Page 87 of A Really Bad Idea

“I know Meadow’s, too. You’re synced!” Mom sways a hand in the air as she comes around the island.

“Oh dear God,” Beth says, clutching her chest in mortification.

“You’re insane,” I say to my mother as Beth and I move to the side when she steps up to the stove.

She grabs the wooden spoon off the counter and gives the sauce a stir. “Don’t be so prude, Meadow. You’ll be ripe in about two weeks. Maybe that new man you’re seeing will slip in the bedroom. In my day, women used to poke a hole in their diaphragm.”

“Mother!”

“New man?” Beth turns toward me. Her face has gone from mortified to surprised.

Mom lifts the spoon and has a taste. “Meadow’s seeing someone,” she explains to Beth. “And you need more garlic.”

“Thanks,” Beth responds halfheartedly and then looks back at me with a wide smile. “Tell me about this new man you’re seeing, Meadow.”

Mom takes it upon herself to open the cabinet and take out the garlic powder, adding it to the sauce. Beth is looking at her like someone has destroyed her artistic masterpiece.

Mom doesn’t seem to notice or care. “Don’t ask this one anything about her love life. She’s zip-lipped. Just make sure you have on clean underwear, honey, and don’t wear the lavender eye shadow. Wear pink. It’s softer, and it makes you look romantic.”

“I like this eye shadow.” I put a hand to my brow, protective of my favorite MAC color.

“You know there’s no problem with …” Mom’s words trail off for a moment as she takes a deep breath in. Her eyes widen for a moment, as if the wind was knocked out of her. She regains her composure when the episode passes. “Excuse me. As I was saying, there’s no problem with trying to look your best for a man. Isn’t that right, George?” She motions toward my dad, who is walking into the room with Aiden on his back.

“Whatever your mother says, I agree with her.” Dad chuckles. His gray hair stays in place despite how Aiden has his hands wrapped around the top of his head. “You hear that, buddy? Always agree with women, and you’ll live a happy life.”

“Unless Mom says to eat your spinach.” Aiden makes a mock vomit face and shakes his shoulders in disgust. “I will never agree to that!”

“I was just telling Meadow to wear pink eye shadow on her date with her new boyfriend,” Mom explains with a hand on the side of her rib cage.

Dad’s grin widens. “You have a boyfriend?”

“No. I’m not seeing anyone.” I’m adamant and about to continue when I see my mom doing that breathing thing again. “Are you okay?”

She waves me off. “I’m fine. Just been having flutters.”

“Heart palpitations for someone with a history of arrhythmia is a serious thing.”

Dad lowers Aiden on the floor. “She’s been getting them the last three days. Last night, she complained of leg pain but said it passed.”

Her breaths are deep, and she appears to be gripping her side like she’s trying to push pain away. “It’ll pass. It always does.”

“Always does?” I’m momentarily flummoxed. “You’re in pain. That’s more than arrhythmia. Mom, you can’t ignore that,” I state.

“It’s fine. I put on a few pounds from being housebound. I’m out of shape these days.” There’s a flinch to her eyes as she speaks. Even she knows she’s full of shit.

I look at my mom’s face. She looks the same as she always has. Her skin is clear, her makeup is flawless, and her hair is as impeccable as expected. I look down at her shirt and realize she looks a little rounder around the middle. Not a lot, but it makes sense why she’s wearing sweat clothes. I kneel and pick up her pant leg to look at her ankles.

“How long have you had this swelling?” I ask.

“Please don’t make a fuss about my body like that. I ate Chinese food again last night,” she says.

I stand up and look at her with a scold. “Mom, you’re wearing clogs. You never wear clogs. When were you going to tell someone about this?”

Dad and Beth are staring at her, too, looking accusatory and worried. Aiden sits on the counter-height stool and grabs an apple, looking at us without a care in the world about what we’re talking about.

When Dad takes a step forward toward Mom, he gives her a small plea, “Nightingale.” That’s his nickname for her. He hardly ever uses it in front of us.

She looks up into his softened gaze and gives in. “I called Thomas this morning. I have an appointment to see him tomorrow.”