Something New (20 page)

The other thing that’s bothering me is that I know how bright Connor is. He is aware of the locker checks at school. How could he be so stupid as to leave such damning evidence where there is a good chance it will be found? It’s not on the same level as Clinton and Monica-gate, but still! Did my son just assume it would never happen to him? Or was he so attached to the magazines that he thought it was worth the risk? And what does that say about him? Is he some kind of perv in the making because he can’t, just
can’t
bring himself to dump the twat magazines into the trash?

I steal a glance at him, and although his posture is defeated—shoulders slouched over and chin resting against his chest—he still looks just like my Connor.

He catches my glance and turns to face me. “Mom?” His voice is soft and unsure. I return my focus to the road.

“I’m not ready to talk about this, Connor,” I say.

“But—”

“Seriously.”

My cell phone chirps. Connor quickly bends over and grabs it from my purse then hands it to me. I have no hands-free device—Jonah gave me a Bluetooth once, but it never fit right, and it is
not
because my ears are misshapen—so I pull over to the curb and punch on my flashers. I check the Caller ID and see Jonah’s name.

“Hi.”

“Hey, babe,” comes his excited voice. “You are never going to guess what I got from one of my clients.”

Lice? Herpes? Diphtheria? “What?” I ask.

“Tickets to the
Blue Man Group
!” he says excitedly. “For tonight! Do you believe it? The guy’s wife and kids came down with food poisoning from Grandma’s pork loin, or something. So he can’t use them.” He’s talking in a rush, not giving me time to interject. “The one snafu is that there are only four tickets. But I know how much you hate the Blue Man Group.”

Loathe
would be a better word. I saw the show years ago during a trip to New York and I honestly cannot understand the appeal. All I could think of while watching their painted, shaven heads was
blue balls
.

“So I thought I could take the kids. You know, give you the night off.”

“There’s a slight problem with that,” I say. “Connor is grounded.”

“Come again?”

“As we speak, I am on my way home from school with him after having a charming conversation with his principal.”

“Herr Rodriguez?”

“The very same.” Again, I can feel Connor’s eyes on me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

“Is this a joke?” Jonah asks, perplexed. “Connor?”

“It seems your son has taken up a new hobby. Pornographic magazines.”

“What?!”

“Well,
Hustler
for sure. I’m not certain what the second one was. I never saw the cover.” At this point I do look at my son. He all but shrinks into the seat as I glare at him expectantly.

“Shaved.”
His voice is practically inaudible.

“
Shaved
,” I report to Jonah.

There is a long moment of silence, and I can almost see Jonah’s face. Knowing him as well as I do, I have no doubt that he has a grin on his face and is thinking
Atta boy!
to himself. The boys’ club strikes again. As long as it’s not guy-on-guy action, he’s okay with it. He will not, however, admit this to me.

“That sounds pretty serious,” he says.

“He also made a drawing of one of his…classmates?”

Connor nods. “Becka.”

“Becka,” I repeat into the phone. “
Naked
Becka, I should say.”

“Is it any good?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” I reply, knowing that Connor could not hear the question.

“I know this is serious, Elle, but…”

“It
is
serious,” I say for Connor’s benefit.

“Maybe we could suspend the punishment until tomorrow. I mean, it is
Blue Man Group
. Connor’s been dying to see it. How often do they come to the Garden Hills Performing Arts Center?”

“Never,” I admit, knowing that I am going to give in. I can feel it already, and I am annoyed with myself for caving so easily.

“I’d hate for him to miss it. What do you say I come home early and have a talk with him? I’ll get there before you leave to pick up Matthew and Jessie. He and I can have a good heart-to-heart.”

I take a deep breath and sigh. If Ms. Rodriguez knew that instead of locking Connor in the basement without food or water, we were taking him to a show he’s always wanted to see, she’d probably call up the department of child and family services to have him removed from our care. Still, Jonah and I have done our best to instill solid values in our children. At some point, they will have to make their own choices as to the kind of people they want to be. I just pray the foundation we have provided inspires them to make the right decisions…and keeps them out of jail.

“Fine,” I say into the phone, then hang up.

