Nervousness and excitement were the only passengers with me during the drive back from camp. I navigated highways and neighborhoods to stop and see Em’s new house before heading home. He felt the full set of directions to his house were too complicated to handle all at once and instructed me to call after exiting the main highway. I tried to reach him as I passed his old apartment. No answer on the other end forced me to pull over and wait for his call at a gas station along the way. I used the opportunity to pick up a few bottles of Gatorade. The cashier gave me kudos for staying hydrated on such a hot summer day. Ridiculously, scorching, blazing hot summer day would be more accurate. Did I mention how much summer in Texas sucks, ridiculously sucks? Pretty sure I did.
I headed back to the car to blast the AC, and Em finally returns my call.
“Hey, man. Which way do I go now?”
“J! Where are you?”
“Uh…umm…at a Shell across from some construction, near a Walgreens.”
“Do you know the name of the cross streets?”
“Nope. Can’t see ‘em, but there’s also a CVS on one corner.”
“Hey, I was just there! I had to get some medicine for an allergic reaction. All of the sudden my lips started swelling. They-are-HUGE right now!!” He went on for a bit about his condition, providing plenty of warning and a little hesitation over entertaining a guest. I ignored it and pressed on for the directions.
“Okay, [Em's nickname], which way am I supposed to go?”
Five minutes later I pulled into the driveway of Em’s brand new house. A pair of plump, luscious lips attached to Em’s face greeted me at the door. The baby hid behind Em and smiled up at me from between his dad’s legs.
I addressed the baby first. “Hiiii, Caaaden! (not his real name, but easier than typing “the baby” over and over)” Then I looked up at Em.
“Oh, wow. Hahaha, you were right…wow…umm, I mean WUH-OW-UH. Hahaha. What did you do or eat to have them swell like that?!”
Before anyone thinks I am evil for laughing at his condition, let me make a few things more clear. His lips were the only swollen part of the body, there was no dizziness or difficulty breathing, and I ruled out anaphylactic shock based on those observations. I did stress the urgency to figure out what caused the reaction due to its suddenness, severity, and the possibility that a second allergic reaction could be much more serious.
“J, it’s not funny.”
“I know it’s not, but…hahaha…it kinda is. Hahaha. Sorry, I’ll try and lock it up. Hahaha. Sorry, I’m trying.” Em’s naturally thin lips had morphed into an extremely voluptuous anotomical feature, making it very difficult to move past the cloud shapes overtaking his face. Adding insult to allergy, Em is by nature very concerned with appearances. His self-consciousness went up about a bazillion notches thanks to me and my uncontrollable giggles. Every time he talked I tried not to laugh. Didn’t help. It’s like Meg Ryan asking you not to look at her lips after some very obvious collagen injections. Impossible. He lasted about ten minutes before grabbing a baby blanket from the couch to tie around his face bank robber-style. That didn’t help either. I laughed even more.
To take the focus off Em’s face, I asked about any new developments with Caden. All parents go through their repertoire of tricks with young children, and Em did the same. Caden imitated an elephant, a snake, a chicken, a sheep, and even “The Count” from Sesame Street.
“Son, what does “The Count” say?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.”
That one was my favorite. Later we went through the body parts.
“Caden, where’s your nose?”
He pointed to his nose.
“Where’s your eye?”
He pointed to his eye.
We went through a few more body parts when Em stated, “He knows were everything is.”
“Oh. He does?” I smiled at the baby and asked, “Caden, where’s your appendix?!”
Em had to assist a little, but sure enough he pointed to his appendix. Smart kid.
The next few hours passed in pretty much the same way. Caden played. Em alternated between looking in the mirror and adjusting his mask. I tried not to laugh at the thought of his lips. Then the phone rang. Routine interrupted. It was Em’s older brother calling to say he was walking over with his wife and kids to see the new house. If my visit had been agenda-less, I might have excused myself and left for the night. I didn’t. Instead, I waited as Em tidied up and the baby ran around laughing and saying, “Freddie! Freddie!” Apparently, he gets really, REALLY excited when his older cousin comes over to play.
