Page 36 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

What I do think about is the experience I had. As hot water streams over me, I put the whole day on replay. Sure, I had to endure a lot of fighting and some very uncomfortable situations—including crawling through brush. But it was worth it.

Not just because of our find.

Adam and Zach’s relationship has given me a lot of food for thought. I don’t know the complete story, but something big went down. Big enough for Adam to basically stop talking to his twin. But not forever. He obviously has reason to be upset at Zach—Zach didn’t even deny that. Yet, today, both of them were willing to take the first painful steps toward healing their relationship.

I can’t help thinking that maybe it’s time I did the same with my dad. I’ve had the thought more than once, but today it won’t leave. Dad keeps reaching out, no matter how many times I push him away, just like Zach’s done with Adam. Like Adam, I have every reason to be hurt. Like Zach, my dad’s tried to make up for what he did.

Unlike Zach, what my dad did was big enough to break up my family for good. He got to make a new family, while Mom and I only had each other and my grandparents. Technically, that makes a family, but I never got any brothers and sisters—at least not full ones—and taking care of Mom became my job. That’s not easy for a kid.

Rosie barks downstairs, but quickly quiets, and I wonder if Adam shushed her. Or muzzled her. That’s more likely. I don’t think that dog knows how to shut up on her own. My stomach answers Rosie with a loud growl, and I remember the backpack outside my door.

I’m rarely stubborn—being raised by disciplinarians like my grandparents broke me of any inclination toward stubbornness a long time ago—but I don’t want Adam to be right about my need for food. So, I open the door as softly as possible, yank in the backpack, then shut the door even more softly.

Smells of honey and chocolate waft out as soon as I unzip the pack, and my stomach rumbles again. I pull out two plastic baggies and open the one that smells like honey. Inside is a sticky granola with chopped pecans, dried apricots, and a sprinkling of chocolate chips. I grab yogurt from my fridge and don’t bother putting it in a bowl, just dump a handful of granola over it.

One bite, and all is forgiven. Adam may be a grump, but this granola is all sunshine and happiness. He’s obviously made it himself. None of the ingredients taste stale or processed. Who knows, he may have gone to a nut farm and picked the pecans himself. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who takes the easy way out of anything. He may have grown and harvested the oats.

Whatever he did, it’s worked. As long as I remember this granola, I will never be mad at him again. Ever. And I will definitely thank him. Not because I want to see him again or anything. Because it’s the right thing to do. The polite thing.

Once I’m done with my yogurt, I open the next container to find crackers and goat cheese. Again, they don’t taste like anything that’s come from a factory or ever sat on a grocery store shelf. They are just as delicious as the granola, and I eat them all.

I’m not hungry anymore, but I check the backpack just in case I missed anything. That’s when I see the square box that can only hold chocolates. I slide it out and read the label:Florence ’s Finest Handmade Chocolates.

“Stop it,” I whisper before tearing open the box. Inside is the prettiest, shiniest selection of chocolates I’ve ever seen. I sigh and put the lid back on the box. These chocolates look too perfect to eat for just any reason. I’ll need to earn them.

I pick up my phone and dial the one number I have memorized. Mom answers on the first ring, which means she and Roger must not be traveling.

“Hello, darling girl!” Her voice is bright and cheerful, which should make me happy. And it does... with just a touch of resentment.

“Hi, Mom. You sound good.” The chocolates are in my sight.

“I am. I was about to call you.” She pauses as another voice mumbles in the background. “In the washer on delicate,” she says to the other person. “Roger and I got back from our mission trip to Guatemala yesterday. We had an amazing experience.”

“Tell me about it.” I choose a chocolate and settle on the couch as Mom launches into her latest adventure. This one involved helping Guatemalan people in remote indigenous villages plant gardens that will provide a more well-rounded diet, including essential nutrients they’re missing.

Roger is her new husband. I’ve only met him a few times, so I don’t call him my stepdad any more than I call my dad’s wife my stepmom. I also try not to be jealous that he’s accomplished the thing that I never could: make my mom happy.

“Sounds like a really successful trip, Mom.” I eat another chocolate.

“It was. Praise Jesus.” She pauses, and I know she’s waiting for my amen. I don’t have it in me to give it to her today. We both know I don’t go to church anymore, so maybe it’s time we both stop pretending I do.

“Hey, Mom... I have a question for you.” I take a breath.

“You know you can ask me anything, darling.” She says this like it’s a fact I’ve always known.

It’s not.

Despite being subdivided, noise carries easily throughout this old house. I hear Adam opening and closing doors. Maybe he’s cooking something. The thought gives me some comfort and courage.

“Have you forgiven Dad?” My words tumble out, knocking against each other like rocks in a landslide.

The silence that follows stretches tight enough to snap. Finally, Mom answers, her voice still happy, but not bright. Not real. “I turned that over to Jesus the moment your father told me he was leaving. I didn’t have time to wallow in anger. I had you to take care of.”

I push back the exasperated breath, trying to escape, but I can’t keep the words from coming out. “You didn’t get out of bed for weeks.” My voice is quiet. We’ve never talked about “that time” before.

“Angry isn’t the same as sad,” Mom answers.

“Right.” I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Is turning something over to Jesus the same as letting go?”

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