In Too Deep

Chapter Two

I walked home at a turtle’s pace. Not wanting to really wanting to get home. It was Mommy number two’s turn to cook dinner and she always got so flustered. She likes to bang around the kitchen with pots and pans and measuring cups until I wander in and take over. They might as well just assign me kitchen duty on days when my biological mother works late. It would save a lot of trouble and a lot of Tylenol.

Cars honked at as I trudged on towards home. I could take the bus like all the babies, but I really did not want to suffer through that torture anymore. It wasn’t so bad at my old school. The bus was my haven. I spent the fifteen minute ride being the life of the bus, being a complete cut up with my bus bud. I had many a tear filled days on that bus, and the good kind of tears too, not the sad kind. But unfortunately all that changed when my moms decided we needed to move into a bigger house because of the baby.

How is that possible? Any sane normal person may wonder, well my mothers had a long talk about which one should be the woman and carry the baby and which sperm donor they wanted to choose. They finally decided that my other mother would carry it. Since she didn’t have a kid already and all. Fortunately for me I was subjected to hear both conversations due to the fact that they have an “open relationship” with me and “can tell me anything”. Which means I am faced with horrors like those on the daily basis.

Speaking of horrors, when I finally make it home I am greeted by Evangeline. Her round belly causes her to wobble instead of walk now ‘a days. So it was more like she wobbled up to the door to let me in, because you guessed it. I forgot my house key. She didn’t seem to be in that great of a mood which did not surprise me in the least. “You’re later than normal. Refuse to take the bus again?”

“How was your day, dear? Fantastic. Did you learn anything new today? Oh, that’s great. I’m so proud of you,” I replied raising my voice an octave to match hers.

“Sorry, I’m not good at this parenting a teenager thing and the baby has made me miserable all day. I’ve peed your body weight twice today.”

I grimaced at her unpleasant imagery. “When are you going to have the baby already? When it’s old enough to start pre-school?”

Her lip trembled. “Don’t refer to your sibling as an “it,” you know I don’t like it.”

I wiped my hand down my face in order to keep the frustration I felt out of my expression. “What am I supposed to say? You are the one who insists on keeping the sex a surprise.”

“If Liv did it with you I can do it with this baby!”

“You’re right, E, now what do you want me to help you with?”

“I’m supposed to be making,” her eyes slid down to the print out on the counter, “Spinach and Mushroom Stuffed Chicken Breasts.”

“Did Liv print this off for you this morning before work?” I questioned side stepping to get a better look at the recipe.

“You shouldn’t call your mother Liv,” she scolded, changing the subject.

What was I supposed to call her? Mom number one? Definitely not in front of the crazy hormonal pregnant woman standing near the butcher block.

“Did she?”

She ducked her head down a bit and kept her eyes on the paper. “Yeah..”

I could tell she had no clue what she was doing. Being raised by a father who was a Coal Miner was the same as raising yourself. She was pretty much alone all the time except for when she was sleeping. There was no one around during the day to teach her how to cook. So I couldn’t really fault her for her lack of culinary skills. Not everyone has had the benefit of having an ex five star chef as a mother.

“Don’t worry I’ll take care of it. You can just be my assistant,” I said over my shoulder already getting to work.

I liked cooking almost as much as drawing. In a way it was the same, just a different medium to create art with. It calmed me down and helped me clear my head more efficiently than drawing seemed to though. So in a way I guess you could say it was more therapeutic for me. But then I should be worried that you are some overpaid shrink.

I glanced at the recipe one more time.

..Transfer to a medium-mixing bowl. Place a nonstick skillet over moderate heat. When skillet is hot, add butter, mushrooms, garlic and shallot. Season with salt and pepper and sauté 5 minutes.. *

I followed the recipe to a t and 35 minutes later, with Evangeline’s help, I served one of my best dishes yet. My mother arrived right when I put the last serving dish on the very expensive black mahogany dining table my mother just had to have. It simply would not do to serve fancy meals on some Walmart special.

“This smells great, Turtle,” my mother said scooping out sides onto her plate.

I smiled at the nickname she had been calling me since I was en utero. She knew that Evangeline hadn’t been the master chef behind the meal, that yours truly was chiefly responsible, and was proud of me. I loved making her proud. The quickest and most sure fire way was to make a meal up to her standards. Which meant Evangeline was out of the competition – easy mac and chicken nuggets did not cut it.

“I helped you know,” E piped up.

“I’m sure you did,” Mom said with a wink. “Now, Turtle, say grace for this lovely meal you and E prepared.”