I turn and face Connor, watching him as he nervously plays with an errant thread on his shirt. He is my baby, my firstborn. When the second and third children come along, life becomes so chaotic that specific events and milestones become hazy, memories fold over each other and become impossible to differentiate. With Matthew, and then Jessie, I cannot recall with clarity when they spoke their first words (although I do know
what
their first words were:
help
in Matthew’s case and
mine
in Jessie’s). I don’t remember the specific date that each took their first steps or cut their first tooth or pooped on the toilet for the first time. But Connor is different. I had him all to myself for almost two years. We were a team, and my memories of holding him in my arms, of nursing him, of carrying him through the aisles of Target in his front-facing carrier so he could see all of the bright
colors, of lying on the daybed next to his crib, my fingers intertwined with his through the crib slats, are crystal clear.

But he is no longer a child. I have to accept that fact, no matter how difficult and painful it is for me. He is growing up. A part of me mourns that little boy who couldn’t fall asleep without me lying by his side. I suppose a part of me always will.

“Hey,” I call to him, willing him to look at me. When he does, I can almost see the handsome man he will someday be. I hope he keeps his hair short so that his beautiful green eyes will always stand out. Those green eyes of his are sure to melt many hearts.

“Yes, Mom?”

“The sketch,” I say solemnly. “Did you actually see Becka naked?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, then forcefully shakes his head. “No, Mom. I just sort of imagined it.”

“Good,” I say with an emphatic nod. “Let’s keep it that way for a few years, okay?”

I
thread my way through the heavy foot traffic that crowds Center Street on this unseasonably warm March evening. The Garden Hills Friday Night Farmer’s Market is in full swing, and all of the stalls that line the main thoroughfare are jammed with customers looking for the perfect organic tomato or hemp handbag or Indian scarf. I myself am in search of the rose-infused honey, which I’ve left to the last minute to acquire. Jonah and the kids are leaving on Sunday, so if I don’t find it tonight, Margaret is shit out of luck in the honey department. I could have come a couple of Fridays ago, or last week before book club, but I rationalized that I wanted to give Margaret the freshest batch available. I wouldn’t want my father-in-law to get a rash, now would I?

My farmer’s market friend, Masood, has apparently moved his stall because it is not where it was the last time I was here, before Christmas. I used to come to the market frequently, just to wander, and occasionally, on a whim, I
would buy something. Like the organic beets that ended up rotting in my fridge. But as life got busier, my visits became less frequent, and now it seems I only come four times a year for the honey. It’s my go-to gift for my mother-in-law: Christmas, her birthday, Mother’s Day, and the spring break trip. I know it’s not original, and it takes no thought at all on my part, but she loves it. And if you find something your mother-in-law loves, my advice is to stick with it.

I am still energized from my time on the treadmill, can still feel the endorphins coursing through my veins. When Connor and I got home, I sent him to his room to think about his actions, then carefully tucked the sketch of Naked Becka in a file folder in Jonah’s office. I spent the rest of the early afternoon writing my blog and finished just before Jonah got home, and the two of us were able to communicate like the adults we claim to be as we rehashed the Connor situation. I finally managed to get my exercise in while the rest of the family excitedly got themselves ready for their night out.

And how I needed it. All week, I’d felt as though I were riding on an emotional roller coaster. I’d been working so hard to stay on an even keel, fighting to maintain my precarious grip on the steering wheel of the familial vehicle in order to keep it from crashing into the side of a mountain. My blog was helping a lot and I’d definitely been using it as therapy (and was heartened to see my hits numbering close to thirty thousand), but there is a finite amount of angst and rage that can be defused through the written word, so I cranked up the resistance on the treadmill and poured the rest of my pent-up emotions into my workout.

With each inhalation and exhalation, I told myself that I had an evening of freedom ahead. While I was conflicted
about letting Connor off the hook so easily, I knew that a timeout from my family was exactly what I needed.

By the time I hit the shower, I was blissfully alone in my home, and therefore, I had no one to brag to when I donned my favorite pair of jeans and found that I needed a belt to keep them from falling off.