The Baby Shower Killer
6/28/07

I thought if one more person asked me when I was going to have a baby I would kill them. So each day leading up to my cousin's baby shower I grew more and more frightened. Everyone in my family was having a baby, and my female relatives never missed an opportunity to put the pressure on me. Even explaining to them that I never wanted to have kids wasn't enough. "You'll change your mind," they always said with a laugh.

Yet I felt as if nothing could ever change my mind. Each cousin or aunt who got knocked up made me more and more adamant.

At this upcoming baby shower, I thought if anyone popped the baby question I really would kill them. It wasn't just an idle threat this time. I was having actual homicidal thoughts. I desired to literally commit murder.

That's why I was buying a knife. I'd thought about getting a gun but ultimately decided that would be too complicated, too loud, and too expensive. What I needed was something basic and affordable that I could easily conceal in my purse.

So I took a bus down to the hunting supply store. I figured they would have some good sharp knives.

"I need a good sharp knife," I told the man behind the counter in response to his unfriendly greeting of, "Help you?"

A few other customers glanced in my direction. They were all the typical hunting type: Large barrel-shaped men in camouflage, some of them with their sons, who were smaller barrel-shaped boys in camouflage.

The counter man was no different. "Whatchoo need a knife for, Sweetie?" He asked through a mouthful of chewing tobacco.

"For ki – cutting up.. deer.. and stuff." I'd never been a good liar.

"You hunt?" One of the customers' sons asked, obviously enticed. His wide eyes looked me up and down.

"It's for my husband," I said, emphasizing "husband" for the benefit of my young horny friend.

An amused smile formed on the counter man's face. "Your hubby couldn't come down here hissel–"

"It's a gift," I interjected. "Just sell me one, don't give me a lot of crap about it."

The hunting store patrons appeared evenly split between shocked and tickled.

"Alright then," the counter man smirked, raising his arms dramatically. "Don't kill me!"

The hunters laughed raucously.

I won't, I thought. Not you.

Somehow I got Counter Man to cut the crap and sell me a good sharp knife that was basic and affordable and could easily be concealed in my purse. Then I walked over to the neighboring mall to buy a gift. As I stepped into Babies R' Us I paused for a moment to savor the irony of buying a deadly weapon right before a pack of onesies. Then I paused a moment longer to ponder whether that was actually irony. Whatever it was, it was oddly satisfying.

I began to consider my plot. What if it was my cousin who committed the heinous act of questioning my future child-bearing plans? She was pregnant, and I'd watched enough Law and Order to know that killing a pregnant woman could count as a double homicide, depending on which trimester the fetus was in. I decided it would probably be best not to kill her.

Then there was my mother, I suddenly realized as I sorted through some pink and blue booties. I thought long and hard about whether I actually had any qualms about brutally murdering the woman who put on my own booties when I was a little tike. I decided that I did not. She had always been the biggest offender, and besides, what had she done for me lately besides criticize me and make me miserable?

Then I thought about my grandmother. I'd always been fond of her, despite her possible pregnancy prodding. I would probably miss her.

Considering my poor memory, I thought I'd better make a list. So I took a notebook and pen out of my purse, sat down behind a clothing rack and scrawled:

Don't Kill
Pregnant cousin
Grandmom
Kids

Kill?
Mom
Aunts
Adult strangers

Once I had my gift and my weapon, it was time to get ready. That night I concealed my knife in my purse by wrapping it in a silk scarf and hiding it under my day planner. Then I wrapped the baby accessories I'd purchased in some light blue paper with pink teddy bears on it.

My phone rang. It was my mother, of course. "Just wanted to remind you about the baby shower tomorrow. I know how you forget things."

I sighed and rubbed my temple.

"Did you forget?" She tried again after I didn't answer.

"No."

"Did you get a gift? Because I'm not putting your name on my gift unless you pay me twenty dollars."

"I got a gift."

"What did you get?"

I felt my face getting hot. I wasn't in the mood to be berated by my mother over my gift choices. "Some onesies and some booties."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"You couldn't spend a little more?"

I started to hope my mom would be the one to ask me about my baby plans at the shower. I glanced at my purse and a tiny smile crossed my face.

"Do you want me to pick you up something else and you can pay me back at the party?" She droned on.

"No!"

"I think you should spend a little more, I mean she's your cousin."

I reached for my knife, briefly considering using it to slit my wrists. Anything to end this conversation. "Exactly, Mom, she's my cousin, not my sister."

"You used to run around in the backyard naked together."

"Mom, I gotta go."

"I'll run out and pick you up something."

"No!"

