Playing House--Chapter Four

Photo by Hannah Murrell on Unsplash

Every Sunday Ginny went to her parent’s house to do her laundry and visit. It had been a rough couple of years in the Cotton family. Her parents had lost their house in the suburbs when her dad’s construction business went under and they had to file bankruptcy. Around the same time, Grandpa Cotton died suddenly of a stroke, leaving Grandma Cotton, who had never learned to drive, on her own, four miles from the nearest store. Instead of moving Grandma out, Ginny’s parents had moved in. Her dad worked on the farm and spent his free time making decorative hand-carved pet urns. Her mom taught eighth grade science.

There was a dozen head of cattle on the ten- acre farm, and a garden that in a couple of months would be overflowing with tomatoes and zucchini, especially zucchini. Grandma Cotton compared planting zucchini to raising rabbits, which she'd done once, years ago. In the summer months, no one could leave Grandma Cotton's place without a couple of zucchini under their arm, or shoved into their purse when they weren’t looking. The front yard was green and well-tended, perfect for Cotton family gatherings. The biggest party of the year was in late July, on Grandma Cotton’s birthday. Virginia Cotton had married at eighteen and had seven children, one girl, and six boys. She was now grandmother to eighteen and great-grandmother to three.

The clouds had been thick this morning but were burning off. Ginny saw that the cover was off her dad's motorcycle. This was not a good thing. The mere sight of the bike, which Walt had owned for a long time but rarely rode, was enough to put Ginny's mother in one of her moods. Janelle had made worrying into an art form. Though she was quite sensible in most ways, Janelle could name several instances in which something she'd dreamt about had happened. She firmly believed that certain dreams, usually the bad ones, were premonitions. Walt, she believed, would die in a motorcycle accident. The dream in which this horrible event happened had Chuck Norris in it. Walt's motorcycle flipped end over end and landed in a pond full of croaking frogs. Chuck stood at the edge of the pond, holding a fishing pole with a whale on the hook. Janelle had interpreted the croaking as a sure sign that Walt had died. Ginny didn't put a lot of stock in her mother's belief that dreams could predict the future.

Ginny dropped her laundry inside the front door and followed the smell of peaches to the kitchen, where she found her grandma dropping spoonfuls of crunchy topping onto a peach cobbler.

“How can you do this to me? I’m going to gain weight just from smelling your peach cobbler.”

Grandma Cotton, a tiny woman with a big personality, was not one to hold back an opinion. “You’ve been dieting for too long.”

“It's not a diet. It's a lifestyle change.”

Grandma Cotton raised an eyebrow at Ginny as she put the cobbler in the oven. “Have you met anyone interesting on the dating site?” 

Ginny’s mother came into the kitchen before Ginny could answer. “You’re not still computer dating are you?”

“You make it sound as if she’s dating a computer,” Grandma Cotton said.

“For all we know, she could be. How can she possibly know if those men are who they say they are? Remember what happened to Bryn and that guy who turned out to be married?”

Ginny didn’t bother pointing out that Bryn had met that guy at a club, not online, and had ignored the obvious signs, such as him never inviting her back to his place.

“It’s no riskier than meeting someone at the singles bars, or anywhere else for that matter,” Grandma Cotton said. “One of my classmates met a seemingly nice man at church. Four years and three kids later, she learned that he’d abandoned a wife and child in another state.”

“The Internet makes it even easier for a person to pretend,” Janelle said. “They can portray themselves any way they want to. It’s impossible to tell if they’re telling the truth. A man could use a different name and photo to prey on young girls. I read a case just the other day—”

Grandma Cotton’s pale blue eyes rolled skyward. “We've all heard the stories. They have nothing to do with Ginny. She meets these men in person. Besides, the girl has plenty of common sense, too much probably.”

“Thank you, Grandma.” Ginny wasn’t sure that too much common sense was a compliment. After last night, it wasn’t even true.

“I never said Ginny doesn't have common sense, but if she does meet up with a crazy stalker type, he could find out where she lives by looking online. Social media has made personal privacy a thing of the past.”

“There’s a whole world out there that you’re missing out on by being afraid to turn on your computer,” Grandma Cotton said. “I may have white hair and more wrinkles than a cotton shirt left in the dryer overnight, but at least I’m not afraid to explore new things.”

