Done Adulting Vol. 1 Ch. 119

With the top of the dining room table at eye level, Jamie surveyed his options. Two of everything seemed greedy, and more than he could carry and much more than he could eat, but the mischievous thought crossed his mind. Jamie wanted a soft and chewy cookie, but he couldn’t tell which ones those were. A cookie aficionado, he knew looks could be devastatingly deceiving. Becky liked soft cookies too, and out of the four batches she’d made, one turned out that way. She’d saved that batch for home, while she muttered under her breath at the others. Jamie made the call that he was in a chocolate chip kind of mood and reached for two of those.

The heat of Jane’s home felt good after the cold outside. They hadn’t put much effort into caroling, only going up one block and back, but it had been enough to put color in his cheeks and sap the feeling from his toes. Becky insisted it was an unusually cold night, and Jamie hoped she was right. It was still early winter, and Jamie had never lived anywhere that got very cold.

The surprise of the night had been Rosie. Jane had carried her to the first house, and she set her down at the threshold. Rosie knocked on the door, and as it opened, Rosie sang like an angel. She was a perfect soprano, hitting every note exactly, the frigid air carrying her voice away into the night clear as the chime of church bells above the off-key din of the other carolers. Jamie decided to try to coax her into talking that night with a cookie, the classic unspoken language of entreaty, affection, apology, and uncountable communiques among littles everywhere.

There were a lot of cookies to pick from. There were almond cookies dusted in confectioners’ sugar. There were sugar cookies with a blob of chocolate in the middle – those had been made by Becky. There were four kinds of chocolate chip cookies. Cookies with fruit. Cookie bars. Candied nuts. Brownies. Supposedly healthy cookies no one was touching. There was even a small table of little cookies.

With the top of the dining room table at eye level, Jamie surveyed his options. Two of everything seemed greedy, and more than he could carry and much more than he could eat, but the mischievous thought crossed his mind. Jamie wanted a soft and chewy cookie, but he couldn’t tell which ones those were. A cookie afficionado, he knew looks could be devastatingly deceiving. Becky liked soft cookies too, and out of the four batches she’d made, one turned out that way. She’d saved that batch for home, while she muttered under her breath at the others. Jamie made the call that he was in a chocolate chip kind of mood and reached for two of those.

Slap. “Those are for bigs, little boy. Some cookies for you are right over here,” some stranger said gently, as though she were being helpful, and tried to lead him to the other table.

“Did you just slap my hand?” It stung a little, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered most. He was surprised, wondering what her problem was.

“We’ll get you all set up …”

“Excuse me!”

She paid him no mind. “And maybe a nice cup of milk, huh?”

“Manda!”

“Inside voices,” the oblivious big woman said. Jamie quickly ran through his options in the crowded room. He wasn’t one for creating scenes, but at a minimum he wanted to call her what she was, and loudly, and stomp on her foot. Jamie was a gentle person, but she’d crossed the line from inconsiderate big to miserable bully when she’d smacked his hand. He was getting angrier by the millisecond. He didn’t see Amanda through the forest of tall legs.

“MANDA!!!” That got a few people’s attention, including Amanda’s. Jamie never shouted her name unless he needed help right then. She quickly pushed through the mingling people, finding Jamie staring up defiantly at Rochelle, Jane’s sister. Amanda knew her enough to know she didn’t really care for her. She tried to speak first, but Jamie beat her to it.

“She hit me!”

“WHAT!?!” Amanda’s stomach felt suddenly empty, and she tasted something metallic in the back of her throat.

Rochelle barely looked up. “It was just a little tap on the hand. Not a …”

Amanda scooped Jamie up and carried him away. She wouldn’t engage with Rochelle. She wasn’t big on making scenes either, and she knew herself well enough to know there was no way she could say anything to Rochelle in that moment without losing control of herself.

“Baby, what happened,” she said when she got him into the kitchen where it was quieter.

“I was reaching for a cookie, and that …” He swallowed down an alphabet of epithets. “… person slapped my hand.”

“Let me see.” She took his hand, and looked at it. There was no sign she’d touched him, but that wasn’t the point. “Does it hurt,” she asked. She kissed it twice.

“No.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” A slap on the hand, as much as it infuriated Amanda, wasn’t enough to send her over the edge. Anything more and Rochelle would have had a lemon bar protruding from her forehead. “What do you want to have happen right now?” She’d let him decide how big a deal to make of it and when.

Jamie sighed. “I was getting a cookie to take to Rosie,” he said.

