Deviled Eggs

Gail had muttered an apology to the man she bumped into on Aisle Seven, but what had come out of her mouth sounded more like a muffled, Fuck off! 

God, what was it about the holidays that made the aisles so narrow and the men so bulky and the stupid grocery store so full? Gail couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to be there on Christmas Eve. The thought of it made her knuckles whiten around the shopping cart, and she gazed begrudgingly at all the strangers surrounding her, clearly intent on ruining her day. She wished they’d all get into fender benders in their fancy Teslas on their way out of this hell hole. Even more, she wished the last can of cranberry sauce, or the last bottle of bubbly wine, or the final box of stuffing mix, or whatever it was they were all here for, was out of stock, so they would all have no other choice but to leave her alone. 

At least she had a justifiable reason to be here. If Stewart wanted ketchup on his eggs, he would have ketchup on his eggs. Yes, he would. She would make sure of it. There was really nothing that she wouldn’t do for her little Stewart, including going to the grocery store on arguably the worst day of the year. Yes, of course, Mommy will go, Dear. There’s nothing Mommy wouldn’t do for you. Nothing except maybe get him that new Razor Electric Go Kart Dune Buggy he’d been talking non-stop about. 

Six hundred dollars, she’d repeated back to him. He was only eleven years old, but surely, he could hear how ridiculous, how outrageous, that sounded. Not for him to ask for it, Of course, my dear you can ask for whatever you want and Mommy will get it for you. But outrageous for a toy car company to be setting their prices so egregiously that mothers would be forced to say no to their sweet, innocent, little, angel-faced sons. And well, she’d reminded him with a gentle pat on his head, it is a car for pre-teens, Dear, and you are not quite there yet. How blessed was she to have a child who didn’t talk back, but quietly accepted what his mother told him. An angel! She’d given birth to an angel, she was sure of it!

When Gail finally made it to Aisle Eight, she guffawed loudly. This had to be a joke! That was it, a sick and cruel joke – a Christmas miracle of the sinister variety! Who in God’s Great Heaven needed the ketchup aisle on Christmas Eve? A growl escaped her when the realization finally settled. A couple huddled around the mayonnaise looked in her direction. The rest didn’t dare, kept fumbling idiotically, continuing their moronic game of bumper carts. Gail huffed. That’s right, look away, she thought. She was not here to make conversation, especially not with Christmas-Eve-mayonnaise-buyers! Deviled eggs, how original. How bloody disgusting! Who even made deviled eggs anymore? Disgusting people! Last-minute-shopping-kind-of-people! Tesla-driving people!

Gail pushed her cart forward, steering straight ahead, with enough force to make the wheels squeak and the metal clank. Oh, yeah, you’d better move! Don’t think she wouldn’t, don’t think for one measly second she wouldn’t ram right into the lot of you if you don’t move your fat as— Good! That’s right, share the aisle. Jesus Christ! 

Her cart screeched to a halt, knocking a couple of mustard bottles onto the floor. Yeah, well, what do they expect? Really. Narrow aisleways, mustard on the bottom shelf.

“Is somebody gonna clean that up?” Gail hollered. The aisle froze, but none of the Tesla Drivers even attempted to prove themselves less of an entitled idiot. Honestly, who had raised these imbeciles? “Somebody’s gonna slip! Be a shame if your party went on without any deviled eggs,” she hissed, her eyes scanning up and down the ketchup varieties. Gail chuckled. Stewart really did have the funniest Mom. 

After she’d plucked Stewart’s favorite ketchup from the shelf – the one with applesauce in it, of course, Dear! – Gail weaved her way out of Aisle Eight, only shoulder-checking one young mother who’d kept her eyes off her child for far too long and really deserved it. At the Perimeter Aisle, she could see that the register lines were sticking out of Aisle Nine, Aisle Ten, and Aisle Eleven. 

