Chapter 19

When Chastity got home from class, she found her mother in the kitchen. There was a dusting of flour on the counter top, and measuring spoons and cups scattered here and there. A half empty sack of all purpose flour was lying on its side. Trudy was stirring something in a big, stainless steel bowl. It looked like two six-year-olds had decided to do some baking. She looked at Chastity and stopped.

“Do you know how to make chocolate chip cookies?”

“Yes,” said Chastity. “The directions are on the package.”

“Which package?” asked Trudy.

“The chocolate chip package?”

“Oh. I didn’t look at that. I looked in your cookbook, but there was nothing there.”

Chastity only had one cookbook. Mona hadn’t been big on cooking, and Chastity had never really learned how. They had subsisted, primarily, on frozen dinners. The cookbook she did have was a Christmas gift from another dancer. It was a book that was all about breakfast.

“This is new. You never baked before,” Chastity pointed out.

“I’m doing lots of new things in my life,” Trudy said.

Chastity went to the counter and picked up the bag of chocolate chips that Trudy had left off to one side. She examined it and put one finger on the instructions for “Classic Toll House Cookies”.

“That’s what you need,” she said. “You want me to help?”

“No. Did you pick up the children?”

“Not yet. I wanted to shower and change clothes first. That’s easier to do when they’re not here.”

“I’ll make the cookies. You get cleaned up and go get the children.”

“Deal,” said Chastity. “Make a lot, okay?”

“How do I know what a lot is?”

“Make two batches.”

“Okay.”

When Chastity got home with the children, the whole house smelled wonderful. Bob did more cooking than Chastity, but he didn’t do a lot of baking. He liked to put a roast, potatoes, and carrots in the crock pot and leave it on all day while he was at work. That invariably smelled delicious, too, but there are different kinds of delicious.

“What smells good?” piped Brendan.

“Something special Grandma is making,” said Chastity.

“Can I have some?”

“After supper. She’s making dessert.”

Chastity stuck her head in the kitchen.

“How’s it going?”

“A double batch is going to take forever to cook,” complained Trudy.

“You can cover the bowl and put some of it in the fridge,” said Chastity. “You don’t have to cook them all at once.”

“Now you tell me,” groused Trudy.

“Are they good?”

“They’re astonishing. I can’t believe I made them.”

“Good. I can’t wait.”

“You have study group tonight, right?” asked Trudy.

“Yes.” Chastity glanced toward the living room, where all three children were playing. “We’re not wasting homemade chocolate chip cookies on study group, though.”

“I made them,” said Trudy, firmly. “I’ll decide who gets to eat them.”

Chastity’s ears pricked up. There was something going on here. Her mother was acting too oddly. Granted, her mother had always acted oddly, but recently she was mostly normal. This sudden interest in baking, and her (probably?) associated question about study group, was out of the ordinary.

Had Chastity known her mother went to coffee with Chuck, it all might have fallen into place.

But neither Trudy nor Chuck had informed the others about the date.

Trudy intended to hand Chuck his plate of cookies and apologize to him one last time as soon as he got there, but he was a few minutes late, and the group was already enmeshed in some legal issue. All the members of the group felt at home, now, and if someone wanted something to drink, they just took care of that themselves. Chuck dropped his jacket and sat down to join the conversation.

Trudy stood in the kitchen, uncertainly, and then finally couldn’t take it any longer. She walked into the living room, handed the plate of cookies to Chuck and said, “Here. These are for you. I’m sorry I acted like I did. I hope you can forgive me.” The startled man took the plate, but before he could say anything, she turned and marched right back to the kitchen. Then, remembering that she’d told Bob she’d join him to take care of the kids, she hurried to the bedroom. Bob was reading a story, and all the kids were lying partway on him as they listened.

“How’d it go?” he asked, pausing.

“He was late. I had to give them to him after they started.”

“Oh,” said Bob.

“I feel like an idiot,” she said.

“Join the club. Brendan says I can’t read. He says I get some of the words wrong.”

“Pappa! Finish the story!” complained the little boy being referenced to.

“It will be fine,” said Bob. “Chocolate chip cookies fix everything.”

Back in study group, the catcalls had finally ended. The women (other than Chastity) had done the “Awwww,” thing and the men had all ribbed Chuck, talking about how special he was, and asking him what he’d done to receive such a boon. Only Chastity centered on the fact that her mother had asked for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? When had she “acted like she did” and what was that about?

Naturally, the members of the group insisted that Chuck share the unexpected treasure, and he acceded to their demands. The plate was bare within ten minutes of them getting back to studying torts.

Chuck’s reaction to all this was reflective. When they had last parted, he had suggested they should have coffee again sometime. She’d obviously been emotional, at the time, and hadn’t really responded to that suggestion. Was this plate of cookies that response? He still didn’t think she’d done anything wrong. Since then, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind, in terms of her whispered comment that she thought he wanted to have sex with her, and his epiphany that she was kind of, sort of a MILF and that ending up in bed with her might be a lot of fun.

He was fully aware, though, that she might not see things that way. He knew very little about her sexual past, but what he did know was that she’d been a virtual sexual slave, at least for a while. She might hate the thought of sex with any man. She had certainly melted down at the thought of him wanting to have sex with her.

