Doing Business, Part 59 (Patreon)

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Fifty-Nine

Oh, we had a pretty good laugh about that–all those times we said something like ‘Just don’t do something embarrassing like wet your pants.’ It was the sort of thing that was likely believable, though nobody actually thought it would happen.

Well it did. I pissed my pants at the table of the restaurant while brunch began with my mother and Lyndie. I wasn’t even wearing a diaper. Just inches from my mother, I was sitting in a puddle.

“So,” my mother said, wrapping up one conversation and seemingly ready to leap into another. “Clark. It’s been a while since we spoke, hmm?”

“W-well…yeah, it seems that way.” I was trying very hard to be an active part of the conversation, but my mind was all over the place. How would I get up? Was there any way I could get out of this without my mother seeing my pants?

I really needed Lyndie’s help. I wish we had some sort of codeword I could say so that she knew there was an issue. “Rutabaga!”

“I’m glad that we’re reconnecting now,” she said, slowly chewing a small pastry from the plate that had been placed in the center of our table. “I hope that I won’t have to wait as long for the next time we get together like this?”

“I guess we’ll see,” I said. I intended for it to sound a little sarcastic and playful, but my distracted tone gave it a more ominous edge.

“I’ll be the first to admit,” my mother said, talking directly to Lyndie, “I can sometimes be a little…overbearing. But it’s only because I love my son, you know?”

“Of course,” Lyndie replied, nodding. “You care about him, you want the best for him.”

“Exactly. See, Clark? Linda gets it.”

“Lyndie,” I corrected. “And I never doubted that you cared about me. I just think…I’m at an age where I’m able to take care of myself.”

The irony–me saying such a thing while sitting in soaked pants–was not lost on me.

“See, this is what the media does,” my mother said.

I watched Lyndie chuckle and lean in a little–eager to see where this was going.

My mother continued: “They tell you that you’re ready to be an adult when you’re 18. As if a flip switches on your 18th birthday and you don’t need to learn anything else.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever actually said that,” I said.

“You know what I mean, Clark. These shows and films about young adults getting apartments and cars. And living this exciting life of drugs and drinking and dance parties and…”

“I can assure you that I’m not going to any, uh, dance parties.”

“I’m just saying. An adult should be slowly released into the world. I hear parents complaining about their children still living with them in their mid-to-late 20s. I say: Fine! You take all the time you need, lest you stumble out there before you’re ready and end up humiliating yourself.”

I felt my cheeks warming as I took a deep breath. “A-are you saying I should live with you a few more years before I’m allowed to experience the world for myself?”

“Well, not exactly,” she shrugged. “But I am saying that, well, who would know best when a child is ready to move on? I’d say it’s the parent who has raised him his entire life.”

Lyndie responded: “With all due respect, Ms. Ashburn. I left home when I was 18. I’m living on my own now. I think I’m doing alright for myself.”

“Your mother must be very proud of the good job she did, then,” my mother quickly retorted.

Had Lyndie implied–whether on purpose or not–that her mother had done a better job of raising her than my mother had done in raising me? I braced myself for some tension at the table, but thankfully, my mother seemed to just shrug it off.

Under the table, I was fumbling in my pocket for my phone, which I carefully slid out. I was tempted to just text Lyndie to tell her what had happened–but what did I expect her to do? I needed…Mommy.

Text from me to Mommy: “I hope you’re not busy. I’m having a bit of an emergency right now.”

And now to wait for a response.

“It kind of sounds like you’re saying that you didn’t think Clark was ready to be on his own yet,” Lyndie said, meanwhile.

My mother laughed a little to herself and nodded. “I suppose I did think that. Up until this morning, in fact. All this–your career, your relationship, your ability to get a table like this at an establishment like this–well, it’s rather impressive. I’m not afraid to say that I might have been wrong.”

I could see the smile on Lyndie’s face. She couldn’t say what she was thinking, but she didn’t have to. I knew exactly what she wanted to say: ‘Little does your mother know that she’s actually right–you’re not even out of diapers yet. How could you be an adult?’

