partner in time

Grace had been driving in what felt like to her increasingly desperate huge circles, around and around, and her anxiety was at an all-time high.  She <em>knew</em> this street festival thing was going to be packed.  Still her dumb ass had suggested they go, and now she was at the helm of her Subaru, aimlessly driving around, trying to ignore her sweating hands and pounding heart.  There was nowhere to park.  Nowhere she <em>could</em> park, anyway, and she felt like every single car in the world was on the road today.

Claire and Emily were chattering genially in the backseat and Leon sat steely-faced behind some Wayfarers in the passenger seat as Grace took them on a tour of every side street in the greater KCMO area.  Finally, Grace became aware of Leon looking over at her in her peripheral as she white-knuckled her steering wheel.

“Grace,” he began, with the tone he had when he was intensely confused or frustrated by something she was doing but trying to be cool about it, “what are you doing?”

“There’s nowhere to park,” she replied, stressed.

“There’s tons of parking.  You’ve passed about 50 places to park,” Leon informed her.  “Why are we going in circles?”

“Because I was looking for like a lot or something,” Grace replied tensely.

“A lot is gonna cost you 50 bucks for the day,” Leon said.  “Just put it in on one of these side streets.  You’ve driven past a million places to park.  Just park it.”

“I <em>can’t</em>,” Grace said emphatically, feeling her anxiety spark even further.

Leon’s face was inscrutable behind his sunglasses.  “Grace,” he said, “do you not know how to parallel park?”

“No,” she admitted miserably. “And plus there’s like eight million cars behind me every time I turn and—“

“Do you want to learn how to parallel park?” Leon said, calmly.

“<em>Now</em>?” Grace said, her voice high.  “No way.  There’s—there’s too many cars.  No way.  I’ll just find a lot—“

“Do you want me to do it?” Claire piped up helpfully from the backseat.  “I cut my teeth on street parking in NYC.”

“And yet somehow you still can’t do it,” Leon said, looking back at his wife.  “Your idea of parallel parking is getting three-quarters of the ass-end of your truck up on the sidewalk and you look at it and say ship-fucking-shape and walk away.”

Grace was too stressed to admonish Leon for the hundredth time about his language around Emily.  It wasn’t just him, it was Claire too.  They were great with kids, if you ignored the fact that they cursed like sailors.  

“Oh ho,” Claire returned haughtily.  “Parked is parked.  It’s out of the way.  I can cram this little Subaru in somewhere,” she said.  “Grace—“

“No, Claire.  You’ll annihilate her rims,” Leon cut in.

“I will not.  Just because you—“ Claire started, indignantly.

“Guys now is not the time,” Grace said, a touch hysterically.  “If I have to listen to you two have an argument about parking I may hyperventilate.”

Claire leaned back into her seat, and Leon looked back over at Grace.  “Grace, get out.  Trade me places.  I will park.”

“There’s a million cars behind me,” Grace fretted.  “We’re in the way.  People are like—“

“They can blow it out their ass,” Leon said.  “It’s not going to kill them to wait.  C’mon.  Put your hazards on and get out.”

“If someone honks at us I am going to start crying,” Grace informed him, pushing the button for her hazards and unbuckling her seat belt.  Leon likewise unbuckled his restraint and pushed open his door, and they crossed in front of the vehicle.  Leon got in the driver’s seat and Grace climbed in on the passenger side, heart in her throat, and Leon immediately began to adjust the seat so his knees were not knocking the steering column.

“Alright,” he said, turning off the hazards and pulling down the road.  He drove past several cars and then noted an empty space on the side of the road between a Camry and a Yukon.  “There.  Perfect.”  Leon went to throw it into reverse and looked into his rear view, frowning.  “Alright, well, this dude needs to not be on my ass for me to do this.”

Grace felt like the potential to be honked at was never higher.  She kind of wished she’d never suggested they leave the house.

“Are we gonna be there soon?” Emily asked from the backseat.

“Yes, Em,” Grace replied absently.

Leon rolled his window down and waved the guy behind him around, and after a moment the guy <em>did</em> go around them, with excessive speed and a chirping of tires.  Grace wished she was invisible.  Leon merely flipped the bird, hard and proud, up the street in front of them.  He then resumed parking.  With a calmness and assurance Grace could not manage at that point, he angled the Subaru back into the space between cars, then cranked the wheel and pulled forward, and lo and behold her vehicle was perfectly nestled in between the Yukon and the Camry.  Leon turned the Crosstrek off and handed Grace the key fob, looking at her evenly.  “You need to learn how to parallel park,” he informed her.  “It’ll make your life so much easier.”

