I jumped into the shower and by 5:30 PM my hair was dry and brushed into waves as opposed to the usual curls and frizz. I was wearing clean jeans and a scoop-neck fitted T-shirt. My messenger bag was hung on my shoulder, I had a beach towel under my arm in case my car seat was still wet, and my laundry basket was balanced on my hip. Yet another advantage of the weekly visit to my parents’ house was the use of their washer and dryer.
My parents live in the Burg, a small community of modest houses and mostly hardworking Americans that’s stuck onto the larger city of Trenton. While many parts of the country are struggling with changing ideologies, the Burg continues to march to the beat of its own drum, thumbing its nose at political correctness. The Burg is awash in immigrant origins and Jersey attitude. The inhabitants are God-fearing busybodies who settle arguments with neighbors the old-fashioned way—with a bag of flaming dog poop on the offender’s front porch.
My grandma Mazur was at the front door when I drove up and parked. Grandma moved in with my mom and dad when Grandpa went upstairs to live with Jesus. She’s still alive because we took my father’s gun away from him and he’s too squeamish to butcher Grandma with the carving knife.
Grandma and Lula use the miracle of spandex to good advantage. Lula uses it to contain an abundance of flesh and Grandma uses it to shore up body parts that have begun to sag. In Grandma’s case, that’s almost all body parts. She was wearing a zebra-striped spandex top, black spandex Pilates pants, and white sneakers. Her hair was cut short and had returned to its natural shade of gray, after a trial period of red.
She held the door open for me so I could squeeze through with my laundry basket. “Don’t you look nice,” Grandma said. “I like the ponytail but it’s good to see your hair down and wavy like this. You have such pretty hair. It comes from our Hungarian side of the family. That and a good metabolism. All the women on our side keep a good figure to old age.”
Okay, to be honest, Grandma has a body like a plucked soup chicken, but she isn’t fat, and she makes the best of what she has. I mean, at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all strive for in life?
My dad is retired from the post office and now drives a cab part-time. He was currently in his chair in the living room watching television with his eyes closed. We tiptoed past him and took the laundry into the kitchen.
“Look who’s here!” Grandma said to my mom.
Grandma said this like it was something extraordinary. I’d been coming home for dinner almost every Friday night since I graduated from college and moved out of the house, but to Grandma it was special. And this made it special to me. It was nice to be wanted somewhere after a day of chasing down losers who dreaded seeing me at their door. Even though I’d brought my family countless hours of embarrassment and disappointment, they still loved me. Amazing, right?
My mom was at the counter, mashing potatoes. Tonight’s dinner would be pot roast and gravy, mashed potatoes, red cabbage, and green beans. Only the vegetable varied on Friday nights. Sometimes the green beans were changed out for cooked carrots or peas. Because Morelli was present, dessert would be his favorite chocolate cake.
“Set the basket in the corner,” my mom said to me. “I’ll get to the laundry tomorrow. How was your day?”
“It was good,” I said. “I brought an FTA in.”
“Was it a big one?” Grandma asked. “Was it a murderer or a drug dealer?”
“No,” I said. “It was a mooner.”
My mom stopped mashing. “A mooner?”
“He’s a professional,” I said. “He takes jobs mooning people at birthday parties and baby showers.”
“What’s his name?” Grandma asked. “Was it Camden Krick?”
“Yes,” I said. “Do you know him?”
“He’s the best. I’ve been to a couple of his moonings. He mooned at Mary Kulicki’s seventy-fifth birthday party last year. Why was he arrested?”
“He mooned someone who didn’t want to be mooned and he got charged with indecent exposure.”
“That’s a shame,” Grandma said. “Personally, I think they should legalize mooning. I even thought about going into it. I have a pretty good behind for a woman my age and I could use some extra income.”
“Lula had the same thought,” I said to Grandma. “Maybe you should team up.”
My mother made the sign of the cross and cut a glance at the cabinet where she kept her liquor. “This is why I drink,” she said to no one in particular.