AllFreeNovel
Share Us
AsDallasandIappear, she plonks down a steaming tray of the sweet potato casserole we helped her make earlier, fresh from the oven.Hercheeks are flushed from the heat as she pulls off her glasses and wipes away the fog.Whenshe sees the package in my hand, she blinks in surprise. “Didwe miss one under the tree?”
“No, this one is just…”Ithrust it in her direction whenDallasnudges me. “It’snothing.”
Steppingaway from the stove, she focuses on unwinding the paper from a foot-long chopping knife with a ladderDamascuspattern that took me eight tries.Thehandle has her last name laser cut into the wood. “Oh,Beckham,” she gasps. “It’sbeautiful.”AllIsee whenIlook at it is the slight warp, with some bad grinding near the back of the blade, but she seems to really mean it.
“I’vebeen making one fancy knife for each month thatIstayed away from the gang,”Imumble awkwardly, picking at the edge of the counter whileDallasrubs my back. “Sothat’s the third one.”
“I’mso honored to have this.”Sheturns it over reverently in her hands, then points to a pair of blue and white plates hanging over the stove. “I’llmove those and display it there, soIcan look at it all the time whileI’mcooking.”
Dallasfidgets and clears his throat.NowthatI’mnot so stressed,Ifinally notice that he’s nervous too. “MomandIhave a gift for you, too.”
Ifrown at him. “Youalready got me socks and whiskey.Whatelse wouldIwant?”
Hissmile doesn’t quite reach his anxious eyes. “Justopen it.”
Ms.Santraducks into the pantry, and comes back with a flat, square package that confuses me even more.Cool, smooth glass brushes my fingers asItear it open to reveal a picture frame with three photos.Myeyes automatically scan from left to right–a cute photo ofAnjaliand a teenageDallasstanding arm and arm in the mountains somewhere, then a pictureIremember her taking this fall of me carryingDallaspiggyback through piles of orange and yellow leaves.WhenIget to the last picture, my brain stutters and skips and my hand goes instinctively to the wallet in my back pocket. “What?”
I’velooked at this photo every day for fifteen years, but at the same timeI’venever seen it before.Mom’sshadowy, faded hair is the same bright straw color as mine now, and the red on her dress looks brilliant against the brown wall.Everyfeature of her small, smudged face looks so clear it’s likeI’mstanding in front of her.Allthe damage from the creases has been smoothed away until it looks brand new.
“Iscanned it and sent it to a website where people restore old photos,”Dallasexplains, propping his forehead against my shoulder and slipping his arm around my waist. “Theoriginal is still safe in your wallet,Ipromise.”
Trailingmy thumb across the glass,Ipick up the frame and hold it closer to my face, drinking in every detail.Thedifferent pieces of herIremember in fragments–her hands, her laugh, the fabric of her clothes–starts pulling together into a person.She’sarranged on one side ofDallasand me withAnjalion the other, like one of those family trees people make when their families are worth remembering.
“Ihang all of our family pictures in the hall,”Anjaliventures. “I’msure you’ve seen them.”
I’vepaused a couple of times to study all the faces ofDallas’ grandparents and aunts and uncles, looking for features of his face like a scavenger hunt.
“Ifyou agree,I’dlike to hang this there, with the others.We’llmake you another one to take home.”Shereaches across the counter and takes my hand carefully. “AndIwant you to know that it would make me so happy if you called memom.Ilove all of you boys, but you andDallasare my sons.Evenif you’re not comfortable calling me that,I’llalways love you and be the best motherIcan for both of you.”
Idon’t have words right now. “Thankyou” sounds stupid.IfIsay “mom”,Imight cry again.I’mgoing to say it, just not today.SoIjust nod, and her face relaxes into that brilliant smile that wipes away all her intensity.
Laterthat evening,Dallasdigs up some nails and a cheesy little novelty hammer to help me hang the picture.Anjalicleared a place for it right in the middle. “Theextra gaps all around it are for our future kids,”Dalobserves wryly.
“One, two, three, four,”Icount, tapping all the open spaces. “Youthink that’s enough?”Hefights a grin, but it’s all blushing and sappy, because he wants this as much asIdo.We’regoing to practice onCalvinuntil we’re good at this parenting thing, then find the kids who don’t feel at home in their bodies, and the ones who wander the streets looking for someone to love them.They’regoing to have an amazing grandma, and a bunch of weird uncles.
Hehangs my gift up crooked three times beforeItake it away and do it right, making sure the frame covers up all the extra holes he made.Then, with laughter andChristmasmusic and amazing smells pouring in from the other room,Iput him against the wall and kiss him until all the planets and suns melt.
