffee will be on in a jiff,” she says. “I can’t believe I slept so late. Must be all the excitement from last night.”
Shelly and I exchange glances and follow her into the kitchen. “Anything we can do, Ma?”
“Get the bacon out of the refrigerator and mix up some pancake batter.” She’s flustered. This is something new. “I can’t believe I slept so late,” she says again.
Mom sets two cups of coffee on the table and a glass of juice for Shelly.
I pour a packet of Splenda into my cup and stir.
“Don’t sit to drink that.” Mom’s nervousness is starting to be contagious. “I need help.”
“I wasn’t going to.” I peel bacon slices and pop them onto the flatiron. They start to sizzle and smell wonderful almost immediately. Well, they smell wonderful to some of us. Shelly suddenly goes pale and makes a beeline for the door.
“I thought she wasn’t supposed to get sick after the third month or so.”
Mom gives me an indulgent smile. “I was always sick the whole nine months with you kids. Looks like Shelly takes after me.” She pauses. “I’ve been watching you.”
“Watching me?” Now I’m really nervous. Has Mom been sitting outside my apartment with binoculars or something? I can’t really see her doing it, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
“On your show. I’ve had a lot of time at home lately with your dad recovering and all.”
I’m stunned that my mom is stooping so low as to watch daytime television in general, soap operas to be specific. “So, what do you think of it?”
She smiles. “I’m starting to get into the story lines. Especially Felicia and Rudolph’s of course. So tell me. When is Felicia’s memory going to come back?”
“Mom! I can’t tell you the show’s secrets. I signed a nondisclosure form. They can sue me.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake. Who do you think I’m going to tell? The mailman?”
Guilt hits me and all of a sudden, I spill my guts. Nondisclosure notwithstanding, my mom trumps all legal contracts.