Charles Helps His Mother Feel Pleasure Again Chapter 8 Fix
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My father, Charles Sr, is an old-fashioned, high-strung Type A personality workaholic and likely alcoholic! (Our liquor cabinet has many different brand names inside it.)
He has slowly gone from working late one night a week, to three and now practically every night. He doesn’t get home until sometimes, two in the morning when he does get home. He’s the general manager of a financial service’s corporation with a regional office in downtown Columbus. I’ve never been there, but I assume he has a couch, like those guys in MAD MEN!
Because of the worldwide markets, he’s always there or on the phone or on his computer. He gets home for dinner ... maybe once or twice a week; and on Stock Market holidays. The US Stock Market isn’t the only one, thus keeping him up very late.
I hardly see him anymore because of our conflicting schedules. When he does get home for dinner, it’s interesting to watch him eat, have a very few conversations with Mom, and acknowledges my existence on occasion.
He was very hands-on when my older brother Steven and twin sisters Sally and Sarah were my age growing up.
However, my sisters are six years older than me, and have moved out to live together, although they show up for meals every now and then, usually without calling first. I certainly don’t mind, they are kind of cute, but in a sisterly way.
Steven is a full nine years my elder. He tried working with Dad for a year, but apparently couldn’t cut muster to Charles Sr. standard.
Nowadays, I see my mother a lot more than I see my father, but we’re still a ‘nuclear family’ as the expression goes. It’s just that some days are more nuclear than others.
I recently asked my mom, “Excuse me for saying such a thing, but since dad is gone for days and evenings, could he be stepping out on you?”
“Charles are you suggesting that your own father is having an affair?” she restated in amazement.
“I guess I am, I’m sorry, Mom ... Never mind!”
“Actually, when he started being gone for more than two days, I was worried about that. So much so that I hired a private detective to follow him.”
I hesitated to ask this, but she seemed in the right frame of mind, “And what did the private dick find out?”
“That he worked until midnight, and then checked into a hotel less than a block from work.”
“No women, or men, were seen going in or out of his room.”
“Then, he got up at 5AM and went back to work. Your father, while not stepping out on me, is a grade A workaholic.”
Funny how she used the same words I had thought of?
“The private dick, as you called him so eloquently, also saw him stopping at a liquor store, where he bought three bottles of vodka and two bottles of scotch whiskey! It’s not here!”
“Despite all of that, he’s a decent man and a fantastic provider, Charles,” she said with tears now streaming down her face.
“I know you don’t think much of him, but he has been a respectable man. I must admit that we haven’t been intimate for over a year?”
“Whoa ... Mom, that’s way too much information!” I blushed.
“I’m just trying to explain that I have been a little tense because I have been without the love of a man for a while now.”
“I even gave thought to finding someone to alleviate that particular problem, but I haven’t had the guts to do anything about it.”
I got up, and went over to her, and gave her a hug, “I am so sorry Mom, I never imagined in a million years everything you just explained to me.”
“Since you have been so forthcoming, I need to tell you something.”
“Go ahead, Charles!”
“I’m pretty sure that I am in love with Claire. My problem is I am only 12 years old so there’s not much I can do about it.”
“Have you told her how you feel?”
“That’s difficult to do. I am trying to come to grips with these new feelings that are washing over me like a soothing waterfall.”
She said, “This would not be a good thing to talk to Brian with, so if you need some counseling about this, just let me know, OK honey?”
“Thanks mom, you’re the best! I love you, Antoinette!”
Charles Sr. doesn’t go to functions like this BBQ very much, but Mom snagged him with the old chestnut, “He’s growing up right before your very eyes.”
So, we got out the Land Rover and piled our gang, including Sally and Sarah into it and went over to pick up Brian’s mini-brood of his mother and older sibling, Karen. (His father, Jeffrey Fleming, died when my best friend was only five years old).
With my father in the car, there was a silent prayer before we left for Claire’s home. How ironic!
Claire’s father, Daniel was preparing to start cooking as my dad walked up to him and introduced himself, and my mother.
Mom quickly scooted off to talk to Sarah. They immediately went into the kitchen to talk and probably conspire about something.
Susan’s parents, Steven and Esther Williams, walked up to Daniel and introduced themselves, and they split off to chat with the other moms and dads.
I met Susan’s 18-year-old sister, Marie for the first time. Just as pretty as Susan, with even longer blonde hair she wore down. I kissed her hand, while Brian was keeping a good hold of Susan.
Lastly, Brian’s mother, Shirley Fleming, went up to and introduced herself to the McArthurs and Williams.
In front of Brian and Claire, Karen gave me a kiss on the cheek, and went to find others her age. Brian gave me a smarmy look while Claire gave me a soft love tap on the back of my head.
I noticed that the dance floor was back up again. I nodded to Claire and she saw it as well and smiled, “At least we won’t be dancing alone this time. We have our parents who grew up with this music and the corresponding dances.”
