A Mother to Embarrass Me Read online

  Christian was the first to arrive. He and Spencer Miller.

  “I love Spencer,” Mary said, and she squeezed my hand so hard it hurt.

  Seeing Christian embarrassed me a little. I mean, I had made a fool of myself in front of him with his brother. The thought of Quinn with Rebecca made my heart ache. The thought of Christian trying to rescue me made my face warm. What in the world was the matter with me? All I ever did was feel embarrassed or angry or frustrated. But there was no time to think about that now.

  The bell rang, and Mary and I took our time walking the few feet to open the front door.

  “Hey, you guys,” I said. “We're down in the game room. Mary will show you the way.” I felt a little like a hostess for something really important. And I guess I was, too. My first boy-girl party.

  Mary, Christian and Spencer had barely left the room when Mom and Dad came in.

  “Laura,” Mom said. She held her hands up like a shield, like maybe I was going to say something and she needed to stop me in advance. “I'm not trying to intrude.”

  “What?” I rolled my eyes. I wasn't angry with her, not like I had been; I was too excited about the party for that. But I didn't want her to think I wanted her to hang around. No, things were good now, with Mom leaving me alone. I liked it this way and I wanted to keep it this way.

  Mom saw my face, saw that I was unhappy with her, and avoided my eyes.

  “I was just thinking,” she said. “I was just thinking that your dad and I would stay up here and usher people down for you. Then you could make sure things are going well with the party.”

  My heart softened a half-inch. But I didn't let it show. Instead I paused, pretended to think about her suggestion and then said, “Oh, all right.” I let out a sigh and started off to the game room, glad to be where the party would happen.

  The thing is, even after everyone got there, the party didn't really get going. The guys kind of stood on one side of the room, and we girls stood on the other. I could hear Christian telling all the guys about Quinn and basketball. In slow motion I worked my way to that side of the room. Would he tell all these guys about how I had asked his twenty-something-year-old brother to come to my twelve-year-old party?

  “Hey, Laura,” Christian said.

  “Oops,” I said. I hurried back to my side of the room. I would not make a good detective, I decided as I got close to Mary.

  After a little bit I suggested we eat, and for a moment the twelve of us mingled, at least in the food line. Then back to our separate sides of the room again.

  “Now what?” I asked Mary.

  She stood close to me, watching the guys, her shoulder touching mine. “We could dance, Laura,” she said in a loud voice. She looked straight at Spencer, who was drinking punch, when she said this.

  “Dance?” I said.

  And then Dad showed up.

  “Halftime entertainment,” he said, coming into the room in the ugliest clothes I have ever seen in my life. A pair of blue jeans with silver tacking going down the sides and a shiny purple shirt, both a little too small. I knew they were things he had been saving since he dated Mom, I could tell by looking at them. These were '80s clothes and I bet they scared everyone in the room. I know they scared me.

  Dad had a CD in his hand, and as he came in he said, “We kind of noticed that things weren't cooking in here….”

  Cooking?

  “So, Laura, if we have your permission, your mom and I thought we'd do a few dance steps from our day and age.”

  I shook my head. “No, Dad,” I said.

  Everyone looked at me. Was I as wide-eyed as my friends were? “Better not,” I said.

  There was a bit of an awkward silence, and then Christian said, “Sure, Mr. Stephan. We'd love to see you two dance.”

  Dad didn't wait a second longer. Instead he threw back his head and hollered out, “No parking on the dance floor, baby!”

  What? Discomfort washed over me like a hot liquid.

  Mom came in then, dressed in clothes I think she wore when she was pregnant with me.

  “Uh, wait,” I managed to say. I lifted a hand.

  Mom waved at me, then said, “Party on, Wayne,” copying an old movie she and Dad watch all the time.

  I felt the blood in my face drain down to my toes. Did I have a sudden fever? Some horrible disease that caused me to feel like this? First a wave of fire, then ice, washed over me. Fire. Ice. Fire. Ice. For a moment I thought I might faint. Christian came close, touching me with his arm.

  Mary laughed and started clapping as Dad walked over to the stereo and slipped in his special music.

