Baumgartner generations: Janie

“Want me to join you?” His hand moved in my hair, down my back, and I winced away from his touch.

“Why don’t you go take a nap with Catherine?” I snapped.

I felt him stiffen and grow quiet. “It wasn’t what you’re thinking.”

“What?” I rolled over, my arms crossed over my chest. “She’s your wife, after all.

Go ahead. Go sleep in her room.”

“Janie.” His eyes flashed a warning, but I ignored it. “We were just talking.”

“Oh, I didn’t know talking involved putting your tongues together like that,” I spat.

“Is that like the new math?”

He half-laughed. “It was just a friendly kiss.”

“Go ahead.” I waved my hand toward the door. “Go sleep with your wife, if that’s what you want….oh wait, that’s right-she’s a lesbian. She doesn’t like men. Or maybe it’s just you she doesn’t like.” The words were out before I could even think about them.

My mouth was always, always the thing that got me into trouble. I put my nail in my own coffin when I half-sat, my eyes blazing, and asked, “Did you ever wonder if you were the one who turned her?”

Josh looked like I’d hit him. He stood, taking a deep breath, and moving toward the door. I wanted to call out, tell him I was sorry, but something caught in my throat.

“I don’t want to fight with you.” He didn’t turn around, his hand on the doorknob.

“And I definitely don’t want to fight dirty. I’m going to-”

“Why not?” I interrupted him, snarling. “Too good, too rich, to get your hands dirty with the rest of us?”

“Well, Janie, I think you’ve taken full advantage of that fact.” When he looked at me, his eyes were narrowed and dark and full of anger. “You’ve had no problem availing yourself of Catherine’s hospitality-or mine. I’m actually surprised you didn’t choose her instead. She’s the one with all the money.”

I wanted to go after him, but I didn’t. Instead I curled up on the bed, dry-eyed, trying to find a way out of the circles my head was running in until my dad called me down for dinner.

* * * *

“How’s my baby girl?”

“Mom,” I admonished, rinsing the last dinner dish and putting it in the dishwasher.

“I’m not a baby anymore.”

“I know.” She slipped her arms around my waist, kissing my cheek. “But you’ll always be my baby.”

“Does every parent say that?” I rolled my eyes, drying my hands on a dish towel.

“Probably.” She laughed, giving me a squeeze and letting me go. I turned to face her and she searched my eyes with hers, her brow knitting. “Are you okay, Janie? You don’t seem…happy.”

“I’m okay.” I shrugged, leaning back against the counter. “Things are just…complicated.”

“Josh?” she inquired.

“Mom…” I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Will you let me know when you do?”

I shrugged, agreeing just to make her stop. “Okay.”

“I’m here,” she insisted.

“I know.” I cocked my head, listening. The house was quiet-no laughter, no television or music. “Hey, where is everybody?”

“Ronnie and TJ went upstairs to take a nap,” she said, turning to tend to the coffee pot. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother again. I can’t stop touching that sweet belly of hers! Did you see it?”

I wasn’t going to tell her just how many times I’d seen in, and the various positions from which I’d seen it, either. “Mom, you’re not a grandmother. She’s not your daughter.”

“She might as well be.” She turned to stick her tongue out at me. Must be where I got it from.

“Where’s Henry?” I peeked out into the family room-the cabin was huge, with high ceilings, and the living area had a vast fireplace, not that we needed it this time of year-but there was no one in there. “I promised him I’d give him a chance to save face at Scrabble.”

“Out on the lake.” She waved her hand in that direction.

“He seems quiet,” I mused. I knew my little brother well enough to know when something was up. “What’s going on?”

“He’s having trouble at U of M.”

That surprised me. “He is?”

“We got him a tutor-Toni Franklin. Do you remember her?” My mother took a coffee mug out of the cupboard. “We were on the PTA together when you were little.”

“Wow, how is Mrs. Franklin?” I blinked. I remembered her clearly-she and her husband had played bridge together on weekends with my parents. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Divorced.” The coffee was done and she poured it. “She’s got a belly ring and two tattoos.”

“Mrs. Franklin?!” I exclaimed. “Really?” Poor Mr. Franklin. I just remembered him as a tall, balding man with glasses and a goofy laugh.

“Do you want coffee?” she asked, putting sugar in hers.

I shook my head. I didn’t need any caffeine. With Josh next to me at night, I’d slept like a baby.

“So what’s going on with Catherine and Josh?” My mother lifted her cup, looking at me over the rim as she blew on the liquid’s surface.

I glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I overheard them talking.” She shrugged. “Something about a pre-nup?” I swallowed. Had she overheard them at the lake, I wondered? Had she seen them? I contemplated lying, but decided I’d been doing enough of that. It was just getting me into more trouble.