Page 4 of Doozer

“He has some crazy fantasy about fishing in the streams of Montana one day and eating pizza in New York the next. I think he’s losing his mind.”

“He’s probably nervous about retirement,” I said, trying to comfort my mother. In truth, I doubted Pop had ever been nervous about anything. Regardless of what he was doing, my father had one setting. Full speed ahead. Damn the torpedoes. If hedidmanage to convince my mother to take this road trip, it would likely be their last. Pop would probably end up driving the RV straight into the Grand Canyon because he was busy arguing with the GPS navigator.

“It’s all he talks about. He’s on the internet at all hours, looking up various models and talking to dealers. He’s got RV fever.”

“I’m sure it’ll pass,” I said. “Besides, are we one-hundred percent sure he’s actually retiring?”

Mama smiled and shrugged. “Who knows? I still hear him on the phone, at all hours, talking business. He’s probably looking for an RV with an office in it.”

“If he finds one with a putting green in it, you’re done for,” I teased.

Mama looked at me with a panicked expression, and then crossed herself before kissing her imaginary rosary. “Don’t speak that evil, Marco,” she said.

I laughed out loud, catching the attention of my father, who turned and gave me what could only be described in the loosest legal terms as “a smile,” before immediately returning to his guests.

“Is Pop drunk?” I asked, in shock by what I’d seen.

“Marco,” my mother chided. “Please don’t give your father a hard time tonight. It’s his retirement party.”

“He’s the one who stirs the pot, Mama. Not me.”

“Don’t act like I don’t know my own son. You keep a giant spoon in your back pocket with your father’s name on it.”

I laughed again, but my mother just looked at me sternly.

“I promise, I’ll be good,” I said, crossing my heart.

“Does that mean I’ll see you at St. Luke’s for Christmas Eve Mass?”

My hand went to the back of my neck. “I don’t know, Mama. Maybe, we’ll see.”

“We’ll see? What kind of answer is that? When’s the last time you attended mass? Or went to confession?”

“Confession? Come on, Mama. Gimmie a break.”

“How about I break your backside? You need to confess your sins, and make yourself right with the Lord, Marco.”

“Maybe, I’ll see you on Christmas eve,” I said, trying to sound as non-committal as possible, but Mama was having none of it. Shooting me the mother of all glares until I broke. “Okay, okay. I’ll do my best to be there. Okay?”

“Good. Now say hello to everyone else,” she said, and I gave her a kiss before making my way down the table.

My grandmother sat quietly. Her eyes transfixed on the DJ’s light show. The palms of both her hands lay flat on the table as she bobbed her head along with the pulse of the music.

“She’s been that way since the music started,” Gia said.

I bent down and kissed my grandmother’s cheek. Her eyes met mine and she smiled briefly before turning her attention back to the light show.

“I think she recognizes us less and less every day,” Gia said. “But she seems happy and at least she doesn’t ask about Pop-Pop as much.”

“That’s good,” I said.

Gaga, who was my father’s mother, was suffering from the effects of advanced Alzheimer’s. She would sometimes forget about my grandfather’s passing and it was a heartbreaking event every time she had to be reminded.

“What do you think about Pop retiring?” I asked, taking a seat next to Gia.

“I think I need a drink,” she said.

“So, what’s stopping you?”

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