[...just call me Geraldine...]
She kicked the door shut with her heel, plopped the groceries down on the table and checked the machine. A message!
"Hey, Rach, I'm calling to remind you the party starts at one, and it's this Saturday. Don't be late. Come early if you can; I need help with the balloons. Or—" BEEEEP. Message erased. So satisfying.
The minute, the minute Kathy produced the first grandchild, she acted like she was queen of the damned world. Rachel had once admitted on a first (and last) date that she'd gladly accept Dick Cheney as her dad if it meant she could trade Kathy for Mary. Who wouldn't? Kathy lorded that kid over her every holiday, every family get-together, and their parents just ate it up with a spoon.
Naturally, she had a boy.
She picked up the phone. "Celeste, hey, it's Rachel. Listen, I need some advice. What do you get a 13-year-old for a birthday present these days?...No, he's a boy. Make-up won't work...I wish! Video games?...Or sports?
"I don't know, regular boy stuff I suppose. I don't spend a lot of time with him...Yeah, it's my older sister's kid...No, I'd say he's spoiled. I mean—
"Sports jerseys?...I can get those online, right?...Okay, let me write this down. Grand Theft Auto. Jersey. Maxim; what's that?...I don't think he reads much...Oh, really? Ha-ha, sounds perfect. My sister would die...Axe.
"Thanks, Cece. You going to Katie's Friday?...Okay, I'll see you there...Of course! I've gotta have some fun this weekend...Okay. Bye!"
Done. MLB.com for one Barry Bonds jersey, and a quick dash into Long's on her way to work for some Axe deodorant bodyspray. Damien should love it, and the idea of Kathy gagging on a miasma of Axe every school morning made Rachel smile with devilish delight. Yes. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.