Two by Two(43)

"You've got a big week ahead. London starting school, Vivian traveling,  and you're filming commercials, right? When does that start?"

"We have rehearsal on Wednesday afternoon, and we'll film on Thursday  and Friday, then a couple of days the following week. I also have a  casting session next week."

"Busy, busy."

"I'll be okay," I said, realizing I actually meant it. With London in  school, I had eight free hours to work, which seemed like all the time  in the world compared to the life I was leading now. I took another bite  of the dessert, feeling Vivian's gaze on me.

"What?" I asked her.

"You not going to eat all of that, are you?" Vivian asked.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because we'll be having dinner in an hour. It's not good for you. Or your waistline."

"I think I can handle it," I said. "I'm down six pounds this month."

"Then why try to put it back on?" Vivian asked.

When I didn't respond, Liz cleared her throat. "How about you, Vivian?  Are you still going to the gym and doing yoga at that place downtown?"

"Only on Saturdays. But I work out at the office gym two or three times a week."

I blinked. "There's an office gym?"

"You know that. You've seen me bringing my gym bag to work. I wouldn't  have time otherwise. Of course, it sometimes also ends up being a  working session depending on which executive is there."

Though she didn't mention a name, I had a sinking feeling that by  executive, my wife actually meant Walter, which, if true, struck me as  the cruelest Saturday Surprise of all.





By then, I was downright glum. Vivian and Marge continued their  superficial conversation while I pretty much tuned out, my thoughts  exploding like fireworks between my ears.

London and my mom emerged from the house, both of them wearing gardening  gloves. London had clearly borrowed a pair from my mom, since they  seemed about three sizes too large.

"Hey sweetie!" I called out. "Time to do some planting?"

"I have gloves, Daddy! And Nana and me are going to make the flower bed soooo pretty!"

"Good for you."

I watched as my mom lifted a shallow plastic tub containing twelve  smaller plastic pots, marigolds already in bloom. London grabbed two  trowels, and my mom listened attentively while London chattered away  nonstop on their way to the flower bed.

"Have you ever noticed how good Mom is with London?" Marge asked. "She's patient, cheerful, and fun."

"You sound a little bitter when you say that," Liz observed.

"I am," she said. "It's not like Mom ever planted flowers with me. Or  showed me how to make pudding-in-a-cloud. Nor was she patient, cheerful,  or fun as a general rule. When she spoke to me, it was because she had  some chores she wanted me to do."

"Are you open to the idea that your memories may be selective?" Liz asked.

"No."

Liz laughed. "Then maybe you should simply accept the notion that she likes London more than she ever liked you or Russ."

"Ouch," Marge said. "That's not very therapeutic."

"I wish London would get to see my parents more often than she does,"  Vivian remarked. "It makes me sad that she doesn't have the same kind of  relationship with them. Like she's missing out on getting to know my  family."         

     



 

"When was the last time they were here?" Liz asked.

"Thanksgiving," Vivian said.

"Why don't they come and visit this summer?"

"My dad's company has been involved in a huge merger and my mom doesn't  like to travel without him. I suppose I could bring London to them, but  these days, when would I have the time?"

"Maybe that will change when things settle down," Liz suggested.

"Maybe," Vivian said, a frown suddenly appearing as she watched London  digging while my mom put the flowers into the ground. "If I'd known  London would be planting flowers, I would have brought a change of  clothes. Her dress is practically new, and she'll be upset if she can't  wear it again."

I doubted that London cared as much as Vivian. London probably couldn't  remember half of the dresses she owned, but my thoughts were interrupted  by a sudden, piercing scream from London, the sound of pain and fear …

"OW, OW, OWWW!!! It HURTS! DADDY!!!!"

Instantly, the world splintered into disjointed images; I felt myself  rising, the chair flung out behind me …  Liz and Marge turning their  heads, shock in their expressions …  Vivian's mouth in the shape of an O …   My mom reaching for London …  London beet red and crying, shaking her  hand, her face contorted …

"IT HURTS, DADDY!!!"

I bolted off the porch toward her, adrenaline coursing through my system. As soon as I reached her, I scooped her into my arms.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

London was sobbing too hard to answer, her screams drowning out her ability to answer, her hand held away from her body.

"What's wrong? Did you hurt your hand?"

Mom's face was white. "She was stung by a bee!" she called out. "She was  trying to swat it off her hand … " Vivian, Liz, and Marge were beside us  as well. Even my dad had appeared in the doorway and was hustling toward  us.

"Was it a bee?" I asked. "Did a bee sting you?" I tried to reach for  London's hand, but she was frantically waving it, convinced the bee was  still attached.

Vivian quickly took hold of London's arm, even as London continued to  scream. She rotated it, finally focusing on the back of London's hand.

"I see the stinger!" she shouted at London. London continued to flail,  oblivious, as Vivian went on. "I have to get it out, okay?"

Vivian gripped London's arm tighter. "Hold still!" she demanded. Using  her fingernails, it took a couple of attempts to loosen the stinger, but  then with a quick pull, the stinger was out. "It's out, sweetheart,"  she announced. "I know it hurts," she soothed, "but it'll be okay, now."

No more than fifteen seconds had passed since I first heard London begin  to scream but it seemed far longer. London was still crying, but she  struggled less and her screams had begun to subside as I held her. Her  tears dampened my cheek as everyone pressed in around her, trying to  comfort.

"Shhh … " I whispered, "I've got you now … "

"Are you okay?" Marge asked, stroking London's back.

"That must have hurt, you poor thing … ," Liz added.

"I'll get the baking soda … ," my mom announced.

"Come here, baby," Vivian said, reaching for London. "Let Mommy hold you … "

Vivian's arms snaked around London, but all at once, London buried her face in my neck.

"I want Daddy!" London said, and when Vivian started to lift her, I felt  London squeeze even harder, nearly choking me, until Vivian finally  relented.

I carried London back to my chair and took a seat, listening as her  cries gradually diminished. By then, my mom had mixed baking soda and  water, forming a paste, and brought it to the table, along with a spoon.

"This will help the swelling and take away some of the itch," she said. "Do you want to watch me put it on, London?"

London pulled away from my neck, watching as my mom applied the paste to her skin.

"Will it sting?"

"Not at all," my mom answered. "See?"

London was back to sniffling by then and when my mom was finished, London brought her hand closer. "It still hurts," she said.

"I know it does, but this will make it feel better, okay?"

London nodded, still examining her hand. I brushed away her tears with my finger, feeling the moisture on my skin.

We sat at the table for a while making small talk, trying to distract  London and watching for an allergic reaction. None of us expected  one-neither Vivian nor I were allergic, and London hadn't been allergic  to the fire ants-but since it was London's first bee sting, no one knew  for sure. London's breathing seemed normal and the swelling didn't  worsen; when we turned the conversation topic to Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles,  London even seemed to temporarily forget her pain, if only for a few  seconds.         

     



 

Once we knew that London was fine, I recognized that all the adults had  overreacted. Our panic, our rush to soothe, the way we'd fussed over her  in the aftermath, struck me as a bit ridiculous. It wasn't as though  she'd broken an arm or been hit by a car, after all. Her screams of pain  had been real, but still … she'd been stung by a bee. As a kid, I'd  probably been stung half a dozen times and when it happened the first  time, my mom hadn't made paste from baking soda and water, nor had she  held me in her arms to comfort me. If memory serves, my mom simply told  me to go wash the stinger off and my dad said something along the lines  of, "Stop crying like a baby."