Oh, for the love of God! More Tesla-Driving-Deviled-Egg-Eating IDIOTS! Gah, she could scream! She stared down at the lone ketchup bottle in her shopping cart. Stewart needed that ketchup. Plain eggs on Christmas morning would not do! Gah, but that line was horrendous! It was more devilish than those disgusting deviled eggs! 

Devilish – ah-ha! Perhaps, that was the theme of this forsaken Christmas Eve! Perhaps, there was a way out of here without stooping down to the lowly levels of a last-minute-shopper. It wasn’t the proudest way out, and definitely not the way she’d ever condone in the presence of sweet Stewart. But certainly, there were always cases for exceptions. She was a flexible Mother, after all, and she wanted her son, too, to be flexible. To be able to prioritize in moments of crisis. 

Gail looked at the ketchup bottle, then back up at the Fingers of Death jutting out of every aisle. 

But, Stewart. 

But, plain eggs. 

She’d never have to tell him. He’d never find out. 

The eggs would be the best Christmas eggs he’s ever had! 

And really, the ketchup was only $5.99.

Besides, there was nobody available to clean up the mustard mess on Aisle Eight, so, there really shouldn’t be anybody available to pay attention to a little ole mother trying to get a little bottle of ketchup home to her precious son. This place was a mad house. No one would even notice.

It was settled! Sweet Stewart would have his ketchup! Gail slowly turned her cart in the opposite direction of the Fingers of Death, smirking at her cleverness. Funniest Mom and Smartest Mom! Stewart would be so pleased with her! She would say, Yes, Dear, shopping went surprisingly smoothly! Not a soul in sight, and all the ketchup any child could ask for! It was a Christmas miracle! Gail was practically singing when she made it to Aisle Two, where there truly was no one (who in God’s name needed boxed cereal on Christmas?) – at least that part wouldn’t be a lie. She paused her cart, slipped the ketchup bottle subtly into her over-sized jacket pocket (thank goodness the other one had been stained!), and gave her empty shopping cart a slight nudge down Aisle One. 

It was still rolling when Gail walked out of the store.

At least traffic wasn’t nearly as bad as the drive over. Teslas probably had to stop somewhere to charge – ha! And to think if she had waited in line… She was only a little disappointed that she would never get to see all those last-minute-shopping-idiots get what they deserved. Was getting caught up in their electric-car bottleneck worth almost certainly witnessing one of them ramming into another? Perhaps. Maybe. 

No, no, no. This was the better scenario. Now, she would get home to her waiting Angel via a nearly empty freeway, on Christmas Eve, no less! God had truly blessed her. Blessed them both! And yielded His Righteous Power on all those Mayonnaise-Buying-Lunatics! God was good. 

Beside her, the ketchup bottle sat perfectly still, and Gail couldn’t stop imagining Stewart’s smiling freckled face as she choo-choo-trained a fork full of tomatoey eggs into his excited mouth. You have your Mommy’s lips and your Father’s appetite, she’d say. Though she’d never elaborate on his Father beyond that, no matter how much Stewart begged. 

Gail couldn’t stop her nails from digging into the steering wheel at the thought of Frankford’s ridiculous request. So, he didn’t like the way the bathroom floor looked? Thought it was too dirty, did he? Her? He wanted her to clean it? Get down on her knees and scrub, in her condition? At that point, it hadn’t mattered that she was eight months pregnant, Gail was so mad that she’d clutched the knife she’d been washing, because she’d supposed her dish-washing wasn’t good enough either, was it? And when Frankford had asked what she planned to do with it, well, she had a mess to clean, didn’t she? And, then, well, that had been the only moment in Stewart’s entire life Mommy hadn’t considered her little Angel –

No, no, no need to ask any more questions, Dear. His Father wasn’t the man for her, so he wasn’t the man for them, and that was the end of it! And with that, Stewart, the angel he was, never made another peep.