  Without meaning to, I grabbed Christian's shirtsleeve.

  “This is going to be great,” he said.

  Please, God, I prayed. Please don't let this be happening.

  But it was. Michael Jackson's voice boomed out of the stereo so loud I bet it frightened the baby Mom was carrying.

  Dad grabbed Mom by one hand and slung her to the other side of the room. Zach Terry started clapping out the beat of the music, and pretty soon everyone but me had joined him. My eyeballs felt like only blood vessels held them in my head. I probably looked like something gross from The X-Files.

  I could barely look at Mom and Dad. Sure, they were good dancers… for the olden days. But why did they have to do it now? Why at my party?

  Mom and Dad spun this way and that, weaving between each other's arms, wiggling so that I thought I might die. At least I wished it.

  “Wanna try?” Christian asked.

  “You mean me? Do that?” I pointed at my parents.

  “Why not?” Christian gave a shrug.

  I had no time to answer.

  “Dance lessons,” Dad called out, and he grabbed Maggie Lauritzen by the hands and started dancing with her. Mom took Isaac Allred and whispered something to him. He grinned and started moving his feet. Dance lessons? Eek.

  “Dirty dog,” Mom shouted, and then she was moving in a way that made the boys guffaw with laughter and follow her around the room, copying her. Everyone was dancing now, everyone but me. Mary danced with Spencer, Kevin danced with Shauna, Lance danced with Jacqui. People were laughing and clapping and, well, really having fun.

  “Come on,” Christian said. “Come on, Laura.” He grabbed me and we nearly slipped apart, my hands were so sweaty.

  “Sorry,” I whispered, wiping my hands on my jeans.

  Christian just smiled.

  It's okay, I told myself. This is okay. I said a silent prayer that things would continue like this, and that Mom and Dad wouldn't have to stay with us for the party to keep being fun. I unclenched my fists and started relaxing. I even started enjoying myself.

  “The swing,” Mom called out. She and Dad did steps from that, whizzing around the room. Mom's long blond hair flew out behind her.

  “The hustle,” Dad yelled.

  “You're reaching,” Mom said, and I wasn't sure what she meant, but Dad just laughed. Then the two of them started with simple steps that everyone tried to follow, moving fast to stay with Michael Jackson's rhythm. Christian and I tried too, but he didn't let go of my hand until Mary said, “I know a line step. It's easy.”

  “Good deal,” Dad said, and he and Mom danced back to let Mary show the way. We all copied her, and I have to admit, it was fun. I was having fun, something I didn't think possible with my parents around.

  Mom and Dad danced a minute more, then, taking each other's hands, started to leave the room.

  Thank you, I said in my head. The thank-you was to them for getting things going and to God for getting my parents to leave.

  “Hey,” said Christian. “Show us one more eighties thing.” His arm almost cradled my back, like he might be holding on to me.

  “No,” said Mom. “We're old.” For some reason she patted her tummy.

  “Come on,” said Derek. “Do some break dancing for us. Can you do that?”

  I saw Dad hesitate, start toward us, then hesitate again. �
��Well,” he said, drawing the word out, “I used to be a pretty good breaker.” He stopped one more time.

  “Show us,” Shauna said. “Show us.”

  “Yeah,” Christian said.

  Mom gave Dad a slight push forward.

  I mouthed the word “No,” but Dad didn't see me.

  “Oh, all right,” Dad said, and he threw his hands up in the air like we were making him do something he didn't really want to do, but I could tell by the look on his face that he was getting a kick out of showing off for my friends.

  “It's been a lot of years,” he said. “Honey, put on ‘Beat It.’ ”

  Mom forwarded the CD to the song, and after a brief silence the sound of electric guitars filled the air around us. Dad, in his socks, went up onto his tippy-toes, stood there a moment, wobbling, then with the rhythm of the song began to move in ways I have never seen him move. I watched with only one eye, afraid to give him my full attention. And he did pretty good.

  He twirled around on his heel, tipped a fake hat and swung his hips.

  “Moonwalk,” Mom called out, and Dad slid backward on the wooden floor in an almost magical way. Everybody clapped, Mom loudest of all.

