“Thank you.  But I still want to have your parents over for dinner.  I want to at least show them I can act like an adult most of the time.”

10.  Ceiling Fan Baseball

“Oh my God!  You guys are doing it all wrong.  Obviously we need to go over these rules one more time.  The dinner roll needs to be thrown under hand at the ceiling fan.  That’s the only way you’ll get the arc you need for a good pitch.  We’re not going for speed, people.  We’re going for accuracy.  Someone pop another batch in the oven so we can start the third inning for fuck’s sake!”

After my mother finishes her explanation, she hefts the wooden cutting board up to her shoulder by the handle and readies herself for the pitch.

“Carter, if you bend over like that in front of me again, I might have to grab that sweet little tush of yours and call your mother and thank her.”

I’ll toast to that.

I raise my wine glass in the air for a toast while Drew does a couple of practice throws.

“I got this one, Mom. Dear Mrs. Ellis, thank you for pushing Carter out of your vagina and having such good genes that he has the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen,” I say with a snort and a wink in Carter’s direction.

“Um, thank you?”

My eyes go wide and with my wine glass still held above my head. I turn around slowly and find Carter’s parents standing in the dining room doorway looking around at the scene in front of them in shock and awe...but mostly shock.

In hindsight, I should have known better than to listen to anything my mother suggests.  Carter’s parents had canceled coming to dinner at the last minute because his father was feeling under the weather.  How was I supposed to know they would just show up an hour after dinner was over only to find me talking about her vagina, her son naked from the waist up with his shirt tied around his forehead, my dad sitting in the far corner of the room with a bowl of mashed potatoes in his lap, Drew wearing an apron that said, “I didn’t wash my hands before I fondled your meat,” and Liz and Jenny crawling on all fours around the kitchen table, eating the broken pieces of dinner rolls off of the floor and giggling.

From now on when my mom says, “Beating a dead horse around a bush during a blue moon won’t fix anything,” I’m going to plug my ears and walk away.

Two hours earlier

“Does it make me a bad person if I feel really bad that your dad doesn’t feel well, but feel even worse for myself because I did all this work and now they won’t see it?”

Carter laughs and uncorks a bottle of wine.

“I still can’t believe you thought their anniversary was the perfect day to have my parents over for dinner.”

He pours me a glass of wine as I slide on oven mitts and pull the roast out of the oven.

“Daddy, I wanna help cook the food.  What can I make?” Gavin asks as he comes bounding into the kitchen.

“Well, I think Mommy’s got everything just about done.  How about you take people’s coats as they come in the door?”

The doorbell rings and Gavin, happy with the chore he has just been given, scampers off to see who is here.

“I know.  It was a crazy idea to do this on their thirtieth anniversary, but I just wanted them to come here, have a nice, family dinner and see that I can be a normal, well-balanced adult.  What better day to do that than on a day where everyone has to rejoice in their love, and it would be against the spirit of the marriage in general if anyone said the words whore, vagina, or penis out loud?”

I set the roaster pan on top of the stove and toss the oven mitts onto the counter.  The sound of Gavin answering the door puts a halt to our conversation.

“Hi, Uncle Jim.  Give me a dollar and I’ll cut you.”

Carter hands me the glass of Chardonnay and sighs.

“How did he go from, ‘Can I take your coats please?’ to ‘I’m going to murder you for ringing the doorbell.’?”

I shrug and take a sip of the chilled wine.

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise your parents couldn’t come.  I think we need a trial run to get this normal thing down pat first,” I tell him with a smile.

“I am not going to say I told you so,” Carter says with a kiss to my cheek.

“Good.  Because if you did, I’d have Gavin take your coat and shiv you.”

Carter walks out of the room when the doorbell rings again to make sure Gavin doesn’t make good on his cutting threats.

With my wine glass in one hand, I start placing serving spoons in all of the side dishes and then pull out the big carving knife so Carter can cut the roast.  While I work, I listen to the sounds of a football game coming from the television in the living room and my family and friends talking quietly amongst themselves as they show up.  Even if Carter’s parents couldn’t make it, I know it will still be a good day and a great dinner.

“Claire Bear!  Who is this sexy beast you have answering the door for you now?”

I choke on a mouthful of wine and turn to see my mother walk into the room with her arm linked through Carter’s.  “Have you been working out, Carter?” she asks as she rubs her hand up and down his bicep.

“Mom?  What are you doing here?  I thought you were going to an art gallery opening?” I ask.

She lets go of Carter’s arm and practically skips across the kitchen to me, wrapping me in her arms and squealing in delight.

“Nonsense!  When you called the other night and said you were nervous about making a good impression on Carter’s stuffy parents, I knew I needed to be here for my best girl,” she explains as she pulls back and fiddles with a lock of my hair that has come loose from my pony tail.

“Oh my God, Mom!  I never said his parents were stuffy!” I argue as I smacked her hand away from my hair.  My mother, while well-meaning, treats me more like a best friend than a daughter and possesses even less of a filter between her brain and her mouth than I do.

I give Carter a look of embarrassment and beg him with my eyes to not listen to a word she said.  My mother continues talking like I'm not even there.

“Now, Carter, you look positively yummy and not at all tired.  Shouldn’t you be exhausted from staying up all night sleeping with my daughter?  Claire, why aren’t you keeping this man up until the wee hours of the morning having lots of sex?”

“Jesus, Mom!  Can you tone it down a bit please?” I beg.

Carter had met my mom the day we moved in when she came to help us unpack and has stopped by for dinner several times since then.  He is quite familiar with the way she acts but that doesn’t mean I can't try to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.

“What?  Can’t a mother be concerned for her daughter?  I just want to make sure your vagina doesn’t get full of cobwebs like before.  Those things can take a pounding so don’t worry about breaking anything.  I once pulled a muscle in my vagina.  Did I ever tell you that story?”

So much for the no vagina talk today.

I chug the rest of my glass of wine, reach for the bottle on the counter, fill the glass back up, and then took a swig right from the bottle before setting it back down.

“Mom, did I tell you dad brought Sue with him today?  You know, the woman he’s been seeing?  She’s really nice.  And never, ever talks about pounding vaginas.  Ever.”

I think maybe making my mom a teensy bit jealous will deter her from all things inappropriate but sadly I'm mistaken.  Sometimes I still forget just how cordial my parents divorce was.

“Ooooooh goody!” she squeals, clapping her hands together like a two-year-old.  “I’ve wanted to meet her ever since your father first told me about her.  We have so much to talk about.  I wonder if he’s used his Sean Connery accent on her yet and tried that move where he puts his foot on the headboard and then thrusts-”