Senior Prom 2
Even my mom was excited about the prom.
"Stephanie, this is your mother." Yeah, right, as if I couldn't tell from the caller ID or the "Drunk Again" ringtone, a little-known Everclear song from my high school days. Or the fact that she'd been calling me on the phone five times a day for the past three years, ever since I lost my job at E.E. Martin and became a bounty hunter.
"Hi, Mom. What's up?"
"Can you come to dinner tonight? We're having roast turkey breast with stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes."
Mmm, sounded really good. My mom may be a pain in the ass sometimes, but she could roast the hell out of a turkey breast, and her stuffing would heal the lame and cause the blind to see.
There has to be a catch.
"I'm not sure, Mom. I'm working and I might not be done in time."
"The pineapple upside down cake is in the oven, and I bought a whole pint of cream to whip for it, so there will be lots of extra."
Man, that woman sure knows how to lead the rats to Hamelin. The Pied Piper has nothing on her.
"Okay, I'll be there."
"Six o'clock." As if I didn't know. "And Stephanie, I was hoping you could stay for a little while after dinner. I need some help picking out accessories for my prom dress, and your grandmother… well, you know how she is. I could really use your input."
Even Mom and Dad were going to the big dance. Although they weren't technically seniors, the prom was open to all the adults of the Burg, and the middle-aged crowd had gotten into the spirit of things right along with their senior parents.
"No problem. See you at six."
Mom and Grandma were both waiting at the front door when I pulled up in front of the house at five minutes of six. Since they were expecting me it didn't seem that unusual that they'd be there waiting. What really freaked me out was when I stopped by unexpectedly and there they'd be, waiting at the door.
I used to think it was some kind of Mom radar that called to them when a female progeny was approaching. Now I just think Grandma sits where she can see every car that comes down the street and when she sees mine approaching she alerts Mom. Just as freaky as the radar thing, but more explainable.
"Do you have your dress for the prom yet?" Grandma asked, grabbing my arm and guiding me into the house. "Did you get something really sizzling? Because I told Ernie that you're the spitting image of me when I was your age, and he's waiting to get an eyeful."
Tell me my grandmother wasn't using me to raise the excitement level in her elderly date. Please.
"Oh, I'm not getting something new. I thought I'd wear the dress I wore to Julie Morelli's wedding." The cleaner did a fine job at getting all the garbage stains out. I felt no need to spend money on a new dress to stand and serve cups of punch to parents and grandparents. Besides, I was broke.
"Oh, you really need to get something new. Everybody who's anybody will be there, and they all saw you in that dress before. Who knows, you might find someone there to take home for the night and it just wouldn't do to be wearing an old dress."
"Mother!" My mom glanced longingly at the kitchen door, thinking, no doubt, of the bottle of Jack Daniels that was hidden in the very back of the cupboard, behind the flour and cereal.
While this conversation was going on, Grandma guided me into the living room rather than into the kitchen to help put the food on the table. I was a little confused, but smiled when my dad turned from the TV to say hello.
"Hi, Dad. How about those Phillies?"
"Hi, Pumpkin. They're doing great, aren't they?" And then his eyes slid past me to the couch.
I turned and almost fell over at the sight that greeted me.
"Stephanie, you remember Stanley Holloway, don't you?" My mom stood behind me, her arms out to the sides blocking the doorway as I cast a wild look in that direction. "He graduated with Valerie, so I'm sure you know him from high school."
Oh, crap. Skeeter Holloway. How the hell…?
My grandmother still had my arm, and Mom had suddenly grown to the size of an offensive lineman, ready to squash me like a bug if I tried to get past her out the door.
"Hi, Skeeter," I said, baring my teeth in something that I hoped resembled a smile. "How's it going?"
"It's going very well, Steph," he oozed, "especially now that you're here."
Eeuw!
Skeeter was the Vinnie Plum of my high school years, slimy and skeevy, generally creepy.
"I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do," Mom butted in, "and dinner's not ready yet, so sit down, Stephanie."
I was in deep doo-doo. Never, ever in my thirty-three years could I remember dinner being ready a moment later than six o'clock on the dot.
My dad frowned, looking at his watch. This was clearly a plot by my mother and grandmother to fix me up, and just as clearly, Dad wasn't in on it.
Grandma was clinging to me like a limpet, her full weight on my arm pulling me down to the couch next to Skeeter. I only resisted for a moment before giving up and sitting down. I didn't want to hurt Grandma. Kill her maybe…
Skeeter poured a glass of wine from the bottle that was sitting on the coffee table. "Take a drink, sit back and relax," he said, handing me the glass.
I was stupefied, unable to cope with this Bizarro World turn of events, and I took a page from my mom's book and knocked back the whole glass of wine in one gigantic gulp.
TBC