wouldn’t put anything past her.
While they dined, they chatted about family, Tante Lulu’s continuing herbal healing business, Mary Lou’s studies, and Uncle René’s band, The Swamp Rats, which was planning a concert next month for Save the Bayou, an environmental group that was battling the oil industry on the gulf. Her aunt was as alert and funny, as ever, thank God!
“I hear that louse, Valcour LeDeux, has got another girl pregnant. At his age! They oughta chop off his pecker and pickle it in a Mason jar and send it to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. I’d do it myself, except I wouldn’t want to touch the slimy thing. Eew!”
“Auntie!”
“Sorry. I forgot, he’s yer granddaddy.”
“It’s not that,” Mary Lou said, laughing. “I hardly ever see him. It’s what you said…that word.”
“What? Pecker? I coulda said somethin’ worse.”
“I know, I know. Please don’t.”
Mary Lou knew that Tante Lulu had hated Valcour LeDeux for a long, long time. Everyone knew that. In fact, when Mary Lou’s uncles Luc, Remy, and René were boys, they often fled the drunken rages of their father, running to the bayou cottage of Tante Lulu, who was in some convoluted way their aunt, or great-aunt, or something. Tante Lulu claimed he was an egg-suckin’ dawg from the first she met him. And the shelf life on Tante Lulu’s grievances against Valcour was like forever, but then he kept adding more chits onto his bad boy/man tab. Mary Lou was aware of four legitimate children born to two wives, one deceased and one hanging on by her expensive sculptured nails, but more and more illegitimate ones kept coming to light over the years. Mary Lou’s own mother, Charmaine, was one of the illegitimate ones.
It didn’t help Tante Lulu’s opinion that Valcour was also in bed with the oil companies.
By the time they finished their meal and were sipping at cups of café au lait, Tante Lulu, wise old owl that she was, decided that enough was enough. “No more beatin’ around the bush,” she said, “Obviously, you have a problem that only I can solve; otherwise, you would’ve saved the small talk fer tomorrow at the birthday bash.”
To tell the truth, Mary Lou was having second thoughts about unloading her issues on the old lady. “Well, actually, it’s nothing to bother—”
“Pff! Thass why God put me here. To be bothered. Thass why he assigned St. Jude to be my partner.” Tante Lulu beamed with encouragement. “Doan matter whether it’s big or small. There’s somethin’ troubling you, girl, and I’m here to help.”
Immediately, tears welled in Mary Lou’s eyes. She’s pulling out the St. Jude card. Must be she thinks I’m hopeless. I am! Mary Lou wailed inwardly.
Tante Lulu reached two hands across the table, squeezed one of Mary Lou’s, and continued to hold on. “Tell me, honey.”
“Derek dumped me,” she confessed on a sob, then immediately lowered her voice when she noticed a couple at a nearby table look their way.
Tante Lulu nodded. “I wondered why you didn’t mention him. And you’re not wearing that friendship ring.”
“Promise ring,” Mary Lou corrected, then realized that it didn’t matter. The ring and the promise were gone.
“You were keepin’ company with that boy fer a long time,” her aunt pointed out.
“Yep. Two years. Ever since we were seniors in high school.”
The old lady narrowed her eyes suddenly, which caused the mascara clumps to stick together. “Did he cheat on you?”
“No, no,” Mary Lou said. “Not that I’m aware of. No, he said I’ve become…boring.”
Tante Lulu stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Girl, I thought it was something serious, like bein’ preggers. You aren’t, are you?”
“No!” Mary Lou exclaimed.
“Aw, shucks! I was kinda plannin’ on convertin’ my spare bedroom into a nursery fer you and the baby.”
“I am not pregnant,” Mary Lou declared emphatically. That’s all she would need, for her mother to get wind of a rumor about her only daughter about to make her a grandmother. And, frankly, Mary Lou was rather offended that Tante Lulu would think she was that dumb. “I’m on the pill, auntie.”
Tante Lulu put her hands on her ears. “Doan be tellin’ me stuff like that.”
Mary Lou was surprised, continually, by the old lady’s conflicting ideas. She could be as outrageous as any hell-raising senior citizen, a feminist from way back, but then adhere to her strict Catholic opinions on other things, like birth control.
“Anyhow, being boring is serious,” Mary Lou said, bringing the subject back around. “The ultimate insult, I