Emory Black is my cousin on my mom’s side, the daughter of my aunt Eileen. Aunt Eileen married a rich Southerner of Creole descent and ended up in New Orleans, so Emory and I didn’t grow up right around the corner from each other, but it’s safe to say we’re close despite the distance.
Our mothers made it a priority to spend holidays together even after the passing of their parents, and as only children, Emory and I had no choice but to be friends.
All of this to say, I’m absolutely certain if I don’t show up to meet her bundle of joy at the hospital, my feisty cousin and my mother just might kick me in the balls.
I mentally pencil in a trip to the maternity ward in the next couple of days.
Mom: Also, stop acting like you’re the bastard son of a negligent mother and call me.
Only she could get away with calling me a bastard and make me grin at the same time.
Me: I don’t know, Mom. I recall a couple of uncovered outlets making an appearance in my childhood, and I don’t really look like you OR dad. What’s a boy to think?
Mom: !!!
It amazes me how well I understand her punctuation-only message.
Me: Relax, Mambo. I’m kidding. Things have been busy, but I’ll call you tonight when I get home.
With my parents settled in Florida and my very busy business in New York, it’s not easy keeping in touch with my folks. Hell, sometimes, weeks go by before I remember to check in with them.
Hence the whole bastard son thing.
Mom: Okay. And I’m not sure if you realize this, but there is a very important day next week…
Me: Lol. I’m very aware that your birthday is next week, but I appreciate the subtle hint.
Mom: Well, you know…just in case. What good is a rich son if not for getting presents?
I laugh out loud just as another text comes in.
Mom: ? Love you, Milo.
Me: Love you too.
Mom: Oh, and your father says hello.
Me: Tell him I say hello and that he should finally give in to technology and get a damn cell phone so I can actually reach him.
Where Lydia Ives is all about the technology, Kerry Ives refuses to take part.
The man still watches VHS tapes, for fuck’s sake.
The day he gets a cell phone might actually be the apocalypse.
Mom: He says you can always call the landline.
I laugh to myself. Jesus. This conversation would go on forever if I’d let it.
Me: All right, well, I have to finish up an interview, but I’ll call you tonight.
Mom: What kind of interview?
Me: You can ask me all about it later.
Mom: Do you know what time you’re going to call? Your dad and I like to watch The Bachelorette at nine.
God forbid I interrupt Chris Harrison announcing the final rose of the night.
I shake my head on a laugh and type out what will be my final text of this chat.
Me: I’ll make sure it’s before then.
I slip my phone into my jacket pocket, and when it vibrates another three times against my chest, I can’t not laugh. That woman would keep me in a text message conversation for twelve hours straight if I’d let her.
As I head back into the restaurant, I make a mental note to call two people.
Obviously, when I get home tonight, my mom.
And hopefully, sometime later this week, Maybe Willis. I don’t know much about her these days, but I know for sure it’ll be good to catch up.
Maybe
The clock in my dad’s SUV clicks to eight in the morning, and I groan as he pulls into the parking lot of my oral surgeon’s office in New Jersey for surgery day.
Of course, when I say my oral surgeon, I mean the oral surgeon for which Bruce found a coupon on Groupon, so who knows how in the hell this is going to go. And, while I wish it were something fun like a pair of new boobs or a bionic arm, I’m disappointed to say I will just be the owner of one fewer tooth.
A tooth I don’t need, obviously, but still.
I feel like any type of surgery shouldn’t come with a twenty-percent-off discount, but I’m currently too tired to decide if it’s a bad omen or not.
It’s too early to be without coffee, and thanks to the mandatory twelve-hour fast, I can’t stop thinking about Dunkin’ Donuts.
And I have my dad sitting beside me in the driver’s seat, belting out the lyrics to “Isn’t She Lovely” as if he’s Stevie Wonder himself.
Basically, this morning is shit, and I’m grumpier than Bruce on a late-Gerbera-daisy-shipment day.
God help me.
“And everyone laughs over my need to have a car in New York,” Bruce says after he finishes singing the chorus. “Looks like it came in pretty handy today.”