Page 9 of A Little Thankful

As I headed for the house, my dad stopped me. “What’s this all about? Why is your mother holding a baby?”

I refused to answer him. “Can we just get inside first?”

“Is it yours?”

“Dad! She’s not anit… her name is Autumn.”

“Fine. Just tell me ifAutumnis yours. I deserve to know if I’m a grandfather or not.”

I stopped and looked at him, wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, and black dress pants. His gray hair seemed shorter and his face seemed more lined, as if his age was finally catching up with him. Dad would be sixty on his next birthday, whereas Mom was still in her early fifties.

Dad stood waiting for my reply. He never could let things go. Always had to know the answer right then and there. Obviously, he was never a Beatles fan or the song,Let It Bewould’ve had a bigger impact.

I tried channeling Paul McCartney, but when I didn’t feel his presence, I backed down and took the advice for myself. “Yes dad, you’re a grandfather, but can we please go inside now?”

He just stared at me. His jaw slack, as if what I’d told him had sent him into some kind of mind overload and he didn’t know how he should respond. I’d heard that sometimes when people see a catastrophe for the first time, they get so confused they become paralyzed and can’t react.

Dad had that headlights look, and I had no idea if this was a good thing, or something that would break my family apart,forever. Whatever happened, I knew little Autumn and I would be all right.

After all, this was Cricket, and nothing bad ever happened in Cricket, well, except for that whole Carrie Ann story, but that was a completely different time. Folks in Cricket had changed. We were kind now, compassionate, accepting of other peoples’ choices. We didn’t lock children away, nor did we kidnap them like Carrie Ann’s fake parents had done all those years ago.

Of course, with that kind of logic, I should have told my parents about Autumn as soon as I decided to keep her, but I didn’t.

What did that say about my relationship with my parents or with the folks in this town, or Autumn’s potential daddy?

It said, I was scared… to quote my absolute favorite character in a TV series:What the actual fuck?

Sage 3

My mother liked to enter the apple pie bake off every year, so aside from the paper bags filled with green apples, and the sacks of flour, the bowl of cinnamon sticks, and the horn of plenty sitting in the middle of the large rectangular, solid wood table on the other side of the counter, the kitchen hadn’t really changed much from the last time I’d been home. It had simply been upgraded.

We stood in the vast expanse of a modern kitchen, with every electronic device imaginable installed in every appliance, with enough light-gray, granite countertops that the likes of Marta Stewart would envy. The barrage of questions from my family came at me so fast I couldn’t react to any them without feeling as though the next question undermined the last one.

My head felt as though it might explode all over mom’s new kitchen. A travesty to be sure, considering she hated a mess of any kind. Despite all the apples, flour and stacks of pie dishes, the kitchen sparkled with cleanliness, as if no one ever used it. As if it was merely a staging area for great photos. Mom’s entire house reflected this kind of thinking, and growing up, I had to make sure my toys were always kept in the play room and nowhere else.

I promised myself that Autumn would never know those kinds of restrictions.

“Wait a minute!” I yelled over the fray, holding up a hand. “Wait a minute!” They stopped talking, so I continued. “Is it possible that I can be alone with my parents for a few minutes?”

“Darling, we’re your grandparents and we…” my grandfather began, looking trim and handsome as ever. He was nearly seventy-five years old, but you’d never know it. There were times when he looked younger than my dad, and this was one of them.

“Grandpa, as much as I love you, I would really like to just talk to my parents right now.”

“Fine!” my grandmother said in a huff, turning on her white sneakers, then tossing her long, greying hair over a shoulder. She only recently celebrated turning seventy-two, and like my grandpa, she looked at least ten years younger with her trim little body, and the latest styles from Milan, Italy. My grandmother had spent most of her childhood in her native country, and it reflected in everything she did, except for her speech. She had absolutely no accent of any kind, something she prided herself in. “We know when we’re not wanted. Let’s go Hank.”

They left as I gave the evil eye to my aunt and cousin, who followed them out with a huff and a mighty eye roll and tsk from my ever-so-agreeable niece.

Once they were gone, and Autumn was back in her car seat, happily sucking on her toes, while she giggled at nothing in particular, I began my practiced story.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell either of you sooner, but I needed the time to figure things out on my own,” I told them.

“Darling, you know you can always come to us with anything…” my mom said, interrupting me.

“Mom, please let me finish.”

“Fine, but would you like some tea? Water? Wine?”

“I’m nursing,” I lied.

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