Page 61 of My Wife
“I meant thanks to—” I point toward the ceiling. “It doesn’t hurt to count your blessing from time to time.”
Chastised, he leans back in his chair and says a quick prayer, shoves his fennel bulb aside, and devours the rest of his fish and potatoes.
“You’re not setting a good example,” I say.
He glances at the kid who’s playing with his food and grunts. Once more, his phone beeps with a message, but he doesn’t check it.
“This isn’t a cake.”
“We don’t always get what we want when we want it, Mr. Ellis.”
“Are you trying to teach me a lesson?”
I tip my head from side to side. “Sometimes we get something even better. We’re going to make the Bundt together!”
He starts to protest.
Shaking my head, unwilling to give him an inroad, I say, “You even get to wear an apron.” For Cara and Grandma Dolly’s benefit, I’m about to addshirtlessbut hold back. I shouldn’t push it.
“I don’t know how to bake.”
“Or use your napkin or say please, but you can always learn.”
After dinner, I make a game out of cleaning up with KJ while Liam answers emails on his phone. He glances up at me a few times as if afraid I’m going to leave him with a mess. He suggested I hire a housekeeper, but I told him he already has me. Plus, I don’t mind tidying up or spending time with KJ. I rather enjoy it.
As I put away the dishes, his slitted eyes drift over me, predatorily, like if I so much as leave a fork in the sink, he’ll poke me with it.
He’ll be doing the dishes after we’re done baking. So there.
With KJ working as my assistant, I sign the recipe and how first we make the batter. I ask him if he wants special fillings. He asks for cinnamon and sugar. We’ll layer and swirl it so when we cut into the cake, it’ll look pretty in addition to being tasty.
KJ seems very concerned that we’re not going to be able to eat the Bundt tonight. I tell him about being patient and that good things come to those who wait. He already had a cookie, so he’ll get cake tomorrow.
I sign and speak, “I had to wait sixteen years before I ever got a birthday cake and blueberry pancakes. It’s a toss-up, but those might be my favorite. Just think, you’re only three and get to eat a slice of the Bundt tomorrow.”
The math is most certainly lost on him, but the look Liam gives me is part curiosity and part something else I’m not sure how to read.
Not having loving parents of my own, it’s been difficult seeing the distance between father and son, however, Liam has started to open up, tickling and wrestling with KJ which makes him laugh to no end. He’s been making an effort to learn more about the DHH community. I only know this because I had to send an email for him and noticed he had a few newsletters from groups, including one that focuses on Deaf children and parents who hear.
It might be happening slowly, maybe in fits and starts as Liam’s pride battles with his love for his son, but I have faith he’ll get there. Maybe sooner rather than later because right now, the two of them have their heads bent together over some spilled flour, big and little, same hair color and shape. Using their fingers, they’re drawing shapes. My heart swells at the sight, giving me hope.
KJ wants to mix the batter with his hands, but I tell him, “I’ll get some Play-Doh next time I’m at the store.” Then a lightbulb goes off in my mind. “Or we could make some.”
I don’t remember the sign for it, but I improvise and will ask Grandma Dolly tomorrow. I bet she has a recipe.
After KJ butters the fluted Bundt pan, Liam tells the little boy to get ready for bed. His face bunches up with frustration, but I don’t think he’s upset that it’s nearly time to sleep. More like he knows his father is telling him to do something, but he doesn’t understand. I think this has been the problem from the start.
Without thinking twice, I take Liam’s hands, which are like giant mitts compared to mine. He flinches at first as if coming too close to a flame, but then relents as I demonstrate the signs for,It’s bedtime.
Elbowing him, I say, “Also, smile. Try to be expressive.”
His lips pull back in a leer.
“What are you doing? You’re going to give him nightmares.”
Trying not to move his lips, Liam replies, “You told me to smile.”
“Sir, that is not a smile.” My lips fall. “Actually, I’ve never seen you smile.”