“Well, uhm, thanks,” I said, nodding.

I felt like a complete idiot. I had gotten caught up in creating a fake version of myself for my mother’s approval, but now that I had it–it just didn’t feel all that good. The fake version of me was getting her approval. I wasn’t the success that she thought I was.

Under the table, my cellphone vibrated.

Mommy: “What sort of emergency, Clark?”

Me: “I might have…wet myself.”

Mommy: “But…aren’t you at brunch? With your mother?”

Me: “Yes! Nobody knows yet. But I’m not wearing a diaper, so I can’t stand up or everyone will see.”

Mommy: “LOL! Baby, you’ve gotten yourself into a real pickle. Look, just stay in your seat. I can help you, but it’s going to take a me a little bit to pick up some new pants and a diaper for you.”

I felt my cheeks burn as I read her last sentence. I couldn’t believe that this was actually how today was going down. This almost seemed worse than whatever I was expecting.

“Is everything okay?” my mother asked.

“Oh…what?”

“You’ve been staring down at your lap for a good minute or two,” she said. “Everything okay down there?”

“Just had to, uh, take a text or two for work. Sorry about that.”

I glanced up at Lyndie’s face to see that she wasn’t buying it, though she was keeping her mouth closed. I was tempted to keep her in the dark, but I knew I’d be better off if I had her on my side for this little crisis. I quickly sent one more text, this time to her.

Text from me to Lyndie: “I wet my pants. No, I do NOT want to hear any snarky comments about it right now. I already texted Mommy about it and she’s coming to help as soon as she can.”

I hit send and sighed nervously, afraid to see the expression on Lyndie’s face when she got the text.

Ding! I could hear Lyndie’s phone chime from her purse, currently hanging off the back of her chair. She reached behind her to retrieve it.

“Look, no offense,” my mother said, “I get it–you’re young professionals and it’s probably a generational thing to be on your phones all the time. But doesn’t it get exhausting to be attached to them as often as you two are? Look, we’re in a nice restaurant and you’re staring at your little screens.”

Lyndie’s lips stretched into an intensely smug grin as she read the message on her screen. She gave me the briefest of glances before slowly returning her phone to her purse. No remarks. No snide comments. She simply turned to my mother and began talking again.

“I’d love to get to know you a little better,” she said to my mother. “What is it you do for a living?”

The only thing my mother loved more than telling other people stories about me when I was young, was telling other people about herself. This would buy us plenty of time. I could’ve kissed Lyndie. In fact, I made a mental note to kiss her later, when this was all said and done and my mother had left our city.

“Clark hasn’t told you?” My mother’s eyes darted to me, a look of disapproval in them.

“Oh, well, he might have said a little in passing. But I’d love to hear from you.”

“Well,” my mother said, an elated look on her face, “I currently head a non-profit devoted to providing educational resources to new parents. Parenthood is a subject that’s not really taught to you in school–not like it used to be. And so our group tries to fill that need for anyone who might be struggling.”

“Wow,” Lyndie replied, nodding her head. “That seems…” She looked at me, and I could once again get a sense for what she was thinking–probably something like ‘strangely poignant.’ But she actually finished the thought with a more mother-pleasing: “...like a great thing for the community.”

“Thank you,” my mother said. “I’m a little too lost in the behind-the-scenes of it all to be directly talking to parents myself these days. But I’m happy to be the backbone that supports the cause.”

Lyndie poked again, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Do you have, like, a background in education?”

“Oh, goodness yes. I was a teacher for over 30 years. Clark didn’t mention that?”

I wondered if it would be that hard for my mother to believe that we–whether we were a real couple or not–just never sat around and talked about my mother for a while.

