Independence Day

From Saturday evening until yesterday morning, my mom was in town with my brother, who was waiting for some construction job to start up in Lawrence.

Monsieur knew something was up; I thought it was PMS but he knew that I was upset that they would be around on the weekend which is the time we usually have for loving, if I’m to get any that week. Which, I don’t always.

And he knew. When the kids were in bed, he called me into the kitchen.

Monsieur: You’re tired?

Yearning Heart: Yes, I did a pile of laundry and we all did the marketing, which is exhausting with three boys, and Bigglest Boy is probably not going to sleep tonight because he’s nervous about meeting my mom. So, he’ll keep me up a lot.

Monsieur: I think he’ll probably come down here in about twenty minutes.

Yearning Heart: Probably.

Monsieur: And you’re tense.

Yearning Heart: It’s my period coming.

Monsieur: It’s not your period coming, it’s your mother coming.

Yearning Heart: Maybe a little, ya.

Monsieur: And you’re worried that we won’t have a moment of real privacy when they are in the house.

Yearning Heart: I … guess I didn’t count on any … intimacy … for another week or so.

Monsieur: Are you … opposed to a quick one in the bathroom?

Yearning Heart: [eyes lighting up] With you?

Monsieur: Indeed, with me, I should think so. I mean, I suppose you could go by yourself, or with your little friend, but I think it’s always more fun to share moments like that.

Yearning Heart: [smiles]

[He takes me into the master bathroom, runs the water for noise, and unbuttons his shirt.]

Yearning Heart: [stripping my t-shirt and jeans off]I hope you don’t want much foreplay.

Monsieur: [sighs philosophically] Right now I am yours, to command.

Yearning Heart: I wish!

He takes me leaning against the wall. I am done in three minutes so I go another round. He is not actually done, but he holds me to him by my hips while I bend over the sink, watching him in the mirror. I writhe against his hardness and rub myself off selfishly, until I think I hear a noise in the living room. I slip off of him with a slish and get into my robe to check on Bigglest Boy, but Monsieur shakes his head.

Monsieur: I’ll go. [He cleans himself off, and slips into his pajamas and a t-shirt] You still are flushed and breathing hard.

Yearning Heart: [trying to catch my breath] Right … [mumbling, to his exiting back] … like you’re not.

Mom and Bro were good, for the most part, except when Bro was outside on the west hill trying to smoke pot, and Monsieur went out there to tell him that particular hill overlooks the house of a county sheriff’s deputy’s house, and maybe he might want to try the path leading south to the creek bed.

Also Mom got a little miffed that she couldn’t cook her Famous Pork Loin in Monsieur’s house.

Mom: You’re sure he’s not Jewish?

Yearning Heart: No, Mom, he’s just stubborn. Like how Daddy won’t eat Korean food.

Mom: Well, that’s because he’s convinced it’s all dog.

But he charmed her, and when she showed him a picture of me sneezing into my 3^rd birthday cake from her old pocketbook collection, he got out the most adorable picture of him and his brother and his mom at some harbor somewhere, and showed it to her.

He also assured her that he did indeed celebrate Independence Day as well as anyone, but without the firing of automatic weapons into the air that is common among Texans as it is among the Arab states. “I don’t know why they do that,” he said. “It might be the cattle and oil money that they share, but perhaps not.”

And although I promised not to, I did slip once and called him “Monsieur” in front of my mom, but only once.

Talking to my mom is like being in a Robert Altman film.

Mom: Do you have those dried seeds for your fall garden? Be sure and send …

Yearning Heart: Yes, Mom.

Mom: your measurements to your Aunt Nasal. You sure you …

Yearning Heart: Yes, Mom.

Mom: like it here? I’m proud …

Yearning Heart: Yes, Mom.

Mom: of you, in a way. I’m going to …

Yearning Heart: Thanks, Mom.

Mom: call you when we get to Wichita. Call your …

Yearning Heart: OK, Mom.

Mom: daddy for me. Oh, and can you …

Yearning Heart: I will, Mom.

Mom: e-mail your cousin Cornhusk and give him your e-mail address? Take care, …

Yearning Heart: I sure can, Mom.

Mom: honey…

Yearning Heart: OK, Mom.

Mom: I love you….

Yearning Heart: I love you too, Mom.

Mom: Did you double wrap that blackberry cobbler? It’ll freezer-burn …

Yearning Heart: I did, Mom.

Mom: if you don’t double wrap it. Good.

[Monsieur comes out of the house, carrying Mom’s clean laundry in her laundry basket.]

Monsieur: Don’t forget your laundry.

Mom: Well, thanks! I was just about to come back in for that.

[A beat, then:]

Mom: Take care of her.

Monsieur: Yes, Mom.

Mom: [smiles] Good.