Southern Belles, a Novel About Love, Purpose & Second Chances (9781310340970) (19 page)

“I can’t believe you’re not coming back with
me.” She said sadly, with her big puppy dog eyes looking at me and
her head slanted to the side.

“I know; me too. I wish I could—I’d rather
be there than here.”

“I’ll come back for spring break in March if
not before. If your mom can’t make it to the childbirth classes
before then, call me and I’ll drive back.”

“CeCe, you cannot make that drive for an
hour class.” I said hoping she’d say of course she could. I knew
she’d made some new friends with the Tri-Deltas. I needed
assurance, without telling her so, that I wouldn’t be replaced by
some perfect Barbie-figured fake blond with big boobs and hot pink
lipstick with half a brain.

“But I would walk five hundred miles and I
would walk five hundred more
just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your
door,” she started singing our favorite Proclaimers’ song as she
grabbed my hands and danced silly.

“CeCe I love you. I’m going to miss you so
much. We’ve never been separated for this long—I feel like a
Siamese twin—being surgically removed from your hip.”

“Oh honey. No amount of miles will ever
separate this crazy cool duo—I’ll be back before you know it. I’m
going to miss you t-w-o too.” She said hugging me on the front
steps of my parent’s porch.

“Hey CeCe, I packed you some orange mocha
balls, some lemon shortbread cookies, and a loaf of zucchini bread
to take with you for the trip.” My mother interrupted as she came
out with her hands full of baked goods for CeCe.

“Awe thanks Mrs. B.”

“You drive safely CeCe and don’t stop too
long at those truck stops.” My mother urged. “Call us when you get
there.”

“I will.” She promised, hugging my mom
tightly.

She gave me one more hug and hopped down the
stairs and into her parent’s SUV. As she started to pull away, she
stopped and rolled down the passenger side window. “Don’t forget me
while I’m gone.”

“I promise as long as you promise not to
replace me with some plastic-looking girl pretending to be human.”
I smiled partially restricting my grin.

“We don’t play with Barbie’s anymore.” CeCe
said sarcastically whipping out a full-fledged smile. “I love you
Charlotte Renee Buchanan and Lucy Grace—the cutest baby ever.” She
yelled out the window before taking off.

I blew her two quick kisses and smiled,
feeling a bit sad to see her taillights heading for the road. I
felt an arm gently wrap around my shoulder and then my mother’s
hair tickle my cheek as she kissed the side of my head. I should
have been happy for her but I couldn’t even imagine being without
her for the next two months. My mother’s comfort came, as usual, at
the perfect time.

“Richie’s almost done washing the dishes.
Let’s say we make some cappuccino’s—decaf for you, and watch a good
girly movie?”

“I saw Sleepless in Seattle is coming on at
eight tonight and I picked up some Twizzler’s.” She said trying to
lull me out of my moment of self-pity.

“Okay, sounds good. I’m a bit tired—I think
my feet are swollen from being on em all day. Stretching out on the
couch sounds good.” I said as we headed in together.

Chapter 12: Southern Women and their
Tea

I
awoke to tiny jabs in my side. It had been eight weeks since I
watched CeCe’s headlights disappear out of the driveway. I missed
being with her every day. We phoned each other at least twice a
week to catch up on life and gossip. Home life hadn’t changed much
though. My father was still giving me the silent treatment except
when my mother gently forced him to talk with me at times—like at
dinner when she pretended not to hear his requests to pass the
dumplings and I was the next closet person to them. Lucy was
starting to grow quickly and enormously. My little bump turned into
a cantaloupe-sized lump. The tiny bubbles I felt, when she moved,
turned into soccer-ball punts into my ribs and anywhere else she
felt like visiting with her powerful little kickers.

My mother took me shopping and bought me
several pairs of maternity overalls. I read in a magazine that you
could keep wearing your regular jeans by using a rubber band and
tying it through the button hole and fastening it all together by
looping the rest of the rubber band around the button. I was so
excited that I could actually wear most of my jeans by doing this
instead of wearing the huge, goofy-looking maternity jeans. Having
comfortable and stylish clothes made working at the diner a lot
more bearable when I saw people I knew. My belly was somewhat
noticeable depending on what I wore. Some clothing was more
concealing like my regular jeans paired with a big hoodie.