"I'll pay for it this time, but for your other cousin's shower –"

"No, damnit!" I pressed "End" on my phone and turned it off. I knew I would hear it from her on the way to the party and lamented that the killing may have to take place sooner than planned.

I reminded myself to feign good spirits when my husband arrived home from work, but to my surprise I was in as pleasant a mood as ever. I felt much better about the baby shower business knowing I would be going in heavy.

We ate dinner and watched TV like any other night, and when we went to bed, I slept surprisingly well. There was something strangely comforting about knowing that there was a good sharp knife in my purse, next to my wallet and my keys. It was like some kind of morbid security blanket.

When my mom picked me up the next day, she was just as pissed as I thought she'd be. It was all I could do not to whip out my slasher right there.

"I don't like that kind of talk!" She growled. "And I don't like being hung up on!"

If all my years of dealing with my mother had taught me anything, it was how to divert her attention. "Sorry," I muttered. "Hey, I like your outfit."

She seemed to want to stay mad at me for a brief instant, but she could never resist a compliment. "Thanks! I got it at Macy's. This shirt was only twelve dollars, can you believe that?"

"Wow," I replied with mock enthusiasm.

She went on and on, "..And I picked up some shoes for your sister 'cause she has such fat feet and blah, blah, blah, huge sale at Bloomies, blah, blah, blah, only fifty bucks!"

I nodded and slipped my hand into my purse, gripping the handle of my knife.

Wait. If you do it now they won't learn anything.

I settled for switching on the radio. I browsed through the stations while my mom continued gabbing about clothes and shoes and sales.

Twenty minutes later we were outside my aunt's house. I felt a sudden chill when I saw all the familiar women walking in, carrying colorful packages.

My mom opened her door. "You comin'?" She asked with raised eyebrows. "Do you need to put on some more makeup?"

"I'm not wearing any," I grumbled.

"Oh," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "Did you bring any?"

At that I abruptly climbed out and headed toward the house.

Please let it be my mom. She's really got it coming.

I held my purse close to me and gently patted the bulge of my knife. I felt very 1940's Hitchcock movie: The beautiful and tragic damsel, driven to murder after years of torment. A knife wrapped in a silk scarf and concealed in a purse. How much more vintage murderess can you get? I straightened my back and strolled elegantly through the door.

Here we go.

My mind reeled as I scanned the faces of the party goers.

Who will feel my blade today?

I figured I had about thirty seconds before someone would open her big fat mouth and I would have to act.

"Make sure you congratulate your cousin!" My mom hissed in my ear.

"I will! Jeez!" I blurted a little too loudly. The other party-goers shot us awkward glances.

Always one to keep up appearances, my mom smiled politely around at them and laughed her airy, fake, "everything's fine here" laugh. "My daughter," she said, pointing at me and rolling her eyes the way parents always do when they say, "Kids today!"

I flopped down on the big sectional sofa in an attempt to avoid my mother, who was now working the room like a movie star at a press junket.

My grandmother was sitting next to me. "So," she said with a tired smile.

I held my breath. The list I'd made popped into my head, Don't kill Grandmom.

"When are we gonna have one of these for you?" She finished, gently placing a hand on my knee.

I let out an explosive nervous chuckle. "Hey, is that punch?" I croaked, jumping up and heading for the hors d’oeuvres. I could almost feel my grandmother's puzzled look bearing into my back as I scrambled away.

One of my little cousins was by the punch bowl, sniffing at it curiously.

I sniffed it too. "None of that for you," I chided, easing her away from the table.

"Aw, why not?" She whined, assuming an expertly crafted sad puppy dog face.

"You're eight years old," I explained, scooping myself a generous helping of punch.

"How old are you?" My cousin persisted.

"Twenty-three," I replied, gulping down half of my glass.

"How come you're not having a baby?"

I nearly spat punch all over the hors d'oeuvres. The list flashed through my mind again, Don't kill kids.

My cousin smiled up at me expectantly.

I cleared my throat to keep from choking on the punch. "Not all grown-ups have babies," I said through gritted teeth. "You spread the word, OK?"

She looked confused, but still nodded obediently.

I looked around for a safer place to camp out.

My aunt suddenly entered from the kitchen, "She's almost here!" She shouted gleefully. Excited squeals rose from the guests.

My little cousin and I exchanged long-suffering glances. I poured us both some more punch.

Moments later the guest of honor arrived, her bewildered "baby daddy" in tow. Everyone happily shouted "Surprise!" With the exception of myself and my new drinking buddy, who was eagerly chugging her punch.

"Take it easy," I whispered. "Your mom's right over there!"