“Do you want to do that still?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Let’s go do that, and I’ll have a word with Mom. You just go play with Rosie.” Amanda set him down, knowing he’d want to walk back to the table just to show he wasn’t a helpless infant like that woman assumed. The two of them went back into the dining room where Rochelle was mingling like she’d done nothing more than scold a puppy for sniffing her plate.

“Take whatever you want,” Amanda said loud enough to be overheard. Jamie collected his two cookies, gave that woman a dirty look, and collected two more, because fuck her. “I think Rosie is in the playroom,” Amanda said.

“Thank you.”

She knelt down to give him a hug and kiss. “Sorry. Thanks for not losing your temper.”

“You too,” Jamie said. He knew she could be as hot headed as he could be. It had perturbed him, his newfound tendency to lose his patience when he was being demeaned, when he’d first arrived, but now he just took getting angry as a new part of being Jamie. Jamie had no need to hold in those emotions and to try to be the bigger person, at least not when he didn’t want to be. He knew there was a line past which he went from being wronged to being wrong, and Becky and Amanda would remind him of it if he crossed it, but shy of that, he was getting to be okay being angry when he was angry and put out when he was put out and not having or wanting to suppress those emotions. “Not that big a deal, I guess,” he added.

“Yes, it is,” Amanda hissed. Jamie recognized the flash in her eyes.

“Thanks for sticking up for me,” he said. “Make good choices.”

“Part of my job.” She spun him around and sent him on his way with a tap on the butt. “Go play.” She watched Jamie walk out of the room and rounded on Rochelle. She at first intended to let her mother or Jane know what happened, to let them deal with it adult to adult or sister to sister, but Amanda realized, perhaps for the first time ever, she was an adult, and she was Jamie’s guardian. Perhaps it was being his guardian that made her feel for the first time like a true adult.

So it was as Jamie’s guardian and a fully-fledged adult that she interrupted Rochelle in mid-conversation and poked her hard in the chest, declaring loudly but not quite shouting, “Don’t you ever touch my little again ever!” Amanda spun on her heel and walked away, leaving Rochelle embarrassed and a few people wondering what had transpired. Amanda knew, however, that was unlikely to be the end of it. She was right.

While that low-level drama was happening in the living room, Jamie found Rosie sitting on the carpet scribbling in a coloring book while a few other littles played quietly together. There was something about the room that reminded Jamie of a monastery.

“I brought you a cookie,” Jamie said as he sat down next to her. “Two cookies, actually.” Rosie responded by looking up and smiling at him, then taking one of the cookies and putting it directly into her mouth.

“Tank u,” she said around it.

“You sing very well.” Rosie finished her cookie. “Where did you learn to sing like that?”

Rosie responded by kissing Jamie on the cheek, surprising him, and saying, “Thank you,” again. He surmised it was for the compliment.

She didn’t seem in a talking mood, but he didn’t want to give up. “Some big slapped my hand when I reached for a cookie.” That got her attention.

“Large woman who smells like foundation makeup?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my Aunt Rochelle. If she weren’t my mommy’s sister she wouldn’t be here. They don’t really get along.”

“Why not?”

“Different personalities. I don’t like her, either. She spanked me a few times.”

“She what!?!”

“Like 10 years ago …” The sound of Jamie’s labored breathing made her look up from her coloring book. “What’s wrong?”

“She … that … she …” Jamie started to get up. Rosie took hold of his arm and pulled him back down.

“It was a long time ago. You don’t need to be angry about it.”

“But …” Jamie wanted to throw something, punch something, let fly with all his diminutive might at Rochelle. How could anyone hit a little, but especially Rosie? His face was red down to his neck.

“Jamie, it’s okay,” Rosie said, seeing Jamie was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

Back in the family room, Rochelle had found Becky. “Your child and your little are really misbehaving tonight.”

The sudden and blunt interruption was so socially inept, Becky was caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Your little threw a tantrum when I wouldn’t let him get a cookie, and then your daughter poked me and yelled at me.”

“What?”

“He reached for a cookie and I pulled his hand away, and he shouted for Amanda. Then she just gave him a cookie anyway – four, actually – and then she came back and poked me in the chest and told me to never ‘touch her little’ again.”

Becky gasped, which Rochelle interpreted as an appropriately appalled response to how naughty her children were being. It got Jane’s attention.

In the playroom, Rosie was trying to talk Jamie down. “Jamie, really, it’s okay. It was a long time ago, and I’m over it.” He looked less prone to tear the room, or Rochelle, apart, but now he looked sullen and brooding. “C’mere.” She scooted next to him and put her arms around him.

