Page 56 of Husband of the Year
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Lunches, coats, bags…” My mother taps both Illona’s and my gear as we stand near the door, literally checking things off.
As a child of an alcoholic, there were days I put myself on the bus without seeing my mother. Times I came home, gave myself a snack, and watched TV until it was time for me to make dinner. Over the past two years, I’ve put in a lot of effort working closely with Erika, and also independently, to cultivate a stronger and more stable relationship with her. But I also know the trauma of being raised by an alcoholic can’t simply be swept under the rug. As much as I wish it didn’t, her attempt at cosplaying as June Cleaver plays games with my head.
“Mom, we’re good. Thank you for the lunches.” I hold up my brown paper bag.
“Now yours,” she says, cradling Illona’s face, “has a surprise in it. A girl toy. For a little girl.”
“There’s no such thing as boy toys and girl toys,” Illona says, and the piece of me that was her kindergarten teacher two years ago beams with pride. “Toys are toys. Anyone can play with them.”
“Well, this toy is for you. How about that?”
Illona shrugs and backs away toward the door. Smart kid.
“I wish I’d known you were coming,” I say. “I could have taken a day or two. Arranged sub plans. What are you going to do all day?”
“Marvin Isadore Block.”
Her use of my full name sends a slight chill up my spine.
“Isadore?” Illona’s face contorts into the cutest state of confusion.
“My middle name.”
“After my great Aunt Ida.” Sarah grabs my shoulders, and I brace myself. “Now, Marvin Isadore.” She winks at Illona. “I know you have to work. Your students need you. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself. There are meals to plan. Shop for. Prep. Is there a store on the island, or do I need to take the boat back downtown?”
“Hannigan’s. It’s about two blocks from the dock where the ferry left you off. Here, let me write the directions down.”
I grab a pen and pad from the drawer next to the fridge and start drawing a map.
“Sweetie, I can put it into the Google on my phone. Maps! I’m good.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
Mom pokes at her phone and then shows me Hannigan’s on a map with directions from our house. “Right as rain. I need to move my legs, anyway. I’ll find it. And I have my book.” She grabs a worn book from the counter and holdsJewish Wisdom for Growing Older: You Know Bubkisup with a smile. “I think I’m going to make meatloaf for dinner.” She puts a hand up. “Before you say we had hamburgers last night and you’re having hamburgers for lunch, protein is essential for growing bodies.”
“I’m good, Mom.” I pat my stomach.
“Not you.” She smiles at Illona and gives another wink. “Plus, my meatloaf isn’t only beef. You know that.”
“What is it then?” Illona asks from the door.
“Bubbe’s secret. I’ll tell you after school.” Another wink. “And there’s wedding planning to be had. I know Olan is paying, but I toldyou, as the mother of the bride, I’m buying the flowers. And the welcome mocktails are on me. I’ll hear nothing else about it. I have investigating to do.”
“Mom, I told you, I’m not the bride.”
“Mother of the groom then.” She gestures toward me.
“My friend Sheldon is helping with the planning. And by helping, I mean doing it. I’m sure he has some ideas.”
“Perfect. Text me his number,” she says.
There’s no way in hell I’m giving her Sheldon’s number.
“Okay.”
“I have plenty to keep me busy until you two get home. And Gonzo will keep me company.” Gonzo lies by the window, unaware his feline alone time is about to be severely interrupted. “Now go, don’t be late for school.”