“I use the computer plenty, but I prefer to socialize in real life. Social media is a way to avoid the real world.”

“The real world is changing,” Grandma Cotton said. “Those who don’t change with it are left behind.”

“Coming from someone who has never learned to drive,” Janelle said.

Ginny saw the flicker of pain in her Grandma’s eyes and knew that her mother had crossed the line. This had been happening far too often lately. Virginia had been in a terrible car accident when she was sixteen. It had happened the day after she’d gotten her license. She’d panicked, lost control, and driven into a tree. Her younger sister had been in the car with her and they’d both been seriously injured. After that, just sitting in the driver’s seat had brought on a panic attack. Virginia had never driven again.

“I met a guy who claimed to be six foot, but he was shorter than me, and I'm five-eight,” Ginny said, in an effort to change the subject.

“Imagine what else he might have lied about,” Janelle said. “He could be out of work, living with his parents, and looking for someone to sponge off of.”

“Talking about me again, Dear?” Ginny’s dad asked as he came into the room.

Walt was a big man with a Santa Claus beard and long hair that he’d always worn in a ponytail. His tie-dye T-shirt and baggy sweatpants were covered with dust from the wood shop.

“If I were talking about you, I’d be saying that you’d better be planning to sell that death trap out front, not ride it. God knows we could use the money.”

Oh boy. The motorcycle argument alone was bad, but the combination motorcycle/money argument meant it was time to leave the room.

Ginny took her laundry to the basement. There were two washing machines and two dryers. One set belonged to her parents. There was also a sofa and a chair that had once been in her parent’s family room. The sofa was piled with her parent’s belongings, including the painting that had hung in Ginny’s house growing up; a red barn in the middle of a green pasture with a single horse grazing in the field. Sticking out of a box of odds and ends, as if it had been thrown in haphazardly, was the hand-carved wooden box that had started it all. Walt had made this box for Janelle's birthday, the year they were flat broke. It had come out so well that he'd made more. Eventually, he'd had so many boxes that he’d decided to put them to good use, which is how he’d ended up making them into pet urns.

Every time she saw her parent’s stuff here, Ginny was reminded that this arrangement was supposed to be temporary. Ginny's mother wanted to move into their own place soon while Ginny's father didn't see the logic of moving again. The farmhouse was plenty big, four bedrooms and two bathrooms. Grandma Cotton didn't want to move out of her home and it didn't make sense for her to live here alone when she couldn't drive. Besides, there was too much farm work for her to do by herself.

Janelle thought it was time for Grandma Cotton to sell the farm and move to a retirement home, where she'd have people her age to socialize with. Ginny disagreed. So did her father. Most importantly, so did her grandmother. Grandma Cotton preferred the company of young people and feared that her grandchildren wouldn't visit her as often if she lived with a bunch of old farts. This fear was not entirely unfounded.

Ginny put a load into the washing machine.

Her phone, which she kept in her pants pocket, buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Jason. Don’t forget to act surprised when Bryn and I share our news today.

Ginny shoved her phone back into her pocket without responding.

****

Ginny was in the living room when Bryn and Jason showed up. Bryn had the same brown hair as Ginny but had inherited Grandma Cotton's petite frame, and a face so pretty that people were always turning to look at her a second time, or a third.

“So what’s this surprise?” Ginny asked, faking it for Jason’s sake.

“You have to wait. We're going to tell everyone at once,” Bryn said, grinning up at Jason.

Walt came into the room. “Have you seen your mother? Dinner is ready.” 

Before anyone could answer, he was calling her to the table so loudly that were she at the neighbor’s house, a quarter of a mile up the road, she would have heard him.

Ten minutes later, the six of them were seated at the dining room table.

“We have news.” Bryn smiled broadly, practically bouncing in her seat.

“Spit it out before you burst,” Walt said.

Bryn thrust out her left hand. The overhead light made the diamond on her finger twinkle.

“We’re engaged. Jason proposed yesterday morning. It was so romantic. We were eating breakfast at Slappy Cakes—”

“You proposed at a make-your-own pancake place?” Ginny said.

Jason gave a weak shrug.

