Monday, December 20, 2004

Nothing says lovin' like buns in the oven

Poison Ivy was the little twat I expected her to be this weekend, right up until she crossed a line with Jazz. We went out for breakfast Saturday morning. Jazz had already tossed her daily cookies before we left, discreetly so her sister and her fiancé would not overhear. But something about the smell of the IHOP sent her running for the ladies room ten minutes after we arrived.

Now you would think this might be a red flag, but surprisingly, nobody caught on. Jazz and I even exchanged looks. She wanted to tell them that afternoon after they’d had time to catch up, but still had time to discuss it. Sometimes flying by the seat of your pants works out better than all the planning in the world though.

Ivy started with, “I saw Matthew two weeks ago. I told him you’d be in town this weekend.”

I wouldn’t have paid any attention to her remark had it not been for Jasmine’s reaction. I don’t know any of their friends from the past or even the more distant family members so hearing an unfamiliar name is no big deal. But for Jazz to inhale and sit up straight made me take pause.

I glanced back and forth between the two women trying to figure out what was happening. Ivy kept eating, but Jasmine was stiff and staring her little ass down.

What in the hell? Who’s Matthew?

“Look at me.” Jazz said. Her voice was low and angry and all three of us looked at her like a bunch of fearful schoolchildren, though obviously it was only Ivy that she was interested in. “I have never disrespected Gary. Dammit, you had no right to do that to me or to Jay.”

Whoah. “What did you do, punk?”

“Go to hell.”

“Stop it!” Jasmine snapped at her sister.

What the fuck is going on here? Jazz was glaring at Ivy, Ivy was glaring at me, I didn’t want to be left out of the fucking loop so I turned to glare at Gary who was blissfully cramming forkfuls of French toast into his mouth faster than he could chew.

Ah, Jesus, would somebody fill me the fuck in? “Hey, honey,” I whispered as if they couldn’t hear me from across the table, “Is that an ex-boyfriend?”

I was ignored, no surprise. Talk about disrespecting a man. My pride had little time to lick its wounds when it escalated and imploded.

Ivy rolled her eyes. “There is no reason why you can’t just say hi to the man, Jassy.”

“There are three reasons why I’d rather not,” she used her fingers to tick them off, “Jay is the biggest one whether you like it or not and the twin babies I’m carrying are two and three.”

Holyshit, she told her! Yeah! YEAH! I wanted to jump up and point at Ivy and yell “In your face, beeyotch!” followed by the touchdown dance. 'We are the Champions' blared through my head.

But what I actually did was sit in my chair like the good little boyfriend I have been trained to be and enjoy the stunned looks on their faces. Damn! Jazz didn’t even break it to them easy. She dropped the motherload on them all at once. No Vaseline for you, baby, just take it! Don’t fuck with my woman.

Just another day at the IHOP.