During this time, my mother and I went to
the local college and I signed up for two classes. The classes
would be over by the time Lucy was born and they were general
requirements that I would’ve taken at the University of Georgia
anyway. I felt a little better about myself taking some classes.
Dropping out of college didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t want to
be the stereotypical knocked up girl—looking to everyone else to
pay her ride. I was determined to keep going to school and finish,
even if it took twice as long. I, also, didn’t want to feel any
more judged than I already felt by the stares at the diner and at
church—even by CeCe’s mother, Beverly. I had caught her looking
down at my belly, from across the aisle, during mass. Her face was
scowling and she whispered something to James while shaking her
head. I wasn’t surprised. She would have acted the same way with
CeCe if it were her. I didn’t tell CeCe about it during our weekly
phone calls or she would have called her mother and busted me out.
I was just happy that my mother even though disappointed with some
of my choices, was supportive and loved me especially during the
times I doubted my self-worth and potential. I knew CeCe would’ve
had it worse than I if she were pregnant.

I put my hand on my belly and waited for any
movement. A minute passed by and she remained still. She must have
kicked herself into a comfortable position and went back to
sleep—now that I was wide awake and it was only six thirty in the
morning and I didn’t have work or school. I figured this was what
the next 10 years would hold; early morning rise’s with a busy
baby, toddler and school-aged-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn kid. I needed
to get use to not sleeping, I guessed, and invest heavily in
coffee. I turned onto my side and propped a pillow under my belly
and one behind my back to get comfortable again. The bed creaked as
I heaved myself onto my side.

“Char, are you awake?” I heard my mother
whisper quietly into my room from the doorway.

“Not by choice. Lucy was playing the World
Cup this morning, in her bedroom.” I said, yawning.

“You’re so funny. You use to do the same
thing to me when I was pregnant with you. I was sure my insides
were black and blue from you and your brothers kicking the heck out
of me.”

“Did you ever pee your pants?” I asked
laughing.

“Only a few times.” She smiled while
reaching out to rub my belly.

“Really? That’s terrible.” I scrunched my
nose, thinking about peeing my pants.

“No, not really; I did leak a little,
though. Every pregnant woman leaks a little. Your bladder’s like a
sponge being rung out every time the baby kicks or moves just the
right way.”

“Ouch—ugh.” I wrinkled my nose again.

“Just wait till childbirth—everything comes
out then.”

“What? What do you mean everything?” I
questioned.

“Pee, poop, baby. All that good stuff.”

“That’s so embarrassing mom.”

“When you get to that point you really don’t
care—you just want that baby out as fast as possible. Besides,
those doctors have seen it all. They don’t care.”

“Oh gravy.” I said, thinking about all the
doctors standing there waiting to catch a baby with a mud slide,
feeling even more grossed out and embarrassed after hearing
that.

“You’ll be fine when you get to that point.
Anyway…I spoke with Aunt Juanita last night and she’s home from
Paris.”

“Oh she is? I would love to see her. Is she
coming over?”

“No, but she did ask if you and I and Evi
wanted to come visit her this weekend.” My mother said with a tinge
of excitement in her voice.

“I’d love to. I have to work Sunday night
but maybe I can switch with someone else and then we don’t have to
rush back.” I said, mentally trying to figure out who I could call
to switch my shift with.

“Okay, I’ll go make some breakfast and then
we can leave. If you can’t find someone to switch with then we’ll
just come back a little early,” she said, kissing the top of my
head before heading downstairs to make some coffee and a quick bite
before we left.

“Okay.”

Looking at me through the rearview mirror an
hour later, my mother said, “I’m so glad you were able to find
someone to switch with you. Aunt Juanita will be so excited to see
you.”

“I know; I’m excited to see her too. At
least she won’t give me the silent treatment like her brother.” I
said, looking back at her in the mirror.

“Charlotte Renee your father will get over
it. All southern men are stubborn but eventually they come around.
Your father loves you very much.” She said somewhat defending my
father.