“I don’t think he mentioned the, uh, 30 years part…”

“Let me tell you, being a teacher today is not the same as what it used to be like,” my mother said. This was the start of a spiel. I’ve heard this spiel countless times in my life. “Back then, we were barely thinking about the Internet, let alone cell phones. And, personally, I think research was better for it. It meant you had to go and find books–actual books–to read and pull data from. Now, by the time you’ve finished explaining the assignments, the students have already found some app that already did the work for them.”

I began to tune out, staring down at my phone, waiting to see a new message appear from Mommy. It hadn’t been that long since she said she was coming, but…c’mon! Hurry up!

“...seemed like a good time to step back and reevaluate what I wanted from my career, you know? So I tried to look at the concept of education, and I thought about where education actually starts…”

One of the worst parts of all this? Sitting there in my wet chair and my wet pants…I was actually kind of turned on by the situation. Not so much that it was overriding my shame and humiliation. But just enough that I could feel a fluttering in my chest as I waited for Mommy to arrive to save the day.

This was what it was to be a pathetic man-baby, wasn’t it? I couldn’t just ‘turn off’ that part of me. No matter where I went or what I did–I was only ever a moment away from making some kind of mess out of myself.

The server took our orders, and food was starting to be delivered to our table in courses. I was becoming more and more distracted from the conversations taking place at the table between my mother and Lyndie. I suspected both could tell, though they pretended to be oblivious to it. At least Lyndie knew why I was so distracted, and she was doing her best to keep the conversation going.

“...and I find that just a little bit of lemon at the end makes a huge difference,” my mother said. I had no context for what she was talking about. I simply followed Lyndie’s cue to look impressed and I nodded my head along with her.

It was at about this time that a man in an expensive-looking suit sidled up to our table. He looked directly at my mother with a large smile on his face. “Good morning, madame. I am sorry to interrupt your brunch. My name is Paolo Ferdinand, the proprietor of this restaurant. I was curious if you might want to take a quick tour of our kitchen?”

My mother laughed and sat back in her chair with an excited grin on her face. “Well that sounds lovely, but…why me?”

“Oh, it’s just something I like to do from time to time,” he said. His head turned towards me for a fraction of a second–just long enough that I could sense that there was something happening here that was bigger than just random benevolence. “We pride ourselves on providing more than just a meal–but an experience as well. And so, from time to time, I like to invite one of my guests to the kitchen to see the action up close and personal.”

“Well,” my mother said. “Would all of us be able to see?”

“I wish I could say yes,” Paolo said. “Alas…I don’t think I have quite enough room in the kitchen for everyone–not without impacting the efficiency of the staff.”

My mother turned back towards Lyndie and I. “I’d hate to leave the two of you like this…”

“You should go,” Lyndie said with a big smile on her face. “This sounds like an amazing opportunity! I’m sure it won’t take long. And we’ll be right here when you return.”

My mother, never one to turn down the VIP experience, almost looked beside herself with anticipation as she quickly rose from her chair. “I would love to see the kitchen.”

“I hoped you’d say that,” Paolo said. “Come. Follow me.”

I took a huge sigh of relief as I watched them disappear from view.

“Ms. Heller has to have been behind that, right?” Lyndie asked.

“Almost certainly.”

“So…you actually wet your pants?” Lyndie lifted up the tablecloth and took a peek under the table. I wasn’t sure how much she’d be able to see, but the amused look on her face suggested that she had seen enough.

“Yes. Can we…not talk about it?”

“What now?” she asked.

“What now,” yet another new voice said from the other side of the table, “is we get you out of those pants.”

It was Mommy. I could barely contain my glee at seeing her here. She had come to rescue me, just as I had hoped she would. And in seemingly record time too.

“I…I can’t stand up,” I said. “Everyone will see.”

“Who would you rather see?” Mommy asked. “Your mother? Or everyone else in this restaurant?”

Fair enough. “O-okay. But where are we going to go so that…”

“I’ve taken care of everything,” she said. She beckoned me to join her with the curling of her outstretched fingers. “Come now, Baby. Let’s get you taken care of.”