Em’s family arrived. I met his older brother, Freddie Sr., sister-in-law, and their three children. Caden and Freddie Jr. ran around together, followed by Eddie’s younger sister. I answered a few polite questions every once in a while, but mainly felt pretty fidgety. Saying that I was unwelcomed would be going too far, but it did kind of feel like my presence was some sort of an intrusion on family time. Damn agenda. As the kids became more restless they were shuffled outside to enjoy popsicles on the front lawn. I passed on the icy treats when the box came into my hands. Em’s brother checked out the sprinkler system and grass while filling Em in on other neighborhood details. I stood, listened, and observed, like shrubbery in a sundress.
With the kids covered in syrup and bed time rapidly approaching Freddie Sr. prepared to walk his family back down the street to their house. I said the requisite goodbyes and followed Em inside the house. While he went to go start a load of laundry Caden stayed in the living room with me. He looked up and said, “Mama. Mama. Mama.” Not quite, little buddy.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where she is. I’m Jessica.” I point to myself. “Jessica. Jess-i-ca. J. Jessica.”
He seemed confused. Bad sign. It was the beginning of where things started to go downhill. I took him to find Em before his confusion progressed to crying. Standing in the doorway of the laundry room, I let Em know the baby wanted his mom and asked for one of the creme-filled popsicles the kids had earlier. He acknowledged the first statement, then told me where to find what I wanted. The guys stayed in the laundry room as I made my way back to the kitchen and grabbed an orange creme-filled popsicle. Caden caught me eating it. He looked up at me again, pointed to the freezer with his chubby little finger, and asked, “More?”
Em interrupted. “No, son, you already had yours.”
As someone who’s spent more than enough time taking care of little kids, I knew better than to ask in the first place. Huge mistake to think it could be devoured without the baby noticing. HUH-UGE. I didn’t even get close to being finished with half of it before he saw what I had. Still in the process of swallowing the last few bites, the baby starts hanging off the freezer drawer screaming, “More? More! Moooorrrreeee!” Aw, geez. Smooth, Jessica, real smooth.
He calmed down as soon as Em diverted his attention with a favorite movie, a DVD case with a little mouse on the cover. He held it in his hand. “Mouse? Mouse? Mouse? Mouse?”
“Yes, son, it’s a mouse.”
The baby pointed to the TV. Bad news. Now the baby wanted to watch the movie, but there was no DVD player in the new house. “Mouse? Mouse? Mouse? Mouse! Mouuusssseeeeahhhhh?!” Oh. Man.
Em diverted his attention again by giving him the option of a bath or dinner. The baby chose a bath, but freaked out when Em started to take him to the tub. He tried dinner instead. Caden didn’t have a nap, hadn’t had dinner, and was understandably crabby seeing as how it was past 8 pm. More tantrums ensued when Em tried to warm up the meal, but Caden wanted to hold it, wanted it warmed up, wanted to hold it, wanted it warmed up. His food eventually made it to the microwave. I was hiding out in the living room to avoid any more freak outs. My popularity understandably plummeted dramatically after the popsicle fiasco.
For the second time that night, I felt utterly awkward, like a character misplaced in the wrong scene of a movie or an extra piece of furniture that didn’t quite match the decor of Em’s new place. Because of the baby’s rough time and my awkwardness, I postponed talking to Em about anything that night. It would’ve been at least another hour before he could put the baby to sleep, so I decided to hop up from the sofa and make my exit.
“Em…”
Before he could even respond, there was a distinct 16-month-old voice screaming, “Ahhhhhh!” immediately after I spoke. When I came into view over the counter top, I was greeted with arm flailing and more yelling. Perhaps it was Caden’s not so subtle way of validating that I didn’t belong there.
I spoke again over the screaming, “I’m gonna head back.” Em looked kind of startled by the abruptness of my decision to leave.
“You have to work tomorrow?”
I gathered my purse and grabbed the Gatorade out of the refrigerator. “Of course I do. It’s getting late, the baby’s tired, and it looks like you have your hands full. I’ll talk to you later, man.”
I made my way to the door. Em met me at the entrance before I could tell him I would see myself out. Caden looked in my direction as his little hand shot up to wave goodbye as if everything was fine, as if he had not been screaming at me a minute earlier. I waved back as Em hugged me.
I climbed into the driver’s side of the Kia. My hand shifted the gears into reverse. During the drive back to Houston my mind churned over numerous conflicting feelings about Em, the ill-defined parameters of our friendship, and an agenda with the sole desire to sort it all out.