  “Spider crawl,” Mom called again, and Dad held his hands behind his legs and moved like a huge, slightly overweight spider might.

  “Fleet-flights,” Mom shouted.

  Dad fell to the floor and started spinning on his back. The next thing I knew, he was on his shoulders, then up on his head, his arms and legs flying through the air like a slow propeller. He was like that all of eight seconds, his face turning red, then his neck teetered a little and with a grunt he fell to his shoulder. His legs went over the top of his head like he had started a backward roll and gotten caught in the middle.

  “Laura,” Mom shouted, and she waved her hand up and down like she was hailing a taxi. I ran and turned off the music. The circle of my friends moved closer to my father, whose rear end stuck up in the air like a blue-jean island.

  Mary grabbed my arm, and Maggie leaned close to me and whispered, “Oh no.” Jacqui and Lance, holding hands, seemed frozen. Christian had an almost-smile on his face.

  Mom went down on her knees. “Danny? Danny? Are you okay?”

  “No,” Dad said. It was more like a grunt than a word.

  My face lost all color, then turned beet red in less than a second. I couldn't breathe for embarrassment. My nose, it seemed, had stopped working.

  “Can you move your legs?” Mom took hold of one of Dad's feet.

  “Don't do it,” Dad said, his voice all squishy sounding. “I heard something snap in my neck. If you move my legs, I may be paralyzed for life.”

  I was sure at that moment that there was no God. Unless, of course, He likes jokes.

  The most incredible thing about the whole evening was that Dad stayed in that position until the paramedics arrived.

  things to change about MY MOTHER!!!!!!!

  dancing pregnant

  dancing at all

  the man she married

  Up in my room, with everyone gone, including the ambulance, I realized that there was going to be only one person I could depend on: my unborn baby sister.

  I was right in the middle of a dream where Michael Jackson was screaming “Beat Him” at the top of his lungs, when a tapping woke me.

  For a moment I felt all right. I mean, the sun was streaming through my window, everything seemed cozy, my room looked the perfect shade of yellow.

  Then I remembered and it seemed even my cheerful room turned black.

  Last night. Oh, the horrors of last night. Lying in bed, I broke out in a sweat. I squeezed my eyes shut again, slapping my hand to my forehead. Nothing would take away the sick, sinking feeling in my heart and stomach. Not even seeing Quinn. Oh, thank goodness he hadn't come.

  The tapping sounded again, like a distant woodpecker. It was Mom. She pushed open the door a bit and peeked in at me. “Laurie girl, you asleep?”

  My mother's voice brought back a flood of memories that I wished would wash me to a deserted island.

  The ambulance, the men working to lower Dad flat on his back. One of the EMTs laughing behind his hand. Mom jumping into the ambulance and shouting out, “No, really, you all have a great time. Don't let this spoil anything.”

  Yeah, right. Was I going to throw up now?

  “Daddy's sleeping,” Mom told me, and plopped herself on my bed.

  “Is his neck broken?” I asked—already knowing the answer.

  Mom let out a little sigh. “No, thank goodness, it's not. In fact, he's—”

  “Fine,” I finished for her.

  “No,” Mom said, her voice a little bristly. “He's not fine. His neck was injured.”

  “Does he have a cast? A full-body cast? That's what I think he would need after his little”—I rolled toward the wall, turning my back on Mom—“his little performance.”

  Mom leaned over me, petting my hair and trying to make me look at her. Her belly was in the small of my back.

  “I've never been so embarrassed in my life,” I said. My eyes watered from the memory of Dad and his blue-jeaned bottom. It was true. I mean, out of everything that seemed to be happening— all at once, if you ask me—this had to be the worst of all. “If you both had just stayed upstairs where you belonged…” A whimper caught me at the end of my sentence, making the word belonged a squeak.

  Mom's voice was apologetic. “Honey, we made a mistake. We thought… we thought because the party was going a little slow…”

  All in one motion I rolled into a sitting position and glared at Mom.

