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As she began to smoke her cigarette, she looked around the kitchen as if she was thinking of what to say next. Silently, she continued to smoke and look down at the ashtray. I sat nervously and waited for her to continue. After a few moments of her not speaking, I decided to say something.
“We’ll be just fine, I’m sure of it. We don’t fight or argue at all. I really think he loves me as much as I love him. And I love him more than I can ever sit here and try to explain,” I said.
She looked up from the ashtray, “I’m sure you do. He’s told me over and over how much he loves you - ‘till he’s blue in the face. I’m happy for us all. I don’t have much experience, Karter. Not with men. Jak’s father died when he was a little boy. I never remarried or even saw another man after his father was gone. I couldn’t bring myself to. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. I still loved Jak’s father then and I still love him today.”
“What was his name? Jak’s father?” I asked.
“His name was Anderson. Jak didn’t tell you? His name was Anderson Jackson Kennedy. We named Jak so his initials would spell his name. We thought it was cute. Jak Anderson Kennedy. J.A.K.,” she smiled.
I smiled and nodded. For some reason, I preferred having names attached to people in the tales which were told about them. Without a name, the story meant less and it was difficult to believe. Simply having a name made everything become real. Without one, the statements felt meaningless and weak. As she puffed on her cigarette she looked at me as if she wanted to eat me.
She smiled and tilted her head back as she blew smoke in the air, “Karter, you’re a beautiful woman. I like looking at your face, it’s beautiful. You remind me of a girl I went to school with. Her name was Jennifer. She was the prettiest girl in school. I envied her. I wanted to be as pretty as her, but it never worked out that way. You’re prettier than she was, and she has always been the prettiest girl I’ve ever known. You just shoved her aside and took over.”
You make me feel so good. I can’t wait to have you as a mother.
You’re adorable.
“Thank you very much. That’s nice of you to say. I liked hearing it. You’re adorable,” I smiled.
She grinned and smashed her cigarette into the ashtray, “Okay so there’s a few things I want to tell you. You may already know, but if you do, just entertain me. I want to feel like you learned them from me. Okay, honey?”
I nodded my head and smiled.
“Now, you and Jak. At some point in time, you will have a disagreement. It’s bound to happen. When it does, make sure you get it resolved before bedtime. Never go to sleep angry with the one you love,” she picked up her cigarette case, looked inside and closed the case.
“And, when you have a disagreement, never raise your voice. It’s hard for a man to scream at a woman if she’s whispering. So, if you’re arguing, keep it quiet and make whatever point you have to without raising your voice. Loud doesn’t make right.”
I couldn’t imagine Jak screaming at me, but her advice made perfect sense. It was nice to have someone care enough to sit and talk about their relationship opinions and give advice. It would be far too easy for me to spend a few days a week with Jak’s mother talking about things I’ve never felt comfortable talking to other people about. She seemed to spend most of her time at home, and almost all of it in the kitchen, but she spent it alone. As I sat and admired her for being so sweet, I felt terrible for her being alone for the last twenty years.
“And when it comes to sleeping, before you go to sleep tell Jak you love him. Do it every night. And give him a kiss. Do it in bed, not a half hour before or anything silly. And every morning when you wake up, kiss him and tell him you love him before you get out of bed. You’ll reach a point when you’ll feel like he knows, but tell him anyway. It’s always nice to say and it’s sure nice to hear.”
She reached across the table toward my hands. Without thought, I straightened my arms and extended my hands toward hers. Our fingers met in the middle of the table. As she held my hands softly in hers, she looked up into my eyes and smiled.
“I love you, Karter.”
If you make me cry, I’m going to throat punch you.
I wanted to tell her I loved her too. I wished I knew her name. As if she knew what prevented me from immediately responding, she spoke.
“Jaqueline. You can call me Jackie,” she said softly.
And at that particular moment, everything she had said became real. I felt warm inside. As I held her hands in mine, I swallowed and responded without any thought.
“I love you too, Jackie.”