“She shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “People shouldn’t do that. I …”

“You what? It’s not your responsibility.”

“But …” He still struggled with that. If not him, then who?

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

“For what?”

“For telling you. I didn’t think it would make you so upset.”

“I’m upset for you.”

“I know. You don’t have to be; I’m not. I don’t want to you to be.”

“Still.”

“‘Still’ what? It was a long time ago, and Jane made it right.”

“How’d she do that?”

“By making sure it would never happen again.”

“Why did it take her more than once?”

“Because … I guess because her opinion of it evolved. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yes.”

“So cheer up already, dammit! It’s Christmas time.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. “For you,” he said when he opened his eyes.

“Have a cookie. You fought for it.” He took a bite of his cookie, soft like he wanted it to be.

“Wanna help me color something?”

“Okay.” She tore a page from her coloring book and handed him a crayon. He began to trace the lines.

“Not like that, silly. Like this,” she said as she furiously ran the crayon back and forth over the page heedless of lines and design. He smiled at her and did the same.

She was about done with her page when she stopped and said, “Really, Jamie, you don’t have to get all twisted into an emotional pretzel over something that someone else did in the past.”

He stopped his scribbling and looked up at her. He smiled; he wasn’t sure he agreed and knew he’d get just as upset the next time he heard of someone hitting a little, but he smiled. She smiled back, and they went back to work.

Out in the living room, Jane was trying to keep her party still a party, focusing the effort first on keeping her own temper under control. She was more upset with her sister than she allowed herself to let on. “It’s a cookie party,” Jane said. “Why wouldn’t you let him have a cookie,” Jane asked.

“I tried to get him one from the littles’ table. How am I supposed to know he isn’t regressed?”

“That’s got nothing to do with it. He reached for a cookie. At a cookie party!”

“Well, sorry, I guess,” Rochelle said to Becky. She couldn’t just stop there though. “But your daughter was out of line, too.”

The hairs on the back of Becky’s neck stood up. “My daughter is an adult and Jamie’s guardian, and if she had done what she probably wanted to you would be cleaning oatmeal raisin out of your ears right now,” she hissed, keeping her voice at just the acceptable range for threatening someone at a party without making a scene, “and if you ever – ever! – so much as scowl at her or at Jamie …” Becky let the sentence trail off. There was no real threat behind it, but the implied menace conveyed just how angry she was. It felt good for her to say it, to vent for once at the person who deserved her reproach.

Rochelle turned to her sister for support and found none. “She’s right.”

“You owe Jamie and Amanda an apology,” Becky declared. She was glaring at Rochelle and would’ve gotten Jamie a present if he’d hit Rochelle right back, knowing violence even in self-defense was beyond his thinking.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I. Am,” Becky pronounced each word. Rochelle may have had a self-righteous streak that led her to confront Becky in the first place, but behind it lay an equally prevalent spineless streak when it came to anyone who had the courage and ability to push back. In that, she was a classic bully.

“Fine,” Rochelle said, “I think he’s in the playroom.”

Jane led the way and stopped when she spotted Amanda. “Manda, could you come here for a second?” Amanda excused herself and walked over to the trio, one of whom looked like a scolded child.

“What,” Amanda said when she came over, glancing at Rochelle and addressing the question to Jane.

“Rochelle would like to say something to you and Jamie.”

“He’s in the playroom.” Amanda led the way now. The four of them found Jamie working on page two of his scribbling. Jane knelt down next to him on the floor.

“Hey, Jamie. My sister has something to say.” Jamie put his crayon down and looked over his shoulder to see Rochelle standing there with Becky and Amanda.

“Okay,” he said as he stood up. There was an awkward pause.

Rochelle finally said, “Jamie, I’m sorry for not letting you get a cookie.”

He glowered in response. “And!?!” He pictured her hitting Rosie, and fire flashed in his eyes. He grimaced and looked at her with disgust and loathing.

“And for slapping your hand.” He didn’t respond. She obviously expected him to, to at least thank her for apologizing. As far as Jamie was concerned, if that’s what she was waiting for her she could wait until the sun exploded. When she realized she wasn’t getting a gracious acknowledgement, she said, “And Amanda, I’m sorry too … and Becky,” she added when Amanda only glared back at her … “and to you, Jane, for putting a damper on the party.”

Jane shook her head in some sympathy – this was her sister, after all – and said, “Let’s talk tomorrow.”

They started to leave when Jamie exclaimed, “Wait!” They turned back around. “Apologize to Rosie too.”

“Why,” Rochelle asked, confused, as were the rest of them.