Pulling up to the cottage a little bit
later, I was ecstatic to see Aunt Juanita. I hadn’t seen her since
Christmas and now that everyone knew about the baby she would want
to talk with me. I was the closest to Aunt Juanita out of all the
nieces and nephews. Besides Rosie and Richie—we were both the artsy
free-spirited ones in the family who chose to do things that didn’t
include farming or being a homemaker. Aunt Juanita went to art
school while most women, her age graduating from high school, were
getting married or having babies. Those who did pursue college were
heavily persuaded to choose feminine careers like teaching and
nursing for a few years, before leaving the workforce for the child
birthing and child rearing days. The black sheep of her family—
Aunt Juanita back-packed all over Europe on her own after college,
painting beautiful landscapes of sun-drenched French vineyards,
Tuscan hillside sunsets, and white and blue Grecian villas
overlooking the moonlit Aegean Sea. Aunt Juanita never married and
had no children but would whisper to me that if she did have
children she would want a daughter like me—I hoped she still felt
that way. At Christmas, I was always excited to see what she had
for me. Whether it was something she picked up from many of her
world travels or something handcrafted by her; it was sure to be
great. My room at home was adorned with several pieces of her art
and exotic trinkets from places like India and Mozambique. I had
long admired Aunt Juanita for her boldness to go after the things
she wanted in life and hoped to make my own journey, one day, as
fascinating as the stories she brought back from faraway
places.

Aunt Juanita’s cottage was a small haven all
by itself. As a kid, we would visit her in the summertime when my
mom needed to get off the farm for a few days. Richie and I, the
youngest, usually got to go with her for some R&R. Her cottage,
nestled in a mix of magnolia and weeping willow trees, was only a
two minute walk to a lake perfect for swimming and fishing. Though
the outdoors was a wonderland for our adventuresome spirits, the
inside of the cottage was an inviting, cozy, country home. It was
filled with Aunt Juanita’s paintings and world market finds. A
small white picket fence hugged the front edge of her property. Her
home reminded me of a Thomas Kinkade painting—a small piece of
solace beautifully isolated in the Georgia countryside.

“What took you ladies so long to get here?”
Aunt Juanita said as she greeted us at the car.

“We had to stop a few times for bathroom
breaks.” My mother said as she dropped her bags to hug Aunt
Juanita.

“Was that for Evi or my favorite niece with
the watermelon squishing her bladder?” She said laughing.

“Hi, Aunt Juanita; it was for both of us.” I
smiled as I hugged her back.

“Now stand back a moment so I can see your
belly. I hear you’re having a little girl—that’s wonderful.” Aunt
Juanita said as she rubbed my perfectly-sized cantaloupe.

“Yes, this is Lucy Grace.” I said, pointing
to my belly.

“Well Lucy Grace, this is your Aunt
Juanita—I’m going to be your favorite Aunt.” She said with her deep
southern tone as she kissed my belly. “How are you Char?” She asked
as she took mine and Evi’s bags up the porch stairs.

“I’m okay. I’m going to the local community
college now; it’s not Athens but its okay for now.”

“Juanita, I’m going to get momma settled in.
I have to take her to the bathroom. Will you pour us a glass of ice
tea? We’ll be out in a few minutes.” My mother said as she walked
towards the bathroom with Grandma Evi.

“Sure will.” Juanita said taking the bags
back to the guest room, where my mom and Evi would stay. “Char,
honey, will you get some cups down from the cabinet? I’ll be right
back.”

I pulled down three glasses for us from her
cabinet and found the ice tea in the fridge.

“There’s a pitcher of sweet tea in the
fridge.” Aunt Juanita said. “And plenty of ice in the freezer”.

“Thanks Aunt Juanita.”

“So, how’s that daddy of yours?” She asked,
looking at me seriously from behind her bifocals.

“Well…”

“Still stubborn?”

“Yeah. He’s barely spoken to me since he
found out I was pregnant. Momma disappears or pretends not to hear
him sometimes when he needs something so he has to ask me for help.
She’s been trying to get him to talk to me but he just doesn’t seem
to care.” I said, sipping my ice tea.

“Your daddy loves you. He’s just mad that
someone ran off with your jewels. Dads don’t want to think about
any boy messing with their little girl. He still sees you as his
little girl with your big dimples and curly pigtails, sweet and
innocent.”