Page 17 of It All Began at Dixieland

“And you! You are riding in a vehicle with a stranger! He could be a serial killer or a loafer salesman, or…or…”

When she can’t come up with anything more heinous than those two options, I chime in, “the father of your grandchild.”

“Supposedly.” Foster raises an eyebrow at me in question with a smirk. I shake my head. He’s the father. I don’t need Maury Povich for this one.

“Do you think I fell on more than one penis that weekend?”

“Efa Jo, my little girl, why…how…did it hurt…” My poor father. Conner Blevins would never do well on a telenovela. And not just because his family is Welsh. Not a fan of drama or gossip or theatrics. He’s a straight shooter. And I love him bunches.

“Dad. I’m sorry. I forgot you were on the phone.” Cringing, I shrug my shoulders and offer Foster an apologetic smile.

“It’s ok, sweetie, your mother seems to have forgotten that the serial killer loafer salesman is driving the car currently using its speakers to blast your conversation.” He’s glaring at her, I know it. And she doesn’t give a shit. Because that’s my mom.

“I most certainly did not. I’m putting him on notice. I know his game. He won’t get one past me.”

“Mrs. Blevins…”

“Foster, please call us Conner and Maria.”

“Speak for yourself—”

“Thank you, Conner. I look forward to meeting you in a few days. In the meantime, please rest assured, I am not a serial killer, or a singular killer, nor do I peddle the footwear of men who choose to loaf. I know it’s soon, but I will not deny, even to you, that I am in awe of your daughter, and have been beside myself without her these last few months. The fact our child is currently using her body like an Airbnb, only makes me love her more.”

Mom sniffles. I sniffle. Dad clears his throat awkwardly. And Foster grabs my hand across the center console and kisses my knuckles. “I want to dislike him…” Mom laments. A chuckle sticks in my throat, unable to get past all the emotion choking me up.

“It’s impossible,” I admit hoarsely, knowing with absolute certainty I won’t dislike him a day of our life together.

“Efa Jo, you two take the time to get acquainted,” my father sighs heavily, “with clothes on. We’ll see you in a few days. Drive safe and be careful.”

“Watch out for men wearing loafers!” Mom shouts in the background. “And pleated pants!”

“Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you too, dad. Mom. More than there are stars.” Mom’s incoherent babbling fills the vehicle before dad ends the call. “Well, that was far more emotion from my mother than I expected.”

“She seems great.” Foster glances at me with wide eyes for a second, a forced smile plastered to his perfect lips. Closing my eyes, I drop my head back to the head rest and laugh. Long and loud. Free and joyful.

“Why do they call you Efa Jo?” Foster asks a few minutes later.

“That’s my name.” I answer automatically.

“Right. I mean, why not just Efa?”

I turn in the seat and bring my left leg up, tucking it beneath my right. “Are you sure you’re ready for the Martinez family drama?”

“Baby, I’m ready for everything with you.” I was not expecting that. Damn.

“Oh. Well.” It takes me a second to defluster. “My mother has a younger cousin, Jaqueline. She has idolized my mother her entire life. My mom’s awesome, don’t get me wrong, but like, seriously, aim higher. Anyway, when my dad was in his early twenties, he was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Disease. He went through chemo and was told that it was unlikely he’d ever have children. Mom was by his side every day, every treatment, every unfortunate side effect. He went into remission and was healthy for years. Well into their early thirties, they considered adopting, but hadn’t made any moves in that direction, when mom found out she was pregnant. So, for your information, I’m a miracle.”

“Yes, you are.” There isn’t even a hint of sarcasm. Swoon!

“Mom was about 4 months along, when Jaqueline announced that she and her husband were also pregnant. I was born about 6 months later, and they named me Efa Josefina. When Jackie’s daughter was born a few months after me, she named her…Efa.”

“But…but…why? It’s a pretty unique name…why?”

“Right? Jackie thought it was cute. Dad had to remove all sharp objects from family get-togethers until mom regained her sanity. It was a close thing, having to visit mom every two weeks at the state pen.”

“So, they call you Efa Jo to differentiate you from your cousin.”

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