“Yeah, Beautiful, but I wouldn’t put it past your father or mother to expect us to start the afternoon’s festivities. By the way, Claire, what is scheduled besides eating and dancing — any Reindeer games today?”
After giggling, she responded, “If there is, I couldn’t find out. Mom and Dad have been suspiciously quiet about the subject, so that makes me think that something is definitely planned,” Claire said with one of her dimpled smiles.
“Maybe the First Annual McArthur-Newman-Williams-Fleming BBQ,” I said mischievously.
“That banner would cost a fortune,” Claire said giving me a kiss on the cheek.
Brian and Susan came up to us, and we all spent some time just shooting the breeze until a whistle permeated the relative quiet.
Mrs. McArthur had been the whistler and said to us all, “Food’s ready — Come and Get it!”
All of us kids got in line first. Little Kalista went in front of me. I leaned over and asked her what she wanted to eat. She told me, and I told her that I would order for her if she would like me to.
Her big beautiful dimpled smile was my answer.
Brian and Susan were right behind us, and I said quietly to Claire, “You had better behave today, no kissing all right — at least not in front of all of these adults.”
“I don’t know, X. Sometimes, when I’m near you, something just ... washes over me, you know?” she stated.
“Well, Claire. Fight the impulse. I would like to survive today, OK?”
“Of course, X,” she said. She is so cute. Her hair was down and loose and she had on an outfit similar to the previous BBQ. She is even prettier with her hair down past her shoulders. She wears it all up on her head at the Cotillions, making her appear older.
I asked her, “Do you want the same things you had last BBQ, food wise?”
She looked at me with those pretty brown eyes and said, “Yes. I want everything to be just like the last BBQ.” She was behind me, holding on to my belt loop. That seems to be our thing.
I knew what was coming, but I turned, so it was on my cheek. Brian and Susan noticed and were probably listening to us, and they both chuckled together.
“Are you trying to get yourselves grounded?” Susan said to her BFF.
Claire used her finger to wipe the gloss off my cheek.
Kalista snuck back in the line just in front of me, “Hello again, Charles. I would like a piece of chicken, some regular chips and an ice-cold can of Coca-Cola, please?”
For these BBQs, they even get those hard-cardboard gray carriers that has a corner molded to hold a drink with room for the sandwich and chips, so I handed it carefully to the eight-year-old. She giggled and joined the other younger kids. Most were redheads, a few were younger than Special K.
“Claire will have a cheeseburger, chips and a Diet Pepsi, and I will have a double hamburger no cheese, chips and a Diet Pepsi, please?”
Remembering from last week, her dad offered, “Oh, she’s got you drinking Diet Pepsi already? Why no cheese this week, Charles?”
“It gives me a bit of ... bad breath, Sir,” I answered, blushing a bit.
“You sound like a very considerate young man. Don’t let CC break you too quickly?”
“Daddy, you leave Charles alone, please?”
“When she stops giggling, Charles — that’s the time to be worried. Very, very worried,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
After the food had been served and eaten, Mrs. McArthur got up and announced the following:
“Since just last weekend was our Annual Family BBQ, today we intend to have only a couple of games. We have, Spoon Egg Carry, Pass the Fruit, Sack Races, and Egg Toss for distance. All of these are completely voluntary.”
I turned to Claire and asked, “What’s Pass the Fruit?”
“A person takes an orange and puts it under their chin. The next person must get it from them and put it under their own chin, all without using their hands. Want to play it together when it’s time, Charles?” Claire suggested, suggestively.
“Sounds like a lot of fun, CC.”
Mrs. McArthur spoke again, “Anybody who wants to play Spoon Egg Carry, come on up.”
All four of us did. You would think it would be easy to carry a raw egg in a spoon. Try it, hopping on one foot while tied to another person, and you are both blindfolded. What a mess!
Surprisingly, Susan’s parents won with Claire’s parents in second and my parents, of all people, in third place.
It must be an adult thing or a married couple thing.
While things stopped for a moment to clean up and such, Claire and I went into the living room and practiced the Foxtrot steps we learned the previous Tuesday night at my house.
Nobody missed us; things were quieting down for a while. I am glad Claire and I went through the steps. We were both a little rusty. We heard an announcement for Pass the Fruit, so we ran back outside to join in on that.
Mrs. McArthur was about to hand us an orange, when she thought out loud, “Maybe, the youngest shouldn’t play this. There is a lot of ... close physical contact.”
While the adults’ sort of smirked at this remark, all the kids rebelled and were saying, “That’s not fair!”
Mrs. McArthur apparently didn’t realize the way to get kids motivated, was to tell them they couldn’t do something.
Claire said, “Come on Mom, it’s going to be fun. Let us play, please?”
“Mrs. McArthur, you can trust both Brien and I, always,” I said, standing and proudly raising my right arm to the square and invoked the three-fingered Scout Salute:
Trisha
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