Wifey by Judy Blume

other . . . not yet . . .”
    “Oh, I didn’t know he did those.”
    “Yes, he’s the best in the business.”
    “When are they going in?”
    “Early July.”
    She nodded. She was always surprised that Myra had produced such unattractive children. It must be hard on them, having a gorgeous perfectly groomed mother, like Myra, Sandy thought. But no matter how hard she tried to like them, to find some redeeming feature, she couldn’t. It was so unpleasant being around them. Bucky and Jen felt it too. Just that morning Jen had said, “I hate Connie and Kate, don’t you?”
    Bucky answered, “I hate Kate. Connie’s just dumb.”
    “I don’t want to hear you talking about your cousins that way,” Sandy had said.
    “Why not? It’s true,” Bucky told her.
    “Yeah,” Jen said, “they never laugh or have any fun and they’re so ugly.”
    “But they sure do have huge tits,” Bucky said.
    “Will mine grow like that, Mommy?” Jen asked.
    “I doubt it,” Sandy told her. “You’re small-boned, like me. The twins are built more like Aunt Lottie.”
    “I hope mine grow bigger than yours,” Jen said. “Yours are so little.”
    “Big breasts aren’t everything,” Sandy said.
    “Yeah, I’m an ass man myself,” Bucky said. “Like Dad.”
    “Like Dad?” Sandy asked.
    “Yeah, he told me the other day when we saw Aunt Myra’s ass.”
    “Bucky!”
    “Well, we did and it wasn’t our fault either. She was standing there talking on the phone and it was sticking out for everybody to see.”
    “You should have looked the other way,” Sandy said.
    “Dad didn’t.”
    Norman, an ass man? He’d never told her that, but she should have guessed, given his fascination with the product of that part of the body.
    B UCKY AND J EN were not happy that afternoon, when Connie and Kate piled into the car with them. They poked each other and whispered but Sandy was determined to make it a pleasant outing.
    “Now remember, Mom,” Bucky said, “you drive on the
left
here.”
    “I know, I know.”
    It was a short ride down the hill to the small, private, homeowners’ beach which was adjacent to the long beach belonging to the Runaway Bay Hotel. Often, Sandy and her children were the only ones there. The other homeowners and tenants had their own swimming pools, like Myra, and spent most of their time playing golf or tennis anyway. Norman hated the beach. “All that sand,” he’d say. “It gets up my ass and between my toes . . . who needs it?” But Sandy loved the beach. The warm sand, the endless blue-green sea, the salty air. “Isn’t the water beautiful down here?” she asked the twins.
    “It’s all right,” Connie said.
    More than their looks, it was Connie and Kate’s apathy, their lifelessness, that bothered Sandy. The twins took off their beach shirts, revealing bikinis. Their loose flesh hung around their middles and poured out from their bikini bottoms. They weren’t fair-skinned like Sandy and Myra. They were more like Gordon’s family. Gordon had olive skin and tanned deeply, changing his looks. Otherwise, during the winter months, Gordon appeared to have faintly green skin. He was balding and combed his remaining hair carefully across his head. His eyes were deep-set and his cheeks becoming jowly, but he still had a hard, compact body, although at just under five five, Myra dwarfed him.
    How lucky Sandy was to have Bucky and Jen. Lovely little Jen, small and delicate with wispy hair and an almost constant smile. And Bucky, growing up to look like Norman, with a square body and almost no neck, set on broad shoulders. But Bucky would be warmer than Norman, warmer and kinder and unafraid of his feelings.
    Jen ran off to hunt for shells and Sandy settled down for her afternoon nap. Just as she was dozing off, Kate screamed. Sandy jumped up and ran to her. “What is it?”
    “My belly . . . my belly . . .”
    Appendicitis? Would she be able to find Myra or Gordon? Oh, Jesus, she