“It was so sweet. We were out late last night with some of his co-workers, so I stayed at his house, on the sofa of course. We went to breakfast, and I was having my pancake with the usual, peanut butter, bacon bits, and maple syrup. Jason had raspberry sauce, and he was pouring it on real careful. I realized he was writing something. He turned his plate around, and it said, Marry me? I about went crazy. Everyone in the place was staring at us.”

“They were.” Jason wore the odd smile that had begun appearing after he’d started dating Bryn.

“So, of course, I read it out loud, and everyone started clapping. I took a picture of it.” Bryn passed the phone around the table.

Ginny glanced at the stupid pancake and quickly passed the phone to Grandma Cotton. She focused on her dinner, shoveling it in too fast and not tasting it.

“This seems a bit sudden,” Janelle said. “I mean you’ve only been dating for a couple of months.”

Thanks, Mom, for saying it so that I didn’t have to.

“It’s been more like four months,” Bryn said. “We’re both sure that this is what we want. We don’t see any reason to wait. We haven’t picked a date yet, but we’re thinking June or July.”

“You mean next summer, right?” Ginny asked.

“This summer.” Jason didn't quite meet her gaze.

“That’s only a month or two away,” Janelle said. “You can’t plan a wedding that fast.”

“Of course we can,” Grandma Cotton said. “The Cottons are experts at quick weddings, starting with my own, fifty-seven years ago.”

“That was a shotgun wedding,” Janelle said. “It doesn’t count.”

“It was not.” Grandma Cotton wore a private smile. “My father had no idea that I was pregnant. To his dying day, he believed that Leroy was born a month early. Thank goodness he was a small baby.”

Ginny was still absorbing this little tidbit about her grandmother’s life when Janelle asked, “Where would you have it?”

Bryn and Jason exchanged a glance.

“We want to keep it small and simple,” Bryn said. “We're having the pastor from Jason's church officiate, and we thought if it's all right with you and Dad and Grandma, we'd have it here.”

“Here?” Janelle asked.

“In the yard,” Bryn said. “There’s plenty of room. It would be a lot cheaper than renting a place.”

“Cheaper is good,” Walt said. “We could make it a potluck.”

“We thought we'd have it catered,” Jason said.

“Sounds expensive,” Walt said.

Ginny kept quiet while the details of the wedding were discussed. It didn't seem possible that this was happening. As soon as she could get away with it, she started gathering up the dishes and carried them into the kitchen.

Grandma Cotton came into the kitchen carrying the empty biscuit basket. “You've been quiet tonight.”

“Yes, well…”

“You don't have to explain to me.” Grandma Cotton hugged her.

Ginny’s grandma was the only person who knew how she felt about Jason.

The swinging kitchen door flew open, and Janelle burst in. “I've always liked Jason, but I didn't expect Bryn to end up with him.”

Because it shouldn’t be Bryn.

“I don’t know how we’ll throw it together that quickly,” Janelle said. “I don’t know what the rush is. You don’t suppose…”

Ginny knew where this was going and shook her head. “No, not Jason. He made a commitment to waiting. He won't go back on it.”

“Well, that explains the rush.” Janelle lowered her voice. “The man is twenty-four. Celibacy is not natural if you ask me. It's worrisome, isn't it? There could be issues down the road.”

Ginny couldn’t stay another minute listening to her mother discuss Jason and Bryn’s future sex problems. She picked up her phone and car keys. “I have a headache. I think I’ll head home.”

“We have Ibuprofen.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“At least stay for dessert,” Grandma Cotton said.

“No dessert. I've lost eight pounds, and I have four more to go.”

“Four more?” Janelle said. “I thought your goal was to lose fifteen?”

Janelle had lost twenty-two pounds since turning fifty the year before. She’d become obsessed with weight and health, her own and everyone else’s. Ginny tried not to take it personally.

“Ginny doesn’t need to lose weight,” Grandma Cotton said.

“I didn’t say she needed to lose weight. I’m just clarifying her goal. It’s important that we stick to our goals.” Janelle turned to Ginny. “You know I didn’t mean that you need to lose more don’t you?”

“Sure. I’m going home now. I’m tired.”

Janelle’s hand went straight to Ginny’s forehead.

“You don’t feel feverish, but there is a virus going around. Several kids in my first -period class came down with nausea and diarrhea though it did correlate with a big test, which makes it hard to tell if it’s for real.”