She slammed her empty paper cup down on the table and belched loudly. At that point I thought it best to move away from the punch bowl. I poured myself one last cup and headed for the gift table. On the way I passed my pregnant cousin, who had now collected an entourage of doting aunts, friends and neighbors.

"Go say congratulations to your cousin!" A frighteningly familiar voice hissed in my ear. I turned to see my mother standing behind me, scowling and smiling politely at the same time (a baffling skill of hers).

"I will, jeez!" I groaned, migrating toward the blur of pastels and lacquered nails now surrounding my cousin. I squeezed in between two of my aunts and forced a friendly smile. "Congratulations!" I called loudly enough for my mother to hear over my chattering relatives.

"Thanks," she smiled back at me. "So when are you gonna join the club?"

"What?" I froze amid shoving my way back out of the crowd.

"When are you getting knocked up?" A few coos of agreement arose from the pack of pregnancy police.

My hand slid slowly into my purse and my fingers grasped the handle of the knife. Then I remembered the list again, Don't kill pregnant cousin.

Crap!

I quickly dropped the knife and looked around at the overly made-up faces of my female relatives. "If one more person asks me that I'm going to kill them," I said with a nervous laugh.

They erupted into high-pitched giggles. If only they knew how serious I was.

I forced my way through to the gift table and stole a glance at my watch. The party was scheduled to continue for another three and a half hours. I looked over my shoulder at the punch bowl, where my little cousin was helping herself to another cupful.

She's got the right idea, I thought.

Lunch and gift-opening managed to go off without a hitch. The other guests appeared momentarily distracted from me and my baby-making plans. I began to think that maybe I didn't need my concealed weapon at all, and felt a combination of relief and disappointment.

A few more hours and several more glasses of punch later, the party was over. The other women were tucking away their favors and hugging each other goodbye. I spotted my mom in a corner, holding a glass of punch and chatting up a young blonde woman I didn't recognize.

She waved me over energetically. "Do you know Claire?" She asked, gesturing toward the blonde woman. "She went to high school with you."

"No," I sighed.

"Are you sure?" My mom prodded, her voice growing louder. The smell of punch was heavy on her breath.

"It was a big school." I rolled my eyes at Claire with a good-humored smile. She returned my eye roll and glanced at her watch.

My mother leaned in closer to Claire and slurred, "She didn't have many friends, the poor thing."

"Mom! It's time to go!" I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door.

She stumbled, knocking over a picture frame. "Ow!" She cried. "Hey, who's the mom here?"

Sometimes I wonder.

I managed to somehow get my mom out of the house and into the passenger seat of her mini van (She was clearly in no condition to drive). I fished the keys out of her mammoth handbag and started up the van.

"That was fun!" My mom shouted cheerily. "Didn't your cousin look great?"

"Mm," I mumbled noncommittally.

"So," she chirped, twirling her hair between her fingers. "When are you going to finally make me proud and start a family?"

"Start a family?" I asked, my heart pounding in my head. Technically, we weren't at the baby shower anymore, but I'd never made a rule that said I had to be.

For her, this counts, I thought, slowing the car down.

My mom didn't notice. "You know what I mean!" She snapped. "If you would just have kids like a normal person I wouldn't have to keep lying about you to my friends! All their daughters already have kids, you know. Margie's daughter – you know, Shelly? – she just had her second. Here I am stuck with a daughter who's so selfish she refuses to get pregnant and make her mother happy!"

My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as I pulled over to the side of the road. It was now growing dark outside and we were on a quiet suburban street, tucked away in the woods. There were no other people around that I could see, and the windows in the one or two houses nearby were dark.

No witnesses. It couldn't be more perfect.

I turned the key off and let the van idle.

"What are you doing?" She barked, staring out the window. "Did you get lost already? God, you're just like your father!"

My hands shook as I reached into my purse and slowly pulled out the silk scarf.

"Get out! Let me drive!" She was still nagging.

"Mom, wait a minute," I said softly.

She turned to me with angry, slightly bloodshot eyes. "What?" She shouted, with an exasperated sigh.

"Remember what I said at the shower?" I continued, carefully unwrapping the scarf. "How if one more person asked me when I'm having a baby I would kill them?"

"Of course I remember!" She barked. "It was so embarrassing! Why are you always doing that to me?"

"Well," I said, calmly lifting the knife from the scarf. "I meant it."

My mother's scowl mutated to a look of disgust. "Oh honestly!" She scoffed. "Do you think that's funny? Thank God you didn't pull that at the party! Now get out so I can drive!"

I removed the blade from its cover and held it out in front of my face. It gleamed in the light from a passing car.

For once she fell silent and her eyes grew wide as realization finally dawned.

A wave of relief rushed through me and my hands stopped shaking. At last I could have some peace.