Every Happy Family (21 page)

Kenneth gives a humble snort and she can't help but love him for it.

“And mine,” she adds, because that's how she'd felt. “Yes, mine too.”

It was Nancy's birthday. Kenneth was recently sixteen and overnight, so it seemed, he'd grown to be as big and heavy-shouldered as their father. Drunk even before dinner got started, Dad had Nancy pinned against the kitchen counter as he insisted on giving “the birthday gal” forty-six kisses. Nancy's laugh was forced, nervous, as she told him that he was hurting her back and the roast was ready. Jill angrily ripped lettuce for salad, ignoring them as best she could, when, in his newfound baritone, Kenneth said, “Get off her.” He didn't say it loudly but the words rocketed around that room.

When Dad didn't move, Kenneth took hold of the back of his white shirt – the one Nancy would have ironed on a Thursday – and wrenched him off.

Their father's signature passive-aggressive attitude suddenly lost all its passive part as he whipped around and shoved Kenneth in the chest. Jill held her breath, expecting Kenneth to go flying, but he only took a step sideways, his arm swiping the butter dish to the floor where, miraculously, it didn't break. Despite the spine of butter along his arm, Kenneth looked like he'd just hit a moon shot, then stepped up to the plate and shoved back, sent Dad crashing between two chairs and nearly to the floor. To Jill's horror, Kenneth took another step towards him. “Don't ever hurt her again,” he said in the saddest of tones, as if he'd just lost and not won the brief battle. To Jill's knowledge, Dad never bothered Nancy after that.

“So, wha's going on, Kenneth?” Did she just slur? “You all right?”

“Kimmie's pregnant,” he says.

Jill sits up in her chair so quickly it teeters to one side. A cascade of laughter is heard from the other room. “That's wonderful. I'm so –”

He holds up his hand like a stop sign. “It is wonderful. We didn't think we could have kids. I'd really given up.”

“I'm positively giddy.” She dabs at her eyes again. “Crybaby here. Mascara.” She checks the napkin for black. “But wow, congratulations.”

“What with Fukushima and the radiation scare, Kimmie would like to have the baby here. She wants to move here.”

Jill coughs, choking on tears. “Sorry, but that makes me stupid happy. You know, you can stay here until you get settled. I mean that. We've got plenty of room. Heck, we have an entire master bedroom suite we're not using.”

“I appreciate the offer and may just take you up on it, but there's a problem.” He hangs his head again.

“Is something wrong with the baby?” Please no.

“No, baby seems fine.” He smiles weakly. “They say it's a girl.”

“Ohhh, don't start me crying again.”

“But why I need to talk to you” – he pauses, shakes his head – “I've been seeing someone else.”

“What?”

“I've been seeing someone else.”

“Really?” She slaps his leg hard this time and reaches for her mug. “How long has that been going on, you..?” Pig-slut, she finishes in her head.

“Three years.”

“Three years? Sounds like bigamy.” And then she just can't stop herself. “Or is it pigamy?” She covers her smile with a hand. Not a smiling matter.

“I'm in love with them both. Kimmie and Junko.”

An image of a porcelain doll and the canary Kenneth had as a pet when he was a boy comes to mind. Kenneth was inconsolable the day the canary escaped its cage, flew into the picture window and died. It was their first experience of death and Nancy orchestrated an elaborate burial ceremony in the backyard.

“They're both intelligent, good-hearted women,” he says. “And
you
know I always wanted kids.”

“A baseball team. A midget team.” This isn't the least bit funny yet she can't seem to stop.

“And it wasn't ever going to happen with Kimmie. Or so I thought. And...” His eyes close. “The universe being a black comedy with impeccable timing, they're both pregnant.”

“The canary is pregnant too?”

He looks confused then says, “Junko's carrying my son.” Then it's his turn to tear up. “And I haven't had the guts to tell Kimmie.”