“It’s not a virus.”

“How do you know?”

Bryn came into the kitchen through the back door, breathless. “I just had the most amazing idea.”

“You didn’t leave poor Jason in the barn with your dad looking at those silly pet coffins did you?” Janelle asked. “He’ll talk the poor boy’s ear off.” 

“Jason can handle it,” Bryn said. “I was just thinking that I might fit into Grandma's wedding gown.”

Ginny had seen the dress. All the granddaughters had. Timeless beauty is how Ginny would describe it, like Grandma Cotton herself. None of the granddaughters who’d gotten married so far could squeeze into it. At five-eight, Ginny wouldn’t come close. 

Grandma Cotton put her arm around Bryn’s tiny waist, “I would love to see you in my gown.”

Traitor.

No, that wasn’t fair. This wasn’t her grandmother’s fault. Ginny hated the feeling that rose up in her. Jealousy was such an ugly emotion. She wanted, really truly wanted, to feel only joy for her sister.

“Where is it? Is it upstairs? Can I try it on now?” Bryn had already started out of the kitchen.

“It’s in the sewing room,” Grandma Cotton called after her.

Ginny’s throat burned. She wanted to go home.

“Well, are you coming?” Bryn asked, sticking her head back into the kitchen.

There was no choice. Ginny pasted on a smile and went upstairs. The sewing room contained a thirty-year-old sewing machine, an ironing board, a pile of cloth napkins waiting to be ironed (they'd been waiting since Easter) and piles of clothes that were missing buttons or needed hemming. Virginia was better at starting projects than finishing them. If the wedding dress needed to be altered, it likely wouldn't be done until Bryn and Jason’s first child graduated high school. At the thought of Jason fathering her future nieces and nephews, Ginny felt like maybe she was coming down with something.

Five minutes later, Bryn stood before them, her face lit up with excitement. The dress looked as if it were made for her.

“How does it feel?” Grandma Cotton asked.

“Amazing,” Bryn said.

Ginny met her sister’s eyes in the mirror and quickly looked away, but it was too late. Bryn spun around. “Is my big sister getting emotional?”

Ginny couldn't respond.

Bryn threw her arms were around Ginny’s neck. “I can hardly believe it myself. I’m getting married.”

Over Bryn’s shoulder, Ginny met her grandma’s eyes. The sympathy and understanding she saw there only made her feel worse.

“You’re going to be a beautiful bride,” Ginny said.

She meant it. As soon as she could escape, she slipped into the bathroom and turned on the fan so that no one would hear her cry.

****

When Ginny got home, she put her clothes away and went in search of sugar. Ice cream is what she needed, but the freezer was empty, and not by accident. Suddenly she didn’t care about four more pounds or seven. She found hazelnut chocolate spread at the back of the cupboard where she’d hidden it from herself, and dug in.

After scraping the last bit from the bottom of the container, she brushed her teeth. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she felt the first twinge of remorse. If she were petite and slender like Bryn, would Jason have fallen in love with her?

No. He wasn’t that shallow. It had to be something else. Bryn was outgoing and fun while Ginny tended to be more reserved, especially in social situations. Jason was more like Ginny than Bryn. Opposites might attract, but that didn’t mean they’d stay together.

Ginny changed into her pajamas and got into bed. She needed a distraction, or else she’d lie here thinking for far too long, and be exhausted in the morning. The romantic suspense novel on her nightstand should do the trick. Two pages in she came to a sex scene. The heroine’s ripe sex pulsed with need. The hero plunged his throbbing member into her again and again. It wasn’t the best sex scene she’d ever read. It wasn’t even close. She read every word. One orgasm wasn't enough for the heroine. Two wasn't either. Before the night was over the heroine came three times. Three mind-blowing orgasms in one night? Did that really happen? It seemed a bit overdone to Ginny, but what did she know of great sex? Nothing. Solo sex was all she knew. What would it be like to have a man's hands on her?