So what was he to do, now? Should he ask her out again? How awkward might that be? If she said yes, what did that mean? Surely she didn’t see him as a potential ‘friend’. Their ages were too far apart for that. Weren’t they?

He realized someone had asked him a question. He hadn’t been paying attention. He blinked and looked around. Everyone was staring at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking about something else.”

It was an innocent comment, and nobody thought it was odd that he’d been distracted.

Nobody except Chastity.

She decided to corner him after study group and ask him some questions.

She didn’t get to do that, though.

That’s because, ten minutes later, her water broke and she went into labor.

There was minor chaos for five minutes. Only Chastity was calm, once she announced what was happening. The others thought it was an emergency, and that immediate action was required. None of them had any idea what that immediate action was, however, so they just shouted suggestions.

Finally, Chastity re-established order and told Jewel to go get Bob.

“Don’t you mean your mother?” asked Jewel.

“My ... uh ... dad has been there for the others,” she said. She felt a contraction coming and started breathing to get through it. “Just get him!”

“Got it!” yelled the girl.

“Do we need towels and hot water?” asked Randy.

“No,” panted Chastity. “We’re not having the baby here. We’re going to the hospital.”

“Oh. Then what should we do?”

“Nothing. I’ll be fine. I’ve done this twice before.”

“Wow,” said John. “You’re not even out of law school and you’ll have three kids. You must like sex a lot!”

He blinked. Stephanie and Cyndi both yelled at him as he realized what he’d said.

“Sorry!” he said.

“It’s fine,” said Chastity. “Besides, he’s right. I do like sex a lot.”

“Chastity!” squealed Stephanie and Cyndi, together.

“Well I do,” gasped Chastity as the contraction peaked. “Or at least I did. Right now, not so much.”

Bob hurried into the room. He had her pre-packed bag in his hand.

“How far apart?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve only had one,” she said.

They had just gotten her up when another one tightened the skin across her belly and she started panting again. “Close!” she gasped.

“Okay, let’s go,” said Bob.

Four people helped her up and she waddled to the door.

“I wish I could change pants,” she moaned.

John and Randy both looked at the stain that made her jeans look like she’d peed her pants. Cyndi and Stephanie both slapped at the men.

“Don’t look!” said Cyndi. “She’s embarrassed, you ass.”

“No I’m not,” said Chastity. “It’s just uncomfortable, that’s all.”

Trudy came into the room. Chima was on one hip, and Maeve was clinging to her in her other arm. She looked weighted down, and Chuck went over to her. He held his hands out to Chima, who buried his head in his mother’s shoulder. Chuck switched to Maeve who, at eighteen months of age, was less shy. She took her arms from around Trudy’s neck and reached for the tall dark man.

“I’ll stay here and help Trudy with the kids,” he said, casually.

Two minutes later it was quiet in the house. The rest of the study group had decided to go to the hospital, too. All who were left in the house were the kids, Trudy, and Chuck.

“Exciting times,” said Chuck, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” Trudy just stood there. Chima had relaxed, but was happy being draped over his mother’s chest and had his head down on her shoulder.

“Thanks for the cookies,” Chuck said. “Everybody liked them. I don’t think they lasted ten minutes.”

“Bob said I should bake them for you.”

“Bob said that?” His eyebrows rose.

“I told him what happened, and asked him what I should do.”

“You didn’t need to do anything,” said Chuck.

“I acted like a school girl,” said Trudy.

“Can we talk about that?” he asked.

She looked at him. Maeve had her head on his shoulder, too. She was tired. It was her bedtime.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“Help me put them to bed,” she said.

“Okay.”

The little ones were ready to fall asleep. Brendan played his usual game of trying to avoid bedtime, but since he got to stay up half an hour later, they let him run away while they got PJs on Chima and Maeve, and laid them in their cribs. At times, they worked side by side, their arms touching.

“You didn’t act like a school girl, whatever that is,” said Chuck. “You had a tough go of things in Africa, and it sounds like you had a tough go of things with men, too. Like I said, I wouldn’t be surprised if you disliked men. I’d understand if that was your posture, and if that caused you stress. I think that’s all that happened. You got stressed out and snapped. It happens to everybody.”

“But I thought about you in ways that were racist,” she said. “All my life I’ve tried to be open and accepting of people, no matter what their race. I was proud of being multicultural. But all that time there were racist things going on in my mind!”

They finally got Maeve’s feet in the bottom of the legs of her footy pajamas, and were able to snap it closed over her chest. She delighted in kicking and waving her arms around during this process.

“One of the problems in addressing racism is that, whenever you talk about racism, everybody thinks about race.” Chuck’s voice was louder than usual. These were thoughts he’d had before, and had talked about before. He’d argued these points with his father and many others, over the years. Now he performed his diatribe for Trudy. “When you keep bringing up race, then people keep thinking about the differences between people, rather than the similarities. It seems counterintuitive, but I believe that constantly talking about race creates racism, because it demands that people pay attention to race. What we should be doing is working toward a world in which race isn’t noticed at all. We should be creating equal opportunity for everybody, regardless of what they look like.”

“I agree!” said Trudy.

“Then work toward that goal and don’t worry about labels like racist,” said Chuck. “It’s easy to make assumptions about other people based on what they look like. That’s not the way to move forward. All that does is build walls. Don’t classify people as anything until they create the classification themselves by their behavior. Think of it like this. You’ve known someone who was an asshole, right?”

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