“Because I said so.” He spat out the words. Rosie looked up at the group, and Jamie stepped out of her way.

Rochelle looked at her sister again, who shrugged in response with her arms folded across her chest.

“I’m sorry, Rosie.”

Rosie didn’t even blink, going right back to her drawing. When the bigs had left and Jamie had sat back down, Rosie gave him another kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

It was well past Jamie’s bedtime, and Amanda’s and Becky’s, when they got home. All three of them went into the nursery, and Becky sat down in the rocking chair while Amanda got Jamie undressed.

“Feel good to be out of that itchy sweater, buddy?”

“Yes,” he said, stretching his arms over his head as he yawned. She unsnapped the button on his corduroys and got him down to his diaper.

“Despite all of that, did you have fun tonight,” Amanda asked as she began changing him.

“I did. I like playing with Rosie.”

“Why did you tell Rochelle to apologize to her,” Becky asked.

“She hit Rosie,” Jamie said. There was contempt in his voice, but he said it without the rage he’d struggled to swallow down a few hours earlier.

“When? Tonight?” Becky was reaching for her phone to call Jane.

“No. Like, ten years ago.”

“O,” Becky said, taking her hand off her phone. “And you wanted to stick up for her.”

“That explains it,” Amanda said.

“Explains what.” Jamie asked.

“Why you were relatively mellow when you went into the playroom and why you looked borderline murder-y when you looked at Rochelle again.”

“Who would … Never mind.” He just couldn’t imagine anyone laying a finger on Rosie. He didn’t know what she’d been like all those years ago, but how different could she have been relative to the sanguine, always-content woman she was now? No matter, though, because no one ever deserves to be hit.

Amanda finished taping a clean nighttime diaper on Jamie and picked him up into a hug. “I’m sorry that happened, to both of you. You’re a very good friend,” she said, kissing him on the forehead, “and a very good person.” She gave him another kiss.

“Thanks again for sticking up for me.”

“Any time.”

“And thank you, Mommy.”

“C’mere, Baby Bear,” Becky said as she held her arms out.

Amanda gave him one last kiss. “Night-night, Jamie Bear.” She handed him to her mom.

“Night-night, Manda.” Amanda left them alone.

“I’m sorry, too, pumpkin. And I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks for sticking up for me, too, Mommy. And tell Jane thank you for me too.”

“Sticking up for you is my most important job,” she said.

When Jamie was asleep in his crib, Becky wearily climbed the stairs and went to Amanda’s room, finding her in her pajamas and ready to crash.

“Can we sit for a minute, baby?”

“Sure, Mom.” She thought she was about to get a lecture. They sat on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you for tonight. You did really well.”

“I did?”

“You looked out for Jamie. You didn’t lose your temper. And I know it’s not easy being your age and confronting someone older.”

“Sorta was. It was for Jamie.” She didn’t think she’d have done that for anyone else, at least not as confidently.

“And that’s why I made you his full guardian.”

“Would you have done anything differently?”

“I might have gotten Jane involved first. Her sister, her house; but otherwise, no.”

“What if it had been me back when I was young?”

“I’d have hit her with the floor,” Becky said, gently elbowing Amanda in the ribs. “Where do you think you got that temper of yours from?”

“Thanks, Mommy,” Amanda giggled.

“Goodnight, babygirl,” Becky said after she gave Amanda a goodnight kiss and received one back.

“Mom,” Amanda asked, as Becky reached the doorway.

“Yes?”

“I … never mind.”

“No, what is it?”

“I just … I’ve been meaning to say that …”

Becky sat back down on the bed. “C’mon. Tell me.”

Amanda rolled her head and looked at her mom with a sideways grin like the one Jamie often wore when he tried to say something meaningful while playing off its significance. “I miss getting to spend quiet time with you.”

“Like what?”

“Just … I’m not ready to not need my mom,” Amanda said with a sniff.

“O, baby, that’s never, ever gonna happen.”

“I know, but …”

“Tell you what – how about you and I, at least a couple nights a week after Jamie is asleep, just sit on my bed together and watch TV or talk or read or whatever.”

“I’d like that,” Amanda blushed.

“Wanna share my big bed with me tonight?”

“Yes.”

“K. Promise not to wet it?”

“Mommy!” Amanda whined.

“I’m just teasing, princess. C’mon.” Amanda took her favorite pillow and followed her mom to bed.

Becky was proud of her grown-up daughter and delighted she was still her babygirl, and she admired, as she always did, Jamie’s astute assessment of her. He’d been right. Amanda had been missing this time with her, just like he’d said.