“Yeah, sure,” Grace said dully, reaching for her little cross-body bag and pulling it on.  She was trying to decide if this situation warranted an Ativan.  

“Alright, well,” Claire said brightly, unbuckling her seatbelt, “crisis averted.  Leon saves the day.  Let’s go.  I need to inhale some food from a cart or truck.”

They all got out of the car into the very slight chill of the early autumn day, and Emily wandered up next to Grace and put her hand in hers.  “It probably is about time to eat, yeah,” Leon said.

“I hope I can find edibles,” Claire said, rubbing her hands together like an excited prospector.  Leon looked faintly amused.

“This is Missouri,” Grace said, somewhat tiredly, feeling like the experience of looking for parking on a busy Saturday mid-day in KCMO had aged her.  “There’ll probably be nine million edibles.  It’s recreationally legal here.  There are probably people actively walking around smoking weed.”

“Excellent,” Claire said brightly.  “C’mon.  Let’s go find something deep fried and some THC cookies.”

The group set off down the sidewalk.

………………………………………………………………….

Grace was draining the remnants of her key lime pie kombucha, one eye on Emily’s slight form next to them, when Claire rejoined them, bag in hand.  She looked inordinately pleased with herself.

“Hey Emily,” Leon said.  “Do you want a cookie ice cream sandwich?”

Emily immediately perked up and began stomping her feet up and down and nodded emphatically at Grace, who looked down at Emily a bit hesitantly.  “Leon, we haven’t even really had anything that passes as real food,” Grace said.

“She ate some corn,” Leon said, benignly.

“Elote,” Claire informed him, off-handedly.  “I’m telling you, you would have loved it.  Corn and mayo and cheese.  You should have gotten some.”

“There was some red stuff sprinkled on there,” Leon returned.  “Probably spicy.  No thanks.”

Emily had grabbed Grace’s hand and was working it up and down excitedly, her face pleading.  “Alright, fine,” Grace sighed.  “Cookie ice cream sandwich.  But then we need to find you something, that is like—“

“Grace, you are not going to find something healthy here,” Leon cut in, in amusement.

“Maybe,” Grace said, letting Emily begin to drag her, “maybe not.”  The group started ambling for the trailer selling all kinds of ice cream treats Grace was willing to believe children dreamed of.  Claire was rifling in her bag, and she triumphantly produced what looked like a saran-wrapped brownie with caramel and marshmallows.

“Wow,” Grace said, peering at it as Claire began to unwrap it.  “That’s—that’s an edible?  Like, that’s got weed in it?  That looks like something you’d buy at a bakery.”

“Hey,” Leon said, looking behind him, “are you getting into that <em>now</em>?”

“Hell yeah, brother,” Claire returned cheerfully, unwrapping the saran-wrap enough to free a corner of the brownie.  She took a bite and hummed emphatically.  “Oh my God that’s so good.”

“Do not eat that whole thing,” Leon said adamantly.  “How many milligrams is that?”

“200,” Claire replied, chewing.  “I’m not gonna eat the whole thing.  I’d be insensate.”

“Yeah, well, last time you had some kind of THC whatever baked into a brownie I had to carry you to bed,” Leon said dryly.  “I ain’t carrying you around here.  Keep it to a dull roar.”

Claire did not reply, and took another bite of the brownie, chewing appreciatively.

“Oh, Em,” Leon said as they got in line for the ice cream trailer, “they have cookie ice cream sandwiches <em>and</em> some kind of thing with Fruity Pebbles.”

“I want the cookie,” Emily said, making a dramatic crazed child face up at Leon.

Grace watched a family walking away with the same mentioned cookie ice cream sandwiches in hand.  They were <em>massive</em>.  Emily was going to either experience a sugar high to end all sugar highs by the end of the day or she was going to be sick from eating so much junk.  “Em, those things are huge,” Grace said, gently.  “I don’t know if you can eat a whole one.  Maybe they have, like—“

“I can eat a whole one I swear!” Emily replied pleadingly, having spotted the sandwiches herself.  “<em>Pllllllleeeeeaaaaaaseeeee</em>, Grace.”

“Since when could a child not finish ice cream?” Leon asked incredulously.  “I’m getting that Fruity Pebbles thing.”

