I love my mom, but sometimes there are better times to talk on the phone. Taking a call from her at 4:00 pm on a Friday afternoon, after a hellish week at work, would have to wait until I had the relaxing affect of a cocktail in my system. I pushed her call to voice mail and headed home to my plush bachelor pad to relax and survey my social options for the weekend.
At 25 years old, I had done well for myself; signing a baseball contract at 18, with a 7-figure signing bonus, had set me up. I was able to buy a nice house on a golf course outside Phoenix; complete with a hot tub and pool in the backyard.
Blowing out my ACL at 21, wasn't part of the long term plan, but after going back to college for my business degree, I was able to score a job in sales that maintained my fun-loving lifestyle.
Changed out of my stuffy suit and enjoying a drink poolside in the warm, early fall weather, was a perfect way to think about what I wanted to do this weekend. Although I had a few standing invitations to hangout over the weekend, the alternative of just sitting by the pool, playing a round of golf, and being a very chill loner for the weekend seemed like the most attractive alternative.
The calming silence was interrupted by the buzzing of my phone. Damn. An unrecognized number forced me into the "should I answer it or not" game. A little curious as to who was calling from "San Jose, CA." I answered.
"John Philip?", the 60-grit (sandpaper), raspy, chain smoker voice was addressing me by the dreaded first name / middle name combination.
"Yes, who is this?", I cautiously replied.
"Your great aunt Tess. How are you honey?"
"My life sucks. I was totally relaxed, headed into a blissful weekend and then my mom's lunatic aunt called me out of the blue," having properly stuffed my real response deep inside, I replied, "I'm good. What's up?"
"Did your mother call you and tell you I was in town and would be coming by to stay? I have to move out of the god-damned, overcrowded Bay Area and I am looking at places in Phoenix."
Damn. Well, that answered my earlier question. And serves me right for not answering my mom's call and being able to craft a plan that would place me nowhere near home for my great aunt's arrival.
"No, I didn't get a chance to talk to her. You're coming by my house?", asking in a sheepish voice that hoped this was all a nightmare.
"Yes. I am in town with a friend looking at retirement homes and her and I are going to come spend the weekend at your place. Your mother said you'd love the company and it sure saves us a lot of money on a hotel room."
"Wow. That's...wonderful," I hoped to god that sounded somewhat sincere. "When will you arrive?"
"Your mom gave me your address and we're waiting for the rent-a-car now at the airport. We should be there in 30 minutes or so."
Stunned by the crashing sound of my weekend imploding on me, I could barely verbalize a weak, "okay, see you soon."
Every family has a crazy aunt and my mom's Aunt Tess was ours. I would guess she was about 80 now and had managed to outlive 3 husbands (my guess is most of them couldn't wait to die) all while smoking about 2 packs of cigarettes a day. And now, she was headed to my house for the weekend; and not alone. The thought of not only spending time with her, but also with someone who could stand travelling with her, made me shutter.
"Hi mom. Sorry I couldn't take your call earlier. Aunt Tess already called and she is headed here from the airport with her friend."
The long silence was deafening. "I know what a pain this will be for you John, but it means a lot to me for you to have her stay and show her some love," my mom said with a guilt-showering voice.
"Yeah. Okay mom. I'm pretty stocked up on alcohol, so that will help," I laughed.
"I doubt you can drink enough to help," my mom laughed.
After chatting for a while longer, our conversation was interrupted by the doorbell, "I'll talk to you later this weekend mom. I think she's here. Love you."
"Love you too John."
Perhaps on my way to the front door, I would trip and fall, striking myself on the head and not waking up until Sunday evening. Could I be that lucky? I was not. Opening the door, I was overwhelmed by the mixed scent of cheap, old-lady perfume and stale cigarettes.
"John Philip! You are so handsome. Give me a big hug," and I was swallowed up in the arms of Aunt Tess, or Aunt Jabba the Hut as my siblings had named her.
"Hi Aunt Tess! Welcome to Phoenix. It is so good to see you (and smell you). Come in. Come in. Where is your stuff and your friend?"