Yep, you heard right. Even though my mother has lived a dreadfully sinful life in the eyes of most Christian’s, she is still relatively religious. Grammy and Gramps were not the overbearing bible beater type so most of their views stuck with Mom all these years. She knew her place with God and didn’t let anyone else tell her otherwise. I always admired her for that.

I bowed my head and blessed the food as I have every meal since I became the “lil’ man of the house.” Forks scraped across plates and moans escaped from mouths. I had out done myself again. There was silence for a full ten minutes in which we all just enjoyed the delicious recipe before chatter started up again.

“So, Liv, I was thinking since we are in our second trimester that we could come up with a nickname for the baby. Something besides ‘it.’” I hated how she acted like both of them were pregnant.

My mother looked at me. “Sebastian Blake, did you call the baby an “it” again?”

Not the full name.

Anything but the full name.

I’d rather her call me the worst, most vile word in the book.

Because as far as I was concerned the full name was the ugliest name to be called.

I hated how my mother could go from calling me Turtle, a loving nickname, to Sebastian Blake, the ugliest name, like it was no big deal.

Well it was actually a huge deal.

I couldn’t stand being called my first name.

It was handed down to me by my absentee father. Sure he was a great boyfriend to my mother and a great spouse for about two seconds, but that didn’t give him the title of Daddy of the year.

Or even Dad.

Period.

I speared a piece of sautéed mushroom with my fork and shrugged. “What else am I supposed to call it? Oops.”

Mom gave me a warning look. And E just looked, well, hurt. I couldn’t help it though. What else was I supposed to call the thing.

“E, I think we should call the baby an animal name, like Sebastian and I did with Blake,” mom suggested in an attempt to calm down Evangeline.

E wrinkled her nose a bit. She hated the mention of my father almost as much as I did. And it wasn’t a jealousy thing like I thought at first; it was because of the way things played out after the divorce. She thought for a moment before replying. “What about Lizard?”

Mom mulled it over with a drink of wine; she had with every diner. It was a chef thing. “I was thinking more along the lines of an insect seeing as how we already have one reptile.”

I could tell by the look on her face Evangeline was disappointed. She was worried that Mom wouldn’t love the new baby as much as me; so reserving reptiles for yours truly did not help put her at ease. “Insect.. insect..” she thought aloud.

As much as I hated participating in this charade, I thought of the perfect nickname for little to-be-named.

Bumble Bee.

I most certainly did not get the idea from transformers.

Okay, maybe I did. But can you blame me? That is like the best movie ever.

“What about Bumble Bee? Before too long the baby will be buzzing around in there ready to come out.”

It was slightly creepy how in tune my moms were because they both looked at each other and then at me with identical cheek splitting grins.

“That’s perfect, Turtle!” My mother said still grinning like a fool.

E took in Mom’s excitement and was reassured, if only for the moment, that Mom cared about this baby too. “That’s really good, Blake.”

“I can’t help that I’m so amazing. I guess I was just born that way,” I said dramatically. Earning snickers from both of my mommies.

“Look at what a modest son you have raised, Liv. Let’s hope Bumble Bee turns out just like him,” Evangeline said cracking a half-joking half-serious smile.

“Thanks, E, but if Bumble Bee turns out anything like me, you’ll run screaming.”

“It’s true,” Mom chimed with a playful smile.

“So is no one going to ask about my classes? You all are terrible mothers!” I joked taking a drink.

“What about them, turtle?” Mom asked confusion clear in her tone.

I shook my head and gave a little half smile of sorts. Like it didn’t matter. Of course she wouldn’t remember. It wasn’t important anyway. Her only son, as far as we know, just started his last second semester ever. No big deal. It wasn’t like it was his first day of college anyway.

Oh, great. There I went, talking in third person again.

Reason six hundred and thirty three why I didn’t want the new baby to come. It was making me crazy, already.

Now don’t get me wrong, sometimes I did get excited about BB’s arrival, some days, but other days it makes me realize I won’t be my mother’s only child anymore and that bums me out. Big time.

But instead of sharing my feelings like a good boy I got up scraping my chair and gave some lame excuse about having to study and went to my room. Despite my mother’s many protests.

I knew leaving like that would ruin her evening.

Or maybe not.

Maybe she’d go on talking about the name I gave her new baby.

I didn’t really care either way.

I was too busy being emo and listening to Maroon 5.

I’m sorry, did I say emo?

I meant gay.

Emo is offensive.