“Oh, Kenneth, I...overstand,” she says and laughs, unable to contain herself any more. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I'm just so –” Another wave of laughter bends her in half and a warm wetness spreads between her legs. “Oh gawd!” She groans and laughs harder.

“I need to go for a drive,” she hears Kenneth say and she gropes blindly for his hand but he's already up and moving away. By the time she stops laughing, his rental car is pulling out of the driveway.

“A baby.” She'll be an auntie. Auntie Jill. She reaches for her wine. She will call this Junko person, get a translator if need be, tell her she made a mistake sleeping with a married man and so sorry but Kenneth is moving here with his wife. Kenneth will have to give her up. No choice. But a son, she thinks, tears sprouting. Pure heartbreak. She takes a long drink. Poly gamy. Many gametes. Many games. Such slippery phonemes...polygamy...sounds rolling under and over each other.

She dries her eyes, replaces the used napkin with the one at her place setting and resets the fork at a crooked angle. Heads back into the family room where Beau is trying on a belt made of chain mail and leather, while Annie gathers up a pile of wrapping from the floor. The candles on the mantel glow with light. All eight of them. Who lit them without asking?

Les is wholly relieved when Jill finally appears in the doorway. Where has she been? He's had to pee for the last twenty minutes. He waves her over but she's not looking his way. Frowning, she walks towards the mantel, tripping slightly on the edge of the rug before continuing. Pema stops her with, “Look at the purse Auntie Annie made me.”

“So beautiful.” Jill grabs it, turns it over. “All those pretty patches. What kind of material is this lining?”

“Jill,” Les says, his voice cracking.

Jill looks at him and then at Pema. “You're such a wonder.” She draws a finger down Pema's cheek which elicits a blush.

“If I can help you with dinner or anything,” Holly offers.

Jill stares dumbly at Holly's wide-open expression, then claps her hands. “We need to get this wake thing started.”

“Jill,” Les tries with more urgency and she finally comes over. “Bathroom,” he whispers. “I don't want the kids watching me. Can you get them to, maybe, set the table?”

“That's done,” she says and stands there as if awaiting further suggestions.

“Jill,” he pleads.

“Okay. Kids, go...to your rooms.”

Quinn and Pema gawk at her, ready to laugh at her joke.

“We have to get some things organized here,” Jill says, her eyes glancing off Les.

They understand just enough and slowly stand.

“I don't have a room, any more,” says Quinn.

“Poor you,” says Beau.

“I want to see mine,” says Pema.

“Go. Skedaddle,” adds Nancy. “Now,” she shouts, startling everyone into motion.

“Mommm,” moans Jill.

Pema disappears down the hall to the stairs and Beau follows.

“Come see the mallard,” says Quinn leading Holly outside to the patio.

“Thank you, Nancy,” says Les. He reaches to steady himself on Jill's arm.

“You too, young man. Go.” Nancy points at Annie who hasn't moved.

Annie makes a comical about-face. “Does she not see the earrings?” she says and follows Quinn and Holly outside.

Holly lights a cigarette, apologizing to Annie. “Stupid habit. Let me know if it's blowing your way.”

Standing between Holly and the patio door to block any sightlines, Quinn checks over his shoulder to see if Jill's watching Holly light up. Notes the open bottle of wine beside the fridge.

“Stupid habits are my forte,” says Annie.

He couldn't believe his mother didn't have the decency to respond to Holly's offer to help. Just stared at her like she was some sort of freak. Jesus. He'd leave right now if it wasn't for Dad.

“I used to smoke clove cigarettes when I was young,” says Annie, “and thin.”

“I've never heard of clove cigarettes,” says Holly.

“You could only get them in smoke shops. They're from India? Delicious, really. I thought that they were herbal, that I was doing my smoking self a favour. Only to find out they were equivalent to smoking Camel Straights.”

“How did you quit?”

“I forgot I smoked. Was on some meds that messed with my memory.”

