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“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” I cast my eyes back to my plate.
Everything goes quiet again, the mood ruined by death. We resume eating, but if I’m being honest, I hope we’re finished with walking down Memory Lane. I guess, though, when you haven’t seen someone in more than a decade, all you have is Memory Lane.
Ellie breaks the silence again a few minutes later. “Rachel, I noticed you aren’t drinking wine. I’m just wondering why.”
It’s kind of a forward question. A random question, too. Do these people have any idea how to hold a proper conversation? Who cares if I’m not drinking wine? Maybe she’s trying to figure out if I’m pregnant or maybe just a recovering alcoholic. I chose to wear a baggy sweater today. I didn’t want my obvious baby bump being all that obvious. I’m not ready to tell these people that J.R. and I are expecting another child. Maybe I should tell her I’m a recovering alcoholic.
I look at J.R., and he looks back at me. He would be horrified if I went with the recovering alcoholic story.
“She’s pregnant,” Knox suddenly announces nonchalantly, taking a big bite out of a roll after she says it.
My face goes hot as I look at Roger and Ellie with wide eyes. Their eyes are equally as wide, but smiles spread across their faces.
“You’re pregnant?” Ellie exclaims.
I nod, unable to speak, and I briefly cut my eyes at Knox. She just smiles back at me.
“How exciting! Another grandbaby!” Ellie claps her palms together with excitement.
“You sure don’t waste time, do ya?” Roger asks, eyeing J.R. He’s smiling when he says this, but I think I hear a bit of sarcasm in his voice, too.
“It just kind of happened,” J.R. says. “But we’re excited.”
“They’re getting married, too. Soon,” Knox says proudly.
“That’s what I hear.” Roger smiles. “Tell me about you, Knox.”
For once, I’m grateful for Roger’s random questions and abrupt change of topic.
“Well, I’m a kid,” she says. “Oh, and I play piano. Like my daddy.”
“You know who taught your dad how to play?” Ellie asks her.
Knox shakes her head.
“My mother.” Ellie smiles proudly. “She taught him how to play guitar, too.”
Knox looks at J.R. “Your grandma taught you how to play guitar?” She looks unsure. Maybe it’s a strange sight to think about a grandmother playing guitar. I imagine an old lady in her rocking chair, sewing needles in a basket next to her chair, and she’s strumming on a guitar in her lap.
J.R. smiles. “Sounds kind of funny, doesn’t it? It’s true. I think she had a little rock and roll in her, though I’m not sure you could ever get her to admit to that.”
Ellie laughs. “My mother was a spitfire. That’s for sure.”
“Do you play any instruments, Rachel?” Roger asks me.
Just when I was beginning to relax again, all of their blue eyes are back on me. I’m really getting annoyed, and I’m not even sure why.
“Me? No. I mean, I sing a little, I guess, but Knox and J.R. are the talent.”
“Everyone has a talent,” Ellie says.
“Rachel writes,” J.R. tells them. I glare at him, and he smiles back at me.
“Really?” Roger looks intrigued. “Are you published?”
“I’ve not published a book, but I’m working on it. I write opinion articles for magazines, blogs, newspapers. Sounds boring, but folks seem to enjoy it.”
“That doesn’t sound boring at all,” Roger replies.
