Page 92 of Meet Hate Love
Vance moved Mom’s name to the last place on our magnet board, then he took a picture and put it in the family group chat.
Maureen, if you suggest your own name for the baby again, I’m tossing your magnet into the garbage disposal. No presents for you this year.
Relax. It was all in good fun. By now, Mom expected nothing less from him.
The first time he’d met her, he outright told her how horrible it was that she’d ranked us our entire lives. Mom had rebutted by saying it was a healthy dose of competition. But ten minutes into their “discussion,” he had her in tears. And by the end of that week, she’d had me over for dinner, twice, to apologize. It was the most open I’d ever seen my mother be and the first time I’d ever heard her utter the words, “I’m sorry.” Before I’d left that night, she’d promised she would make sure our relationship got better.
Was she the best mother growing up? No. But people make mistakes, and they’re allowed to be forgiven if they’re willing to do better.
And as for her magnet board? Grace snagged it when Mom put it out for trash collection. Then she wrapped it and gave it to Vance and me as a gag housewarming gift when we’d moved into our house on Long Island. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d have a house here, but a few months after “Adrenaline Boner” went live on iTunes, the creator contacted me and offered me fifty percent of the royalties. And a few months after that, Vance paid off his grandma’s debt, then sold the My Dick Travels site for a handsome amount. And here we were. Not only homeowners but the owners of a new, up-and-coming lifestyle magazine calledAuspicious Existence.
So, there we were, in our forever home with a magnet board we solely used to mess with my mother.
Shaking my head, I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the tub of creamed spinach he’d picked up from my favorite BBQ restaurant, along with a jar of his grandma’s homemade dill pickles.
Vance lifted a brow as I waddled around him to grab a napkin from the marble countertop. “You’re about to dip pickles in that creamed spinach, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” I set my phone on the counter and popped the lid. When the acidic smell of dill-laced vinegar filled the air, the baby gave my ribs an excited kick. “She loves your grandma’s pickles already.”
Vance stepped up behind me and slipped an arm around my ever-expanding middle. “They are some damn good pickles.” He pressed a kiss to my neck just as a message pinged the group chat.
Grace: I still vote for the name Thelma.
Erin: Do not name that baby Thelma, Blake.
The only reason Grace kept harping on us naming our baby Thelma was that she and Theo had named their little girl Louise.
Vance: Grace, you realize the movie Thelma and Louise was based on a true story about women who were criminals?
Grace: I do.
Nana: Don’t name that child after a criminal. Give her a Biblical name. Like Ruth or Esther.
Mom: If not Maureen, what about Marleene? Marienne?
Erin: I think Poppy is cute.
I glanced back at Vance. “When are we going to tell them that we’re naming her June after your grandma?”
“Maybe next Sunday at dinner?”
I had a feeling that would absolutely start a fight.
Kate: You guys need to decide on a name soon so I know what to put on the baby shower cake.
As for Kate? She was single. The engagement party at Bon Apple Tea never happened. Two days before the party, she’d walked in, unannounced, to Jimbo’s work and found him screwing an intern on his desk. Last year, she’d admitted to me it was karma. And while she and I would probably never be close, I’d at the very least forgiven her.
Grandma June: You ain’t ordering no doggone cake for that baby shower. I’m making it. From scratch! Just like I made their wedding cake from scratch.
Nana: You can’t have a cake without a name!
Grandma June: Most certainly can. Back in my day, we didn’t even know the sex of the baby until it popped out. We just put “Welcome Baby” on the cake and were done with it.
Nana: Did they have baby showers back in your day, June?
Grandma June: I’m gonna say a prayer for you tonight. ‘Cause your rude backside certainly needs it.
Nana: I don’t need your prayers!