Grace sighed, as Emily vibrated next to her and they waited in line.  Grace loved when Leon came to visit, or when Leon and Claire came to visit, but in some ways it <em>was</em> high stress.  They were barely controlled chaos at times, bound and determined to blow into town and pointedly undo all the rational, healthy, and gentle parenting Grace did.  Grace had once caught Leon permitting Emily to just dump spoonfuls of sprinkles into her mouth at an ice cream parlor.  Claire assured Grace children had to learn at some point and expand their palates after feeding Emily a jalapeno popper, as Emily dramatically waved her hand at her lolling tongue and kicked her feet back and forth.  Grace had once caught Leon bouncing Emily so high on a trampoline she was practically above the neighborhood roofline, as Grace looked on in horror picturing broken bones and missing teeth.

“Claire, quit eating that,” Leon admonished firmly as Claire was still taking tiny nibbles of the brownie

“I’m done,” she huffed.  “Just a nibble.  It’s so good.”

Leon gazed at his wife with a stern face from behind his sunglasses, and Emily ran tight little circles around Grace as they stood there in line.

………………………………………………………………….

“Oh—ooh, produce,” Claire was gushing dazedly, ambling close to a farmer’s stand, piled high with the last fresh produce of the season.  At some point she’d produced a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and put them on her face.  She seemed very relaxed and unperturbed by anything and kind of seemed to be operating in a smooth slow motion, kind of.

Grace looked on, noting.  Claire seemed like something could burst into flames in front of her at that moment and she would just calmly blink at it.  Maybe there was something to weed, after all. Not that Grace would know, as she had never tried it.  She couldn’t really do so, because of her job, but noting the calming effect the brownie had on normally mile-a-minute Claire, Grace was kind of jealous.  Oh, to be so calm.

Grace let out a gust.  Knowing her luck she’d try an edible and freak out.  It just seemed like something she would do.

“Ooh, look at those tomatoes,” Claire gushed further.  “Green zebras.  Delicious.”

“Hey,” Leon said, grabbing her and gently steering her, “what’re you gonna do with tomatoes? We’re only here two more days and then we’ve got the long haul trip from hell to get home.”

“I mean, do you guys <em>have</em> to do the drive in one day?” Grace asked, furrowing her brow.

“A bit, kind of,” Leon said tiredly.  “I’ve got to be back in DC.  It’s about 15 hours, and no matter what I say about her driving we shave about two hours off our time when Claire’s behind the wheel.”

“I could make dinner,” Claire said, still absently ogling the produce as Leon steered her away.

“No,” Leon said.  “We’re going to dinner.  I’m taking us to dinner.  This is vacation.  Step away from the kitchen.  You spend half your life in ours at home.”

Emily looked up at Leon, grabbing at his shirt.  She began jumping against him somewhat and Leon sighed and lowered himself to the ground.  Emily climbed up onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he stood, hooking his arms around her legs.  “Where are we going to dinner?” Emily asked.

“I dunno, what do you want?” Leon said.

“Em, do not say—“ Grace started.

“McDonald’s,” Emily said assuredly, and Grace looked put upon.

“I never should have introduced you to a Chicken Nugget,” Grace said.

“I mean don’t get me wrong, I can put away a double Quarter Pounder with Cheese,” Leon said, “but I think we should probably go somewhere fancier.”

Claire was yet again straying from the group slowly.  “Holy shit fried pickles,” she said reverently.

“Claire, where are you going,” Leon said, looking over at his meandering, high wife.

“Fried pickles,” she replied over her bare shoulder emphatically.  She had on a loose, wide-necked sweater-like top; the neck hung down her shoulder and arm, exposing her freckles and what looked like a relatively severe slash of a scar to Grace.

“What’s a fried pickle?” Emily asked.

“What are you feeding this child?” Leon asked of Grace.  “Nothing but organic cardboard?  Do you like pickles?” he asked, angling his head towards Emily.

“Yeah,” Emily replied.  

Claire sauntered back over to them, and stuck her hand up in the air in front of Leon, making grabby motions.  “Wallet,” she said.  “We need fried pickles stat.”

“It’s in my back pocket,” Leon returned.  “I’m carrying a child, here.”  

“With all this junk is anyone even going to want to <em>eat</em> dinner?” Grace asked in wonder.

“Oh absolutely,” Leon replied calmly.  “I’m hungry right now.”

“You have had like eighteen things,” Grace said incredulously.

“So?” Leon asked.  “Hey—would you <em>stop</em> pinching my ass?” he said over his shoulder, to where Claire lurked behind him, cackling softly to herself.  “Just get my wallet and quit trying to leave welts on me.”