  “Look,” I said. “Things were slow. I know that. But they were my kind of slow. It was my problem. If you could just back off a little. Let me breathe. But you won't.” Tears threatened to spill. I held my eyes wide open so they would not.

  Mom got to her feet. “We're going to Village Inn for breakfast,” she said after a little pause. “If you want to go, get dressed.”

  It wasn't long after that that I heard Mom crying. Just soft sobs that came from her room. I tiptoed down the hall toward her, still dressed in my nightclothes, and listened at the door.

  “It's just an age,” I heard my dad say. “Remember, you told me you went through that very thing.”

  “But, Danny, she used to be my best friend. I was never my mother's best friend.”

  A tiny bit of sadness caught me in the throat. It was true. Mom and I had been close.

  “I'm going to talk to her,” Dad said. He sounded mad.

  “Now, wait.”

  “No, I'm not waiting.” Dad's voice got closer. I backed away from their door, ready to run. “She doesn't have to like us, but she does have to be kind to us.”

  Mom let out a big sob. “But I want her to like me.”

  Dad's voice got smaller again. “Oh, baby,” he said, and I knew he was going to cuddle my mother.

  “Good,” I said in a low voice. “Good that she and I aren't friends.” I marched down to my room, feeling a mixture of emotions. One was relief that Mom and I weren't friends anymore. The other was sorrow. I pushed the sorrow away by looking at my list. There! No guilt at all! None required! Getting out a purple gel pen, I wrote.

  things to change about MYMOTHER!!!!!!!

  20. her protecting the guilty (I mean DAD)

  As far as I was concerned, they owed me breakfast. No, they owed me an apology. No— they owed me sanctuary.

  I looked at myself in the mirror that hung over the oak dresser in my room and changed clothes. What a sad person I was. Everything on my face seemed to droop.

  “Sanctuary,” I said to my reflection. My life was worse than poor Quasimodo's. “Sanctuary.” At least I thought it was. I'd tried to read The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but it was, well, too much for me. I had seen the Disney movie, though. Frollo had never, not once, done any kind of dancing in front of Quasimodo's friends. So he kept him in a bell tower. So what? At the end of the movie everything turned out perfec
t. And how would my life be? Hmmm? There was no answer. Just an embarrassing father led by an embarrassing mother. How fair was that?

  “Sanctuary.” This time I whispered the word. Then, “My life… sucks.”

  Oh, I looked sad. So, so sad.

  I leaned into the mirror and watched as my eyes filled with tears. The tears leaked onto my lashes and sat there a moment, trembling. “Sanctuary.” I said this as a tear fell, dripping onto my dresser top.

  “Laura?” Dad's voice startled me, making two more tears fall from my eyes. “We're leaving in ten minutes.”

  “Coming,” I whispered. I headed to the living room, hunched over a little and limping, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Today promised to be a hot one. June in Utah can be a scorcher, though I have to admit August is the worst time for heat. September was when the baby would come.

  On the sofa I relived last night. In my mind I heard Spencer say, “That was the oddest position for someone to be in.” I had heard a wheezy sound like someone had pneumonia and was trying to draw a beep breath. I had looked toward the sound and seen it was Mary. Mary starting to laugh.

  My best friend, I had thought. My eyes felt buggy as I looked at each person in the room.

  Her laughter, though, set it all off. Pretty soon everyone was laughing their head off. Except me. Sure, if it had been one of their fathers who had tried to do some break dancing and had gotten stuck with his butt in the air, that would have been a different story. That would have been funny.

  But no one's father would have tried it, I thought now, sitting on the sofa, staring out the window at the very sunny morning. No one's father would have thought that after fifteen years he could still be a champion break-dancer.

  No one's father would have been wearing clothes from another era. Only my dad, only my mom, would do those things.

  “It's funny,” Shauna had said. She had wiped tears from her eyes. Not Quasimodo tears, happy tears.

  “I hope he's okay,” Jacqui had said, and Lance had said, “I hope the breaking didn't really break him.” Again my friends shrieked.

  I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory, of people wandering away, going home, still laughing. Of Christian turning around to say goodbye, and instead just waving, with laughter seeming to bubble from him.