Baby proof

Fewer, I say to myself, thinking of how amused Ben was when I corrected grammar on public signage. Twelve items or fewer, dammit. I truly hope that Tucker is a math-science girl in the strictest sense of things and screws up her pronouns on a daily basis. She is Harvard- educated, so I know her mistakes aren't overt, as in, Me and Daddy are going to the store, but with some luck, she might be prone to making other sorts of mistakes-the kind intelligent people make while believing that they are being intelligent. Like failing to use the objective case for all parts of the compound object following a preposition, as in: Do you want to come with Daddy and I?

The beauty of this is that Ben will be forced to think of me every single time. Then, one day, he might break down and share with Tucker the trick I taught him so long ago: Try each part of the object in a separate sentence. 'Do you want to come with Daddy?' 'Do you want to come with me?' Hence: 'Do you want to come with Daddy and me?' Maybe her eyes will narrow and a cloud will pass over her face. 'Did your ex-wife teach you that one?' she'll say with disdain born from jealousy and failure to measure up. Because she might be able to put people back together again, but she will never be able to diagram a sentence as I can.

Then, as I'm paying for my two sorry pies and some Cool Whip, I see Charlie, my high school boyfriend, get in line behind me. I usually like running into Charlie, and other high school friends, but my divorce has changed that. It's just not the sort of update you feel like inserting in small talk, but at the same time, it's rather impossible to avoid mentioning. Besides, I've about reached my quota for chance meetings this week and don't have it in me to be friendly. I keep my head low and slip the checkout girl a twenty.

Just as I think I'm going to escape, Charlie says, 'Claudia? Is that you?'

It occurs to me to pretend that I didn't hear him and just keep walking, but I like Charlie and don't want to come across as an urban snob-something he once accused me of being-so I turn, smile, and give him my best impersonation of a happy, well-adjusted adult. 'Hey, Charlie!' I say. 'Happy Thanksgiving!'

'You, too, Claudia!' he says, pushing forward his last-minute items: a gallon of whole milk, three cans of cranberry sauce, and a box of tampons. 'How ya doin'?'

'Fine!' I say brightly as I look down and see Charlie's son shaking a pack of orange Tic Tacs. He looks exactly like Charlie's kindergarten photo, which was framed in his foyer the whole time we were dating. The little boy looks up at his father and says, 'Can we get these, Dad?'

I anticipate a, No. Put it back, which is the standard parental grocery-store retort, but Charlie says, 'Sure. Why not?' and tosses the Tic Tacs on the belt.

I smile, remembering what I liked most about my first boyfriend-his knee-jerk response was always, 'Why not?' He was uncomplicated and upbeat and easy. At one point, I might have thought these traits made him a simpleton, but now I think they just translate to happiness. After all, he is the one with a family. He is the one buying hygiene products for his spouse. And I'm the one who is divorced, with my father waiting for me in the car outside.

'So what's doin'?' Charlie says with a big smile.

'Not much,' I say and try to deflect with a question about his son. 'Is this your oldest?'

'No!' Charlie says. 'This is my youngest, Jake… Jake, this is Claudia.'

Jake and I shake hands, and I pray that we're winding up, but then Charlie asks, 'How's Ben?'

'Actually, we got a divorce,' I say.

'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' I say. 'He's getting remarried.'

Then I laugh at my own joke. Charlie does, too, but it is the awkward sort of pity-laugh, not a ha-ha laugh. We exchange a few more pleasantries, both of us promising to tell our families hello. All the while, I can tell he's thinking, I knew it. I knew she was in for a sad life when she told me after our prom that she didn't want kids.

Daphne has everything under control when my father and I arrive at her house. But by under control, I don't mean Maura's version of polished perfection. On the contrary, Daphne's house is in a state of noisy disarray. The kitchen is a mess, and Tony's football game is competing with Daphne's favorite Enrique Iglesias CD and their frantic Yorkies. Still, everything smells good and feels comfortable. Daphne is standing at the stove, all four burners ablaze. She is wearing her GOT CARBS? apron and looks relaxed. My father joins Tony in the family room, and I put my pies and Cool Whip in the refrigerator and say, 'Hope you have dessert backup.'

'Of course I do,' Daphne says, smiling proudly and pointing to a freshly rolled-out pie crust on the counter.

'So,' I say, settling onto a bar stool. 'Have you heard from Maura? Is he coming?'

Daphne knows I'm referring to Scott. She sets about peeling a Granny Smith apple and tells me that as of this morning, Maura hadn't decided whether to let him come or stay home alone. She was pleased to know that Scott's parents and sister's family had already booked a trip to Disney World for the holiday-so if she chose to exclude him, he'd have no backup plan.

A moment later we hear my mother and Dwight at the front door.

'Hell-ooo?' my mother trills as she sails into the kitchen, heavily perfumed, wearing a flowing St. John ensemble with navy pumps. Her outfit conjures the phrase 'dressy casual,' which is her favorite dress-code designation for her own parties. Despite her allergies to dogs, she gathers up Daphne's Yorkies and allows them to lick her mouth. 'He-wo, Gary! He-wo, Anna!' she croons as I think that baby talk to dogs is only slightly more annoying than baby talk to babies.

Dwight is also dressy casual. He is sporting tasseled loafers, Ray Bans, and a jacket with shiny, gold buttons. He takes off his glasses and presents three bottles of merlot to Daphne. Then he rubs his hands together vigorously enough to start a fire. 'Soo, ladies, what's shakin'?' he says, surveying the simmering pots. 'Smells good in here, Daph!'

Then, as I watch him strut around the kitchen, I think of how Ben used to imitate his walk and say, 'Ever notice the way Dwight's pelvis enters a room about five minutes before he does?' I always liked when he made fun of Dwight, yet the thought that Ben might share such observations about my family (even my mother's husband) with his bride-to-be has the strangest effect of creating loyalty where none existed before. Dwight isn't a bad guy, I think, as I kiss him hello for what very well could be the first time ever. I wait for my mother to put down the dogs, wash her hands, and use her inhaler. Then I give her a hug.

'So good of you to dress up,' she whispers in my ear.

I smile and say, 'Yes. But you'll be happy to know that should there be an accident and I am disrobed by a paramedic, I am wearing my best underwear.'

She smiles as if to say, I taught you well.

The doorbell rings, and we all glance at each other nervously, a question hanging in the air: Will Scott show up with his family?

Even my mother is subdued.

'You get the door,' Daphne says as she nervously reties her apron.

I head to the door. When I open it, I am genuinely surprised to see Scott. I really thought Maura was leaning toward banishment. Hillary Clinton's quote about Bill pops into my head: 'He's a hard dog to keep on the porch.' Clearly the same can be said of Scott. Although here he is, back on the porch with Maura.

'Hi, guys,' I say, bending down to hug the kids first. Zoe points to her stitches-or more accurately, the spot where they once were. 'They disappeared,' she says. 'Just like Dr. Steve said they would!'

I laugh and hug her again.

When I stand, I look right into Scott's eyes. For once, they don't look smug or beady. Instead, he is more chagrined and contrite than he was on Saturday night. And Maura looks even peppier. I think to myself, Carefree, confident, popular girl is on a date with ever-grateful, second-tier wannabe. It is role reversal for them, and I am filled with a sense of nostalgia, remembering that was how my sister used to be, in the days before Scott. I wonder what happened first. Did Scott's behavior change Maura into a victim and put her in a constant state of anxiety? Or did her priorities somehow get skewed, so that she could allow someone like Scott in her life?

I give him a chilly hello and then kiss my sister. More tense hellos are exchanged in the kitchen. Then we all