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My sister was wearing a years-old Humber College sweatshirt with fraying cuffs and massive jogging pants. “Are you going to change for dinner?” I asked. “I know you’re up the duff but you could have at least put on a real pair of pants.”
“Suck it,” she said. “I’m bloated, angry, and hormonal. Pants are not an option. Plus, no one cares what I look like these days, so why should I?”
The three of us entered my mother’s kitchen.
“Linda,” Annie said, “what would you like us to do?”
“Meghan, make sure the dining room’s all set up. Annie, can you stir the gravy while Kelly does the potatoes? I’ve got to get the Christmas crackers and the cookies from the basement. We’re T-minus ten minutes to dinner.”
Before opening the basement door, she added, “Girls, I’m going to say this a lot this year: it’s milestones in the making. Marriage, your first baby—all calls for celebration. Good news all around. Good food, family—I’ve never been so bloody happy in my goddamn life.”
When she came back upstairs, she peppered me with questions. What kind of a wedding did I want? Where did I think we would we have the reception? Honeymoon or house? How much would we get for the condo?
“Whoa,” Annie said. She was stirring, fat, flour, water, fat, flour, water into the pot. “They’re barely engaged, Linda. Kelly hasn’t even had time to consider the fact that she’s now afancy fiancé.”
My head pounded. I didn’t know whether I to scream at everyone or to start bawling.
“Let’s focus on Meghan’s news, please. Babies are way more exciting than rings.” I continued, “Let me decide if I’m even going to keep the ring before we plan a giant wedding that I can’t afford or move into a house that I don’t want. But the minute I’m ready to talk details, I’ve got your number.”
“Okay,” my mom said. “I’ll put a moratorium on marriage questions for the rest of Christmas. I’m going to say one more thing, and even Annie can’t disagree with this: that rock is spectacular.”
“Isn’t it?” I waved my hand in the air. “I’m so fancy and fabulous now, you won’t recognize me in a few months.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Meghan yelled from the dining room. “It’s like the minute you buy an expensive purse you’ll burst a pen in it or something and ruin it forever. Careful the ring doesn’t slip off your finger and into the potatoes.”
“Two minutes to dinner, you mongrels,” my mother called to the others. “Get up off your lazy asses and get into your assigned seats. Please note that your names are on the pine cones.No trading spots. I have everything organized down to the last fork and I’llknowif someone moves anything.”
The kitchen smelled delicious, and the four of us worked together, all hustle and bustle, to get the food on the table. This meal meant the world to my mother. I wasn’t about to spoil it by confessing my indiscretions—that I didn’t want to marry Rob mainly because maybe I was falling in love with my unavailable work boyfriend, who actively admired other girls in front of me and had his own decades-long relationship. What a mess.
* * *
The room was warm, and dinner was delicious. My family. All talking over one another, mouths full, and prone to outbursts, more shouting than listening. Thankfully, there were no more questions or conversations about anything wedding or marriage related for the moment. Instead, Carl was teasing Daniel about finally flunking out of school and showing us all how it was done (Daniel was a straight-A student), my mother was asking Jay and Meghan if they were going to stay in their apartment once the baby arrived, and Rob was asking Annie about her upcoming trip. I sat there, quietly watching everyone, not feeling the need to join in, content to be on the fringe. And we ate, and ate, and ate. My mother pulled out a tray of Christmas cookies for dessert, and the entire evening slowed down. Rob sat at the other end of the table and for a moment I saw his father in him, their shared ability to make themselves at home with anyone, anywhere.
Once dinner was finished, my mother released us from our seating arrangement. I sat down beside Meghan and slipped into a comfortable sibling silence. She reached across and pulled my hand toward her belly. I didn’t fight it. I had to get over feeling brutalized by what was good news.
“Feel how hard my stomach is—none of my pants fit,” she said.
“You did eat a massive Christmas dinner.”
“It’s not that, it’s like there’s a shell around the baby, like I’m a turtle.”
“Raphael or Donatello?”
“Oh, no, Michelangelo, for sure.”
“If the baby comes out glowing green with mad ninja skills, we’ll know why,” I said. “But your stomach is freakishly hard.”
“The wonders of birth.”
Meghan tucked her head on my shoulder, like we used to do as kids. “It’ll all be okay. You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
“Remember Tanta,” I said. “Wasn’t she awful?”
“The worst,” Meghan replied. “I’m certainly not naming my firstborn after her or Toly.”
* * *
We had been at Toly’s mother’s house, forced to call her Tanta, even though it felt completely awkward. We had eaten a meal of strange food—I could still remember the borscht, its deep, rich color and intense smell. Tanta had given both Meghan and me nesting dolls. They were beautiful and thoughtful, and she was kind, but it wasn’t real. It felt pieced together, and we were sullen, horrible teenagers. I don’t think we were rude, exactly, but we didn’t make it easy. But if Tanta had been disappointed in Toly for his relationship with my mother and her girls, she had never let it show. He was furious, though, in the car ride home, spewing all over my mother about how horrible we were, how we needed more discipline.