Snow was sprinkling down when Gail pulled into her driveway. Leaning over the steering wheel as she parked the car, Gail tried to determine if this was something to be concerned about. She hadn’t heard of a Christmas storm coming in, not that she’d checked the news or anything. She wasn’t one of those mothers who’d plop her child in front of a TV screen to have some peace and quiet. Why have a child at all, if that’s what you were going to do with it? No, TV was hardly ever on during Stewart’s wakeful hours, and by the time he’d gone to bed, well, Gail was exhausted! If a mother wasn’t completely worn out after a day of servitude to her child, then it was Gail’s opinion they were not doing enough! Those were the kinds of mothers who’d let their child eat plain eggs on Christmas morning. 

As she came through the front door, ketchup in hand, above her head heroically, something Stewart always giggled at, Gail shouted, “I’m back, my sweet boy! They had your favorite!” 

She hung up her coat on the rack by the door and made her way to the kitchen. In the sink, she found Stewart’s lunch dish. Boys! Never learn to clean up for themselves! She smirked at the crumb-scattered plate. At least he ate it all. Growing boys needed their food. She placed the ketchup bottle on the counter and slid into her apron and gloves, scrubbing happily as she watched the snow gather in the backyard. It seemed to be falling harder than it had been, collecting quickly across the lawn. 

Biting her lip, Gail leaned to the side, hoping to spot the far corner of the yard. She gasped! A small pile of snow had already formed there. The wind must have been pushing it in that direction. Oh no, oh no, oh no! Not there! Anywhere, but there!

Gail dropped the dishes into the sink and leaned forward to slide the window open. “Stewart! Stewart!”

A gust of wind whirled loudly. Oh no, you don’t! You stop it, Gail demanded. You stop it this instant! Gail yanked the side door open and practically sprinted across the lawn. Mommy’s coming, Dear! Don’t be afraid! It’s just a little snow!

On her knees, she began to dig through the small fluffy patch. Stewart, her sweet boy! Mommy was coming! Mommy was here! There wasn’t supposed to be snow, it’s only the first week of winter, for Heaven’s sake! Mommy didn’t know!

It didn’t take long before she reached dirt. And there, she saw the large flat rock she’d placed all those years ago. Oh, sweet relief. Oh, thank goodness. Placing both hands atop the flat earth, Gail bent forward, resting her cheek on the freezing soil. Mommy’s sweet boy. Mommy was so sorry she hadn’t put the blanket out. If only she hadn’t been held up by all those last-minute-shoppers at the store, she’d have been home in time to see the snow starting to fall! It was their fault. 

But Mommy was going to make it better! 

Gail rushed to the shed and grabbed the blue winter tarp. In the thirty seconds it took her, more snow had covered the small patch. Stewart! Hold on, Dear! Using her arm like a snow dozer, Gail swiped the snow over in one big swoop, pushing all of the snow to the side. Oh, hush, Frankford! This wasn’t about him! Didn’t he care at all about their son? 

Shhh, shhh, shhh, Gail cooed, patting the tarp gently over the dirt. There, there, this was going to keep her sweet boy nice and warm. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Mommy was going to take care of him. And she was so very sorry, again, that she’d been such an irresponsible mother. Was there anything she could do to make it up to her sweet little angel?

Yes, of course, Mommy would do anything to make it up to him, except that damn Dune Buggy. But he knew not to ask for that. Such a sweet boy. 

What was it she could do for him? She begged him to tell her. Anything, she’d do whatever he wanted. 

Yes, of course, Dear. Of course, Mommy was going to go, and no, she didn’t mind that she’d already gone. The storm really wasn’t that bad. Not bad at all! The roads had been so clear. Zero traffic! Those stupid Teslas were all parked somewhere! Ha! And there was hardly anyone at the store! It wasn’t a problem at all. In fact, she was happy to go, really. She’d get ready now. Mommy would be right back. There was nothing to worry about. 

If her sweet little angel wanted deviled eggs on Christmas morning, then that’s exactly what he would have.