The average age for a girl’s first time is seventeen, according to the women's magazine Bryn quoted the day that she and Jason came to Ginny asking what she thought of them dating. Ginny had tactfully (at least she hoped tactfully) asked the two how they were going to deal with their differing beliefs about religion, and sex in particular. Bryn had responded that it was unrealistic for Jason to expect to find a virgin. Jason had nodded in agreement, wearing that odd little smile for the first time. Ginny had felt a sudden urge to raise her hand and say, pick me, pick me. Instead, she’d sat on her hands and clamped her mouth shut for the rest of that miserable visit.

How unfair it now seemed that she'd waited for him. In a couple of months, Jason would be enjoying married sex, and she'd still be a frustrated virgin. Unless…

Ginny got out of bed. She booted up her laptop and went to her goal list. At the top of the page, she wrote: Have sex before Jason does.

She stared at the sentence for a long time. There had to be a better way to achieve her goal than meeting another guy online. She didn’t want to start over and go through the awkwardness of another first date or explain her situation to someone else.

There was a simple solution. Before she could think herself out of it, she picked up her phone and sent Pierce a text.

What are you doing tomorrow night?

His reply arrived instantly. Whatever you want me to do.

It was a good answer. Tomorrow seemed as good a day as any to go through with it. Ginny got back into bed. She did not go back to the sex scene in her book, not even in her imagination. She wanted the real thing. 

****

Ginny was almost to Pierce’s house on Monday when she started feeling lightheaded and short of breath. She pulled into the parking lot of a burger joint and rolled down the window. The cool air felt good on her face. She leaned back, closed her eyes and focused on breathing.

Inhale, exhale. Do not think about the smell coming from the restaurant. Do not think about the juicy hamburgers only a few feet away. Tonight’s salad was particularly satisfying with those yummy dried cranberries and all. It was delicious.

 Oh God, not French fries too. Did anything smell better than a hot, crisp French fry? Did anything taste better?

Ginny opened the car door. She put one foot out, then promptly pulled it back in and closed the door. She turned the key in the ignition. Food should not be used as a substitute for physical and emotional needs, not according to the book she’d read when she’d started her lifestyle change. What she needed was sex, not food.

Coming up to the intersection, she signaled to get into the right lane, the lane that led to Pierce's house, sex and satisfaction. There was too much traffic to get over. No one would let her in. Panic welled up in her chest. She could not have a panic attack. Not now, not while driving.

Ginny stayed in the middle lane. She went straight through the intersection, toward home, telling herself that as soon as she found a safe place to turn around, she'd go back.

Her heart rate began to slow. Her hands became steadier on the wheel. Her body was sending her a message. Have a panic attack or return to the safety of her apartment. It wasn't much of a choice.

When she got home, Ginny sent Pierce a text, letting him know that she wasn’t feeling well and they’d have to get together another time. Sensible Ginny patted herself on the back for making a good choice. Passionate Ginny chided her for giving up so easily.

Her phone rang. It was Pierce.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I was feeling sick, but I’m better now.”

“Better because you’re at home and not here?”

He knew. How embarrassing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don't apologize. You can change your mind anytime, you know. You didn’t faint or break out in hives again did you?”

“No.”

“That’s good.”

Ginny couldn't think of a single thing to say next. Apparently, neither could Pierce. After a too-long silence, Pierce said something about calling her later in the week. Ginny quickly agreed that that would be fine and hung up. He wouldn't call. Of course, he wouldn't.  

****

Ginny was having a miserable night at chess club. She’d been listening to everyone congratulate Jason on his engagement, and was anxious to go home, when Jason asked her if she wanted to go on a Voodoo run.

“I’ve sworn off doughnuts.”

Jason threw his arm around her shoulders. “Come on Ginny. You know you want a Butterfingering.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at him. Jason enjoyed saying the names of the doughnuts at Portland’s famous doughnut shop out loud, probably because it gave him an excuse to say suggestive things, something he otherwise never did. Ginny’s favorite doughnut happened to be the one covered with Butterfinger candy bar pieces. “Do you know how many calories are in those things?”

“You look great. You don’t need to worry about calories.”

“If I don’t worry about calories, I won’t look great.”

“Please?”

Ginny couldn’t say no to him when he looked at her like that. She sighed. “Fine.”

They took Jason’s car, a green Honda Accord with a “What would Jesus do?” bumper sticker. They’d barely left the community center when Jason cruised through a light as it turned red.

“Remind me to drive next time.”

