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“Is she my grandmother? Is she your mom, like Nan is Mom’s mom?”
Realizing that his son had just skipped merrily into quicksand, Eight didn’t know what to say. He wanted to just say yes and move on—and yes would be true enough—but this was his son, he was trying to be a good dad, and probably he shouldn’t hedge on a topic like family relationships. That was the kind of lie that would get tangled pretty fast.
He looked around, saw the food court up ahead, and said, “You hungry? I’ll get you one of those fancy pretzel things, and we can sit and talk, if you want.”
“Can I have an orange smoothie, too?”
“Sure, buddy. Come on.”
They got their pretzels and drinks and found a not-too-filthy table in the packed dining area.
“So, the first answer to your question,” Eight said after a big swallow from his bottle of water, “is that yeah, Mo’s my mom. But we’re not related.”
His mouth full of pretzel, Ajax frowned. He chewed, swallowed, and said, “Are you adopted? My friend Rick is adopted.”
Eight shook his head. “My mom … my real mom, I mean, died when I was in kindergarten. I don’t remember her. Her sister and brother-in-law raised me.”
“Oh. Your aunt and uncle. Like Aunt Vonny and Uncle Chase.”
“I guess, yeah. Except your aunt and uncle are nice and treat you good. Mine weren’t, and they didn’t.”
Ajax’s frown deepened. Eight didn’t know whether it would be right to be more specific than that, but he was sure he didn’t want to be.
Then Ajax said, his voice low, “Did they … hurt you?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” He set his pretzel down and stared at it for a while. Still focused on the food, he said, “What about your dad?”
“I never knew my dad.”
That made him look up. “Like I never knew you, before.”
Well, that sucked. It was true, but it sucked. “Yeah.”
“Do you think he would have been nicer than your aunt and uncle?”
“I don’t know, buddy. I just know he wasn’t around, and my mom was gone, and the people who raised me didn’t like me. They thought I was bad. So when I grew up and met Mo and she treated me like I was good, and she was older like a mom, she sorta took that spot for me. Does that make sense?”
He nodded.
“You know,” Eight continued, “None of the people who call her Mama or Grammo are related to her by blood. Mo couldn’t have kids, but she was full of love, so she made a great big family of people like me, who didn’t have a lot of love before. I think she’d be real happy for you to call her Grammo, too, but you don’t have to. It’s up to you, what makes you feel good.”
Ajax pulled his list out of his coat pocket and smoothed it out on the table, next to the paper for his pretzel. Beside the name ‘Mo’ was a question mark where his gift idea belonged. He’d already asked Eight for help picking a gift for her. Now, he took out his mechanical pencil and added GRAM before her name.
“She’s your mom. You’re my dad. That makes her my grandma.” He put his pencil away.
Eight didn’t have a word for the feeling that filled his head and chest.
“But I don’t know what present she’ll like,” Ajax added.
“She’ll love anything you give her,” Eight said. “But I’ll help you find something good.”
His son grinned. “And I’ll help you find something good for my mom.”
“It’s a deal.”
~oOo~
