Meeting Your Makers: Jack of Diamonds

“Howdy,” I say, “And you must be the sister I hear so much about.”

The rubenesque southern belle standing contrapposto before us lets out a dainty giggle. “Oh my stars, you didn’t tell me he was a gentleman, Annie-May.”

‘Annie-May’ is not enthused. “Not sure about that first part, but he’s definitely a man. At least, I think.”

I smirk, while the older woman lets out a laugh that’s more like a hoot and a holler rolled into one.

“Oh, you kids and your genders- Bless your souls. And I’m no sister of hers, hun. I’m the big bad Momma Bear.” She emphasizes her point with a growl, and mimes a bear claw in the hand that isn’t currently holding an actual freshly-baked bear claw (the only semi-literal pastry kind, that is).

“Pleasure to meet you, miss Momma Bear,” I say.

Anne-Marie’s mom offers me her pearlescent-nailed hand, and for lack of better ideas, I bend down to kiss the top of it.

“Oh my,” she says, squealing with delight. “Just where did you find this handsome feller?”

I watch Anne-Marie weigh the odds in her head. On one hand, she could come up with a convincing lie—like maybe I’m the second-in-command on the Southwest Elm basketball team. But that particular brand of sportsmanlike masculine assertiveness is mine to borrow from Brian’s guys, not to keep. Then there’s always the fairly low-hanging option that I’m a slightly older guy from a dating app, which she’s freshly-eighteen-enough to sell. God knows my eye bags and lack of fashion sense certainly added to the fact that I didn’t even get carded when I bought Drake’s party beer.

But, my girlfriend’s eyes soften, and she gives up on any intimation of a ruse with a smile.

“We met at school, I guess. But we really met at DressCon.”

“Wasn’t that the highfalutin fashion thing?” Her mom asks. “He don’t look like he swings that way to me.”

“Right, mom.” Anne-Marie pauses for a moment, probably debating whether it’s worth an argument in the hallway, before continuing, “He was there for some cartoon thing around the same time.”

Momma Bear’s face lights up. “Oh, you mean Anicon Midwest?”

My jaw drops. “You- know of it?”

“Know of it?” She pops her hands onto her wide hips. “Hun, I’ve been a core backer for it since they laid the groundwork in ‘15. You strike me as a vintage fanboy, wrong or right?”

“Right…”

My brain takes an extra moment to process things. This family is getting stranger and more overwhelming by the second, to the point that I fear my brain will melt if I have to meet the other half of it. And, before I’m even given the courtesy of a cursory processing, my feet are lifted clear off the ground. As the flow of oxygen to my brain starts to throttle, I flash back to the exchange Anne-Marie put me through mere moments before we stepped in through the door:

“I’m warning you now,” she explained, “She can get a bit grabby.”

“Grabby,” I said.

“Yeah, so if you get caught, just use this one simple trick my uncle taught me for when he got caught in his own bear traps up in Manitoba.”

“Which is?”

“Angle your force firmly downwards until the pressure releases.”

“And then?”

“And then book it like a library.”

“You mean ‘go for the legs’, right?”

And though her response came in the form of a haughty twist of a door handle, I start to see the logic woven between the forces and counterforces of Momma Bear’s ridiculously robust arms.

“Oh, I’m pleased as a pickle!” Momma Bear coos. Her thick forearms crush my shoulderblades as she lifts my entire body by them. “I didn’t know that the man of interest Stella’s been yapping my ear off about this whole time was so cultured!”

Anne-Marie is a block of ice. “Stella’s been doing what.”

I squirm against my restraints, finding an opportunity to make myself heavier in the split second before Momma Bear tries to lift me even higher up. I drop like a rock, and find myself on the floor. Right in front of me is my only safe passage, a cranny about two feet wide between the herculean pillars of her legs. So I make like a library and book it. And, thanks to my incredibly scrawny genetics, I slip clear through the other side in time to see Anne-Marie already mid-argument with her mom.

“I told that stink-eyed witch to stop talking about my business behind my back!”

“There ain’t no business of yours that ain’t a business of the family, hun. And there’s no need for cussin’.”

Now that I get a closer look at the two of them side by side, I can definitely tell where Anne-Marie got the fierceness in her eyes from. Even if her mom’s all smiles, she’s equally all fight too.

“Ladies-” I cough, scrambling to my feet, “Ladies, there’s no need to fight. I come in peace.”

Upon noticing my presence, Anne-Marie’s expression pivots 180 degrees.

“We’re sorta planning a road trip with friends.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Are y’all headin’ up to the Dells?”

I start, “Actually-”

Only for Anne-Marie to pipe in, “Where else would we go?” She pauses to let out a venomous scoff. “Chicago? Yeah right.”

Momma Bear lets out a hearty laugh. “Good to know you can take the girl outta the country but you can never take the country outta the girl.”

“What can I say?” Anne-Marie puts on the smile she usually saves for whenever Wendy starts rambling about saving the turtles. “Momma done raised me well.”