“Don't you trust me?”

“Not when you’re behind the wheel. Have you told your mom yet?”

“Yes, Sunday night. She’s thrilled. Already called Pastor John.”

This didn’t surprise Ginny. Jason belonged to a conservative Christian church. Their logic went something like: the younger you are when you get married, the less likely you are to give in to temptation and have premarital sex. Most of Jason's church friends were already married. If Jason had asked her to marry him right after high school, Ginny would have said no. If he'd asked right after college, she would have said yes.

“Pastor John has a full schedule in the next few months, but he can squeeze us in on June 8th.”

“That's only a month away. You can't put a wedding together that fast.”

“Sure we can. I have some money saved up, but we don’t want to spend it all on a fancy wedding. We’d rather use it to go on a nice belated honeymoon in a few months. Bryn is thinking Hawaii.”

Of course, she is.

Jason sounded happy. Ginny felt sick. She wished she could warn Jason about Bryn’s bratty side. It could show up at any time, though mostly it came out when she’d been drinking. If Ginny shared this bit of information with him, he’d likely get defensive. If she didn’t warn him, and he didn’t get a big dose of Bratty Bryn until after the wedding, would he blame Ginny?

Jason turned into a parking lot, narrowly missing two thugs, one of whom gave him the finger. He didn’t seem to notice.

“I'm definitely driving next time.” Ginny got out of the car.

It was a chilly night, and they'd parked three blocks away. Ginny didn't mind the walk. She liked being downtown at night. There were a lot of people out for a weeknight. Some, of course, had no place to be in. A man bundled up in a down coat and smelling like urine hunkered down beside a wall, talking softly to a German Shepherd. Ahead of them, three teenaged girls, most likely from a suburban high school, were talking about sharing a “cock-n-balls,” which meant they too were headed for Voodoo Doughnuts.

The line for the doughnut shop stretched half a block. On a weekend night, it would be twice as long. Lounging in a doorway were several street kids. The smell of marijuana wafted out. Two teenagers walked along the row of people, begging for change. The girl had long blonde hair and wore a long bohemian style skirt over faded jeans. The boy was dressed in black and sporting a Mohawk. Ginny shook her head, feeling a bit guilty. They were so young.

Jason frowned in their direction. His expression reminded her of his mother’s. Evelyn disapproved of pretty much everything.

“I’m worried that you’re rushing into this,” Ginny said.

“I know. I mean I knew you would be. I have this fear that if we don’t get married soon, it won’t happen. Does that make sense?”

“No.” Ginny shook her head for emphasis. “If your feelings for each other are genuine, they’ll still be there in six months or a year.”

Jason shifted from one foot to the other. “I don’t think we can…you know, hold out that long.”

Did he want Bryn that badly? Of course, he did. What guy wouldn’t?

“I like who I am when I’m with Bryn. She brings out a different side of me. Normally I’m no good with women.”

“You’re good with me.” There, she’d said it, and now her heart was pounding, and her whole body felt hot despite the cool evening air.

“That’s different. Being with you is safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yes. We've been friends for so long that we can truly be ourselves when we're together. We're a lot alike, you know. We both suck at the whole dating and intimacy thing, but it's just a matter of finding the right person, someone we're comfortable with.”

We’re comfortable with each other.

“I work with this guy named Hank. I could see you with him.”

“You want to set me up with someone?”

“It wouldn't be a blind date or anything. Hank just moved to Portland. He doesn't know anyone and wants to meet people. I can arrange a casual get together at my place. No pressure.”

What if Hank liked her? If Jason saw Ginny with Hank would he realize that it should be him? That safe and comfortable were good things? That they were meant to be together? Would it help him to come to his senses and break up with Bryn? 

“What’s Hank like? Is he attractive?”

Jason shrugged. “Average. Maybe a little above average. He’s a good guy, that’s what matters.”

“When can I meet him?”

****

Ginny went to bed imagining all the ways that Bryn and Jason’s amicable break-up might happen. She even imagined it being her who married Jason in Grandma Cotton’s yard in a few weeks, with Bryn smiling on. 

In the morning, she woke up to the realization that she’d done it again—indulged in the Jason fantasy. She must stop doing this to herself. She was not going to marry Jason. Maybe she’d like Hank.

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