Page 79 of How Lulu Lost Her Mind

I give him the stink eye I’ve inherited from Mom and slide the doors closed so Lindsey’s fear won’t cause her to go into early labor.

Mom and I pose in front of the fireplace, our faces dour like Jed’s and Jasper’s, and almost all the same portraits lining the hall. We play around on the conversation couch; in one pic she holds her hand out like a traffic cop as if to stop the conversation. Then we move near a floor-to-ceiling window and stand within the variegated sunlight. Then, I trade places with Lindsey and snap her in the light, hand on her belly.

“Cup your bump,” I tell her as she poses in front of the fireplace. “The other day, I saw a tiny T-shirt that said ‘Poop Happens’ on it.” Lindsey laughs, her eyes bright with joy. “Do you have baby stuff?”

“I have a few onesies and some socks, but I have time to get the big stuff before he’s born.”

“You get diapers at the birthday party.” Mom smiles. “We should give you a birthday party.”

I’m sure she means baby shower, but what the hell. “That’s a good idea, Mom.”

Lindsey rubs her belly and adds, “I can buy Frankie diapers and everything else he needs.”

“I think Mom’s right.” It’s too bad Lindsey doesn’t have a group of friends or family members to throw her a baby shower. “You need a baby shower.”

“No. We don’t need a big fuss. I mean, it’s not like we…” Lindsey blushes and looks down at her stomach.

“You can’t speak for Frankie. He might want a big piece of cake.”

Lindsey smiles and I snap another picture. “Frankie likes cake.”

“I believe that. You’re huge!”

I ignore Mom. “We’ll need decorations.”

“I’ve never seen anyone as big as you!”

“I’ve never hosted a baby shower, but it can’t be that hard to plan. I’ll look on the internet for ideas.”

“And games,” Mom adds. “A good party has to have games.”

Lindsey sits on the couch next to Mom, and I take a few pictures of them together. “Won’t it just be the three of us? What kind of games?”

“That game with the dots on the floor.” Mom poses with her hands on the side of her face next to the big bow.

“Dots on the floor?” I take several pictures of her looking cheesy.

“You put a hand on one dot and a foot on another.”

“Twister?” Lindsey and I laugh. Mom’s too old, Lindsey’s too pregnant, and I’m too short. Twister isn’t fun when you’re the short kid.

“Don’t invite the Duffys if we’re playing Twister.” Mom shakes her head. “Rex is a hairy bastard and sheds in the baby oil.”

It takes a few heartbeats for that to sink in. Lindsey and I suck in horrified breaths, but Mom is not quite finished.

“What were those people’s names?” Mom’s brows pull together. “They had a girl your age with really crossed eyes.”

“Jodee Pulaski, and her eyes didn’t cross if she wore her glasses.”

“Lovely couple. Not at all hairy.”

“Mom, stop! I don’t need to know any of this.” I remember that family. They’d seemed so normal compared to mine. The children had been involved in Scouts, they’d gone on family vacations to Yellowstone and Disneyland. They went to church every Sunday. I know because I used to go with Jodee to get saved.

“They didn’t want to see Rex’s big hairy—”

“Mom, don’t say it!”

“—back.”