Gerrold and the Cupcakes

“I know what you did! Gerrold! Don’t touch that cupcake!” she exclaimed loudly.

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“I’ll eat it if I feel like it. I’m grown; I will eat what I want. I am not a child; you are not my mother. You can’t stop me, you rotten bitch!”

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“Just the way you talk to me when there are sweets out is ridiculous. Nobody is starving you; there are other things to eat. I don’t put drugs in those things. I don’t understand why you need to ruin dessert for everybody, ruin your goddamn blood sugar…” screamed Cynthia.

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“It never ruins it for me! Still tastes the same with a piece missing, and it’s all going in the same place!” said Arthur.

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“Hey! You're early for once!” he laughed. “See, Cynthia, you’re embarrassing me in front of my best brother now!” His brother’s unexpected arrival at the picnic broke the tension over the cupcakes.

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“I was just bored; I figured I would offer some assistance from the chef!” said Arthur.

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Gerrold exclaimed, “Aww, you just want to show us up in the kitchen… But I don’t mind. Less work, and I know it will come out perfect with you on watch.”

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The three were busy in the kitchen, reminiscing about past family picnics. All the sides were ready, and other guests were arriving. They gathered the meat for the grill and lit it when everyone started talking about dear old mom. She was late, as usual, and the brothers were betting on whether or how drunk she would be when she got there.

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“This topic just isn’t Christian. Remember, it is Easter today. Don’t let the hot weather make you forget Jesus on Easter. Nobody wants to be an alcoholic…”

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“I remember it’s Easter, but will she? After her mouth at Christmas, I was afraid to bring the children, Cynthia,” stated Arthur’s wife, Camile.

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“They have to learn about foul language from somewhere. Children do need some bad examples. One thing, she certainly doesn’t make it seem cool,” Cynthia continued. “Maybe from the way our family is, they will think of drinking as for the elderly. Kids aren’t usually dying to act like their embarrassing grandmother!”

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Camile said, “It affects their idea of what is okay or normal.”

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“Well then we will all just have to talk to her about how we feel when she does that so they know it’s not acceptable,” said Gerrold.

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“There you go again, Gerry. You watch too much damn daytime TV. Let’s not turn this thing into an after-school special. The kids need to grow up. Sometimes people don’t act right; we teach them that isn’t permission for them. Then you let go and let God. These kids are going to do what they do…”

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The children stared at the adults and each other. None of them wanted to be there. The youngest was fourteen, and they were still talking as if “the children” needed things explained. Every grandchild had already had hangovers of their own. This family had a strange habit of group amnesia and feigned innocence toward mom and the children.

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Gerrold, Arthur, and their wives had five children between them. They all felt it was a good number, even though Jackie, the baby, was a mistake. Beside her, each pair had one boy and one girl. Every time the brothers got together, it was a parade of family values, boasting, and platitudes.

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“Mom always was the black sheep,” said Gerrold.

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“Well, it is." She seems to like to be difficult, contrary,” stated Camile.

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“She just wants attention…she’s our drunk little problem child!” added Arthur.

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As the grill sizzled and the salads were arranged on a folding table, all was well. Even the grandkids were helping. It was counting down to chow time, with things finishing up nicely, when the roar of rotten exhaust started to rumble in the background. Momma Thomas was an hour late for the picnic, but right on time for dinner.

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Camile sighed as she got out of the car. She did not hate Momma Thomas or anyone else. She did hate alcohol. She wasn’t sure if she really smelt it in the air or if it was only a suggestion in her mind.

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Momma Thomas exited the car looking much better than her usual unkempt self. She had a few bags besides her purse. “Need a hand, Mom?” asked Arthur.

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“No thanks, Love! Nothing heavy! How is everybody? Am I late again?” She laughed as she handed everyone what was in her bag: books. “Summer reading!” she exclaimed. Everyone received a self-help volume aimed at them, and also the latest best-selling diet fad guide. Even fourteen-year-old Jackie, who did not weigh a pound over 100, only received the assurance that she would “need it eventually.”

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“I just think that Self-Help is the best help, so I wanted to help. Hot dogs and hamburgers again?”

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“We made what we usually made, but Susan made a berry tart. That’s different,” said Gerrold.

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Momma Thomas continued, “Susan, how sweet of you. How old are you now?”

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Susan said, “I am eighteen now, Grandma.” A tight grimace covered Susan’s face. Her cheeks were as tight as a drum. She’d wanted to bring her boyfriend, but Grandma wouldn't let her. Her father said his mother would not understand. She felt like nobody understood, and she needed to do something to cue people into the reality of her age. She never grew past 4’11, and it showed up most in how people treated her. She had a job, boyfriend, and her own car. All of these, she was told, were forbidden topics to family. Weren’t they supposed to be proud that she was succeeding? She was so sick of everyone enabling her grandmother with the perfect family bullshit.

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The rest of the conversation was awkward and uncomfortable. Finally, the food was ready. Eating was a nice reprieve from the terse conversation. Some of the smiles were real when the food was out, because the family sure could cook better than they could communicate.

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The baked beans were amazing. The weather was perfect. Then the wind picked up. Paper plates started blowing around. Darker clouds rolled in. Camile counted four beers down Momma Thomas’ beer-hole. She was behaving all right so far. She must have been sober when she got here, by the grace of God… or perhaps she was broke.

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Afternoon turned into evening. The grandchildren began to get anxious. Then thunder sounded in the distance. Arthur claimed he felt a raindrop. The rumbling started again, and the family took it as a call to action in unison. Each quickly filled their hands with trash or food to bring inside, and leftovers were distributed. Gerrold finally ate two of those cupcakes, and all was well.

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Gerrold and Cynthia calmly and quietly cleaned up and sat down to the 11 o’clock news. They were stressed out, but there were a lot of people having a worse day: city shooting, suburban fire. The politicians' faces looked full of deception and misrepresentation. Life was not too bad for the two of them.

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Gerrold went rummaging around looking for two more cupcakes, found none, but came back with a bowl of macaroni salad.

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