But I still couldn’t find the strength to stand up. Doing so would reveal everything. And while we were lucky enough to be on the balcony, at a table that was a little more removed from everything else, there was no way that I’d be able to go anywhere without someone noticing what I had done.

“Just trust me,” Mommy said.

I trusted her–of course I trusted her. I just had to bite the bullet and do it. I stood up and quickly orbited the remainder of the table so that I was at her side.

“Lyndie, I shall be returning the baby as soon as I can. Should Ms. Ashburn get back to the table before Clarky does, I trust you can entertain her?”

“I got this,” Lyndie replied, her lips curled into a smug smile.

I blindly followed Mommy through the restaurant, down some steps and then through a door. Perhaps people had seen me, though I was trying not to pay attention to that.

“Where are we going?” I asked, afraid of her doing something like dragging me into the women’s restroom.

“Careful now,” she said to me as we came to another door. “Your mother is over there, getting her little tour. When I open this door we need to quickly walk over to that door on the other side. Do you see?”

“Yes,” I nodded. My heart raced. I was sweating. I might have even let a little more piss dribble into my pants.

We rushed through the room and across the far side of the kitchen. Somewhere off in the distance, I could hear my mother asking about wagyu beef. We quickly entered through the next door, and when we were through it, Mommy shut and locked the door behind her.

We were in an office. Books and documents and receipts were sitting in piles on a table and on the desk, but there was also a couch along one of the walls.

“This is Mr. Ferdinand’s personal office,” she said to me. “He’s allowing us to use it as a personal favor.”

“Do…you know him?”

She nodded. “Why do you think I recommended this place? It truly is one of the best spots in the city, for sure. But I also know Paolo quite well. And I knew that if there was to be any sort of…incident…”

“Go ahead,” I said, sighing. “Tell me that you told me so.”

“I don’t believe I ever told you so. I suppose I did expect something to happen, but I tried to keep that to myself.”

“Y-you thought I would…”

“Honestly, I thought you were going to poop your pants, Baby. I’m rather grateful you didn’t, of course. I’d rather not have to explain that Paolo…”

“Just wet, I guess.”

“I brought a fresh pair of pants with me,” she said, pointing to a folded up pair of light brown khakis sitting on the couch. But that wasn’t all that she had brought–there was a new diaper sitting atop the pants.

“A diaper?”

“I know you were trying to do your best big-boy impersonation here today. But I think we can both agree that it didn’t quite work out the way you wanted it to.”

“But…I can’t be around my mother in a diaper! What if she finds out?”

“Would you rather her see you in wet pants? Or would you rather take a chance on her not noticing the diaper?”

Once again, she made her point. “Fine.”

“I knew you’d come around,” she said. “Now then, with your mother getting distracted, all we need to do is get you into a diaper and some nice clean pants.”

“What will you do with these pants?” I asked.

“Honestly? I’ll probably toss them in the dumpster.”

I sighed, nodding.

“Oh, but Baby…there is one other little thing that we have to take care of as well.”

I was terrified to know what she meant, but I still needed to know. “What else?”

“Little babies should know better than to run around without their diapers. Do you see what happens when they try? Accidents. I’d like to say that’s enough of a lesson, but…I think you might need a little extra reminder.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means that I think you’ve earned yourself a spanking.”

“Wh-what? Here? Now?”

She nodded. “Afraid so.”

“But… My mother–she’s just on the other side of this door. And we’re for brunch. And…”

“Nobody is going to know except for you and I,” she said. “Unless, of course, you want to throw a little tantrum. In which case, maybe I could convince your mother to lend a hand.”

She was bluffing, I thought. And even if she wasn’t–I couldn’t imagine her convincing my mother to participate in anything like this. But Mommy had proven before that she was always a little bolder than I thought she’d be. Then I hoped she’d be. This was no time to gamble.

“Okay,” I said.

“Okay?” She nodded. “Come here, Baby. Mommy’s going to have to punish you. And then, we’ll get you into a diaper and back out to brunch in no time at all.”