... and Baby Makes Two by Judy Sheehan

supposed to last this long?
    â€œJanie, I bought some candy for the kids. I think it's in the living room,” Betty said as she nudged Jane out of the kitchen.
    That's where Janie found seven one-pound bags of mini candy bars. Underneath them was a stack of mail on one of the many decorative tables in the living room.
    â€œMa. You've got mail in here. It looks like birthday cards. Aren't you going to open them?”
    â€œBring in the candy”
    Howard chimed in, “Never mind the candy. Where's that cheese?”
    Betty had a pound of candy for each child, plus one “for a little snacking.” Betty was diabetic.
    â€œMom. This is too much candy—for them and for you. Come on. What did the doctor say?”
    â€œHoward, look at this.” Betty ignored Jane and opened a refrigerator that was about to burst with too much food. A Land of Plenty image.
    â€œI bought all this extra food—a whole deli platter—to go with the burgers and dogs. Why? Because, for some reason, I thought Janie was bringing a date. But Janie didn't bring a date. If only Janie had a date for the party. Someone to eat all this food. Right, Howard?”
    â€œSo my date was supposed to eat a whole deli platter? I've never dated a sumo wrestler, Mom.”
    Jane's mom usually didn't even mention her date-free status. In fact, she usually seemed so complacent about Jane's impending spinsterhood that Jane could manage to work up feeling hurt by all that apathy. She knew perfectly well that Jane wasn't bringing a date.
    â€œGuess I'll have to fix this. As usual” was Betty's exit line.
    Why was Mom smiling when she left? And where did she go? Jane took a Lamaze breath and went back to making That Dip. She had started the horrible bus ride contemplating telling her parents about Choosing Single Motherhood. By the time the bus emerged from the Lincoln Tunnel, she knew she wouldn't do it. Not today. Not yet.
    She went outside and played Tickle Tiger with her nieces and nephews. This complex game involved chasing them, roaring, and tickling whomever she managed to catch. It was a favorite.
    The oldest grandchild, Dylan, was sitting by himself and sulking.
    His chin was covered with a large gauze bandage. He dangled his skinny legs from a lawn chair and watched the grass grow.
    â€œOkay, time out! The Tickle Tiger needs a time out!”
    â€œAwwww!”
    And Jane collapsed on the grass next to Dylan. She laid down and looked up at him. He switched his gaze to watch clouds roll by. He let out a deafening sigh.
    â€œWhat happened, Dyl?”
    â€œNothing.”
    It took several tries before he revealed that he had fallen off his bike and skidded along the curb chin first for a short stretch. He now had four stitches beneath all that gauze.
    â€œDoes it hurt?”
    â€œYes! And Mom doesn't think so,
But it does! It does hurt!”
    Jane's sister-in-law shrugged her shoulders from across the yard.
    â€œYou can probably have some aspirin, Dyl. That'll help a little. The stitches are really new, but they'll be out soon and they won't hurt anymore.”
    â€œAunt Janie! Don't you even get it? Hello! I'm switching to my new school Monday. Like,
this
Monday? And I'm gonna walk in with this big white bandage on my chin and look like the world's biggest loser!”
    His mom shouted from across the yard, “Oh, you are not!”
    â€œYou don't know anything!”
Dylan was eleven years old, and it showed.
    Jane couldn't bear to leave him like this. She had to fix it. Should mothers fix everything? Probably not, but Aunt Jane was going to fix this.
    â€œWell. You know what you do? You lie.”
    â€œI can't lie—it'll be right there! On my chin!”
    â€œNo, no, no. You lie about how it got there. You tell them you got it when three guys jumped you in Chicago. One of them had a knife. But you got the others.”
    He paused.
    â€œNo one will believe Chicago.”
    â€œOkay. You tell