Claire stepped out from behind Leon, wallet in hand, and she looked at Grace.  “Grace, are you gonna have fried pickles?” Claire asked brightly.

“Oh, what the hell,” Grace said, throwing her hand up in the air.  “Sure.  Why not.”

“I better get the biggest size,” Claire said.  “This one here,” she said, jerking her thumb back at Leon, “unhinges his jaw and absolutely houses some fried pickles, especially if ranch is involved.”  Claire made her way over to the line for fried pickles, and Leon stood there stoically with Emily on his back, gazing into the distance behind his sunglasses.

“How,” Grace began, looking over at him, “are you like super ripped and so in shape and yet I feel like every time I see you, you are eating garbage?”

“My stomach hit age 18 and never moved past it,” Leon said evenly, still staring into the distance.  “Plus I’m from the Midwest.  Claire puts healthy food in me at home.  Left to my own devices, I don’t fare well.  Cut me some slack.  I’m on vacation.  I’ll pay for it in the gym when we get home.”

“You should probably have, like, vegetables for dinner,” Grace said knowingly.

“No can do chief,” Leon replied cheerfully.  “I haven’t had my red meat allowance for the week.  I’ve been saving it.  I feel like we should really try some of the barbecue around here.  Isn’t that supposed to be Kansas City’s thing?”

“It is,” Grace replied, then furrowed her brow some.  “Barbecue sauce kind of gives me heartburn.”

“Kid you are impossible,” Leon said, looking over at her.  “I need to just put you in a bubble.  You weren’t meant for this world.”

Grace put her hand on her hip.  “Listen, just because barbecue sauce gives me heartburn doesn’t mean I need to become a bubble child.”

“No?” Leon asked.  “How about the hand-wringing over parking?  The constant mother-henning over the amount of sugar Emily is eating?”

Grace had no good response, and for a moment, she put aside her own rules about language.  “Leon, shut the fuck up,” she replied, and he kind of grinned at her a little, hiking Emily up his back.

“There we go,” he said appreciatively.  “I’ll have you drinking 100-year-old scotch and flipping the bird in traffic before you know it.”

“I think not,” Grace returned, looking at her watch.  “We should probably start heading for home soon.”

“Have you ever been on the Real Bees Fake Top Hats subreddit?” Leon asked, abruptly.

Grace had introduced Leon to Reddit and periodically she regretted it.  The more time he spent on Reddit, the more Grace started to think Claire might have needed to install parental controls on their devices.  Grace had introduced Leon S. Kennedy to Reddit and now he was on there and <em>everyone’s</em> problem.  “No, I haven’t,” Grace said.  “What is it?”

“Pictures of bees with top hats photoshopped onto them,” Leon said plainly.  “It’s great.”

“Did you watch that YouTube I sent you of the guys eating the, like, 100 year old MREs?” Grace asked, hand still on her hip.  “I feel like it would be very relevant to your interests.”

“Does anyone hurl?” Leon asked.

“No, I don’t know how though,” Grace said.  “It looked pretty gross.”

“Hmm.  Yeah, I’ll watch it,” Leon said.

Claire returned with a paper boat of fried pickles that looked like it weighed three pounds.  “They’re so good,” she informed them, with casual adamancy.

“Is that ranch I see?” Leon inquired, with barely controlled excitement.

“Yes,” Claire said.  “I got extra because I know you be drinkin’ it when you’re eating these pickles.”  She held the boat out.  “Dig in, everyone.”

“Oh, put me down,” Emily said, squirming.  “I need a pickle.”

Leon let her down onto the ground, and Claire handed his wallet back to him.  Emily came up and grabbed a pickle, then dunked it in some ranch and stuck it into her mouth.  “<em>Mmm</em>!” she enthused loudly, looking at Grace as she chewed.

Grace reached out and took a pickle, dipping it lightly in the ranch and then putting it in her mouth.  “Alright,” she acquiesced, “they’re pretty damn good.”

“Everyone take what you want before I upend that thing in my mouth and eat them all,” Leon said.

“No way,” Claire said, pulling the pickles away from him.  “Share.  If you starch this whole basket and we only get like four a piece I’ll murder you.”

The group began to slowly meander through the loose crowd, eating pickles.  After a while, Emily fell back and stuck her hand back in Grace’s, and they walked along behind Leon and Claire, who were munching fried pickles like someone was paying them to do it.