Nobody except Grammy is in the family room. Just one glass is all he needs.

“I like your gecko tattoo.” Holly points to Annie's ankle.

“A guy named Jesus did that. On the beach in Puerto Vallarta. Sounds like there's a story in there but there isn't.”

Holly laughs and Quinn smiles along.

Annie removes her sunglasses, breathes hotly on the lenses before cleaning them with an end of her shirt.

Not like one glass is going to send him off the rails. Although his rehab counsellor said there was no such thing as one drink, he believes he can limit himself. And unlike most of the folks in there, he was a high-functioning drinker – finished his goddamn degree after all – and really only let it loose on the weekends. And hell, it's a weekend.

“Okay, tell me you guys see a duck over there.” Annie points to the shaded corner of the yard.

A couple of shots of vodka in pomegranate juice would taste a lot better than wine in it.

“Is that the duck you mentioned?” Holly asks Quinn.

He has to do it now, before Mom comes back.

“Wonder where his mate got to?” says Annie. “Maybe he's guarding the nest.”

“It's a mallard,” says Quinn, believing he was just asked about the duck.
“Anas platyrhynchos.”

“What?” says Holly, laughing.

“It's the species name. Latin.”

“Quinn's the family genius,” says Annie.

He smiles weakly. Genius. Don't think so.

Holly blows a smoke ring that sails past Annie who slashes it open with her finger.

If I can't drink while watching my father turn into a living skeleton, thinks Quinn, when can I? Should do wine, though. Gentler than hard booze. One glass.

“Boy, Nancy's gotten feisty,” says Annie. “Used to be the most soft-spoken thing.”

“Personalities can change pretty radically with Alzheimer's,” says Holly. “I have one lady, an absolute angel, whose daughter says she used to be super frosty. Was never one to hug or touch or anything. Now she's super touchy and it's sweetheart this and darling that.”

“I'll make us another drink?” Quinn says quickly and avoids Holly's eye as he takes her glass.

“Sure,” she says, “but just one shot of vodka this time, please, not two.”

Quinn's eyes jerk up. Holly laughs to tell Annie she was joking but the pinch of worry in her smile is enough to bring the outside world back into focus and he counts three deep breaths like they were taught.

Holly kisses him softly beside his ear. “You're lucky,” she whispers. “Nice people.”

“Mom?” he whispers back, making a face.

“She's got a lot on her mind,” says Holly. “I mean, God.”

He kisses her back. Wishes they could go upstairs and get naked. Clean, sober and naked. Let the buildings of our selves come crashing down.

Beau waits at the bottom of the stairs, working up the courage to follow Pema. He can't blame her for snubbing him. He deserves it. But shit, he's tired of pretending, of keeping up this front. Out of sight hasn't meant out of mind. In fact, denying his feelings for her, he realizes now, might have even turned up the heat. She's prettier than Kendra, if that's possible, and her coolness, now that she's no longer needy, at least no longer needing him, makes her all the more attractive. It's time to come clean with the reason he's kept his distance. It's not fair to her and it's fucking killing him. For all he knows she has the same feelings for him. It's not out of the question. Those long letters she wrote to him, signing off
with love, Pema
. And if she doesn't feel the same way, what's the worst that can happen?

He starts up the stairs, takes them two at a time as if momentum might be the same as courage. Once he hits the landing, he finds himself stepping quietly down the hall then pretending to turn into his room and slowly turning back to stand just outside Pema's open door. She's sitting on the end of her bed, angled away from him, thumbing through what looks like a high school yearbook.

She must know he's standing here, because she always knows where he is in relation to her. Just like when she arrived and saw him standing right there and deliberately ignored him. Playing him as she's always done and is doing again right now. Fine, he can wait, is content simply to look at her, elegantly foreign in her navy silk chuba embroidered with silver dragons. Those come-undress-me sandals. A stillness about her that he doesn't recognize.