“Promise me y’all will stay safe out there?”

“We will, ‘ma.”

“Just make sure to dress modestly, yahear? Them boys up north can have so little class.”

“Of course, ‘ma. I wouldn’t go around dressed stupid on Spring Break.”

Momma Bear’s toothy smile drops into a pucker.

“Didya just say Spring Break?” she asks.

“Yeah? It’s this week, ‘ma.”

“Would-ya happen to know what else is this week, young lady?”

I watch Anne-Marie go through the five stages of grief in a single, panicked shuffle from side to side. “I’m not sure, ‘ma…”
Momma Bear pops her hands onto her hips, then throws one up like a teapot and whistles at us. “You ain’t tellin’ me you forgot about the Church Cleanathon on Sunday?”

“The. Cleanathon.” Anne-Marie repeats.

I try to catch her attention, but the light has left my girlfriend’s eyes. Her shoulders slacken by the second, to the point that it looks like she’s about to fall over like an unsupported mannequin. I’m not getting any useful info out of her at this rate, so all I have left is a risky play. I turn to Momma Bear and ask:

“Sounds like fun- what’s that?”

“Oh!” Momma Bear exclaims, “It’s only the best part of our local community service program. And the best part-get this-is that it’s all by and for the kiddies.”

“Meaning,” Anne-Marie clarifies, with a sour expression and a taut throat, “That I’ll be stuck here babysitting and cleaning trash off the highway for the whole week.”

“Psh, c’mon sweetheart,” her mom replies, “T’ain’t but some good ol’ fashioned honest work. And ‘sides, it shouldn’t take longer than a few days if you don’t waste time idling those hands of yours away on your phone.”

“‘Ma, you don’t get it. This plan with my friends is really important.”

“Looky-here, hun. A promise is a promise. Are you really going to take the Lord’s work for granted just for some friends-a-yers?”

Anne-Marie’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Her cheeks start to redden, and her pupils start quivering. So I jump in:

“Don’t worry Momma Bear, a promise is a promise. We’ll get that highway spick-and-span by sunset tomorrow and then we’ll go have our fun. Deal?”

“Sounds like a plan, hun,” she replies, nodding approvingly. “Y’all can do whatever you like as long as the work gets done.”

I give her a bow. “Then you have my word, ma’am.”

“What a riot!” Momma Bear hoot-hollers. “Annie-May, I do declare you’ve found yourself a keeper.”

My girlfriend looks pale enough to pass out on the spot.

“There’s just one teensy little favor we have to ask,” I say, “If that’s alright with you, that is?”

“Of course, hun. Anything for a hardworking, handsome young gentleman such as yourself.”

I weave my hands into a negotiator’s triangle. “If we intend for this little roadtrip of ours to last the week, we might need some procurements for gas and food- and such.”

Momma Bear nods. “Of course, hun. I only have one question left for you, if you please.”

I tip an imaginary hat. “Anything, Missus Bear.”

There’s a devilish glimmer in her thickly-lined blue eyes, like a skewering knife run right through the soft middle of a strawberry shortcake. The corners of her plump limps curl into rainbows, and she asks:

“What was the primary inspiration behind End of Evangelion?”

“Oh that’s easy,” I say, without thinking. “Anno basically cribbed the entire vibe from Space Runaway Ideon.”

“Well I’ll be,” Momma Bear says, running a hand between her chins approvingly. “You really do know your vintage. How does two hundred sound?”

I look to Anne-Marie, who shakes her head.

“Uhh,” I reply. “Might be a little tight, what with the gas prices with the war ‘n stuff…”

“I can do three,” Momma Bear says, snatching a fat, brown purse off a shelf chock-full of family polaroids.

I shrug at Anne-Marie, who seems to be awakening from my sheer stupidity. Her eyes flutter to life as she rolls them and takes charge:

“We’ll need at least a hundred for the gas there and back, at least a couple for accommodations, and that’s not even counting food.”

My throat slackens at the numbers being thrown around. I don’t think I’ve held more than two hundred in my hands at any point in my entire life. Then again, I’m still traumatized from the time Dad laughed me away when I asked for my first allowance sum above fifty last year. It went something along the lines of:

“If I was just made of money like that, maybe Barbs wouldn’t have left us.”

Momma Bear raises an eyebrow as she fishes around in her bag. “What happened to your job savings, hippie-dip?”

“I’m saving that for college, ‘ma. You know that.”

“Right as rain,” Momma Bear replies, withdrawing several bills spotted with a dubious melange of what must be lipstick, polish remover, and fry grease. “But I only have three hunnies on me, so I’ll have to ask your daddy-”

“Three’s fine,” Anne-Marie replies, swiping the bills out of her mother’s hands. “Seeya round, ‘ma. Gotta go pack!”

She grabs me by the arms and drags me back out to the foyer at top speed. And, once we reach the first corner clear of any snooping lines of sight, she pins me against the nearest wall.