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“Cheer up, ma. You’ll find your groove soon,” he says, wiping his mouth. He’s testing the waters, trying to see if she’s calmed down. “I’ve got the sunshine tonight. Originally thought we’d save this for dessert, but since the mood in here needs some serious lightening up…honey, you want to do the honors, or should I?”
Ginger’s big blue eyes shift to him, and then us. Whatever it is, she can’t believe the timing.
“Um, sure, Jackson if you think they’re ready…” She trails off. He gives her the nod that says there’s no backing out.
The knot in my stomach tells me what’s coming before her timid little lips open, and I hear the two most terrifying words in forever. “I’m expecting. Peter, Stephanie, you’re going to be grandparents!”
I try to smile. It’s hard.
Dad bursts into a flurry of happy questions, congratulations, before he notices how quiet mom is. “Honey? What’s wrong?”
“Me. This should be a wonderful day for our family. Instead I feel…nothing. I’m numb. My only son is bringing a child into this world and they’ll be born knowing their grandmother is just a psycho has-been.”
“Mom!” Jackson’s fork clatters against his plate. Great, he’s about to add to the chaos, but a quick squeeze of Ginger’s hands on his shoulders restrains his inner beast.
“She can’t help it, remember?” she whispers, turning to me, smiling sweetly. “At least you’re excited, right?”
“Well, yeah. I get to be a kickass aunt.” And I’ll need to be with a baby growing up under Jackson’s roof. All the more reason to take the nanny job, too, and get re-acquainted with kids.
“Ginger, we’re thrilled. Truly. All of us.” Dad’s eyes ooze the apology he won’t say out loud because it’s sure to make this worse. He turns to my mother. “Steph, you can’t be so hard on yourself. There’s more reason than ever for us to set a good example. You’re an artist, and a damn good one. You’ll get through this.”
“Whatever, Peter. Here, take my hand again like a dog on its leash.”
I’m cringing. So does Ginger. Jackson drains his wine glass, the only thing he can do not to explode.
“Remember last week?” Dad’s still trying, rubbing the back of her hand with his fingers. “The doctor gave you that book to read about Van Gogh –“
“Van Gogh, Van Gogh, I’m sick and fucking tired of hearing about Van Gogh!” She snatches her hand out of dad’s and both palms hit the table. “He was a genius. We’re not even in the same universe. I can’t produce another damn birch tree painting, much less something brilliant and immortal. I get it. I’m sick. There’s something wrong with me. It stopped being stupid and demeaning a long time ago. Now, it’s just exhausting, and I’m so, so tired…”
It’s over. Night ruined. My appetite with it. It doesn’t bother me knowing we probably won’t have the heart to break into the French silk pie waiting in the fridge.
“Sadie?” Jackson looks at me, an evil glint in the green eyes we Kelleys share.
I shrug, angrily, never knowing what to do. Yet, it’s always my responsibility.
My feet push the chair out reluctantly, ready to lead her upstairs. But before I’m able, dad takes her arm, helping her up. “I’ve got this. Keep your big brother company while I help her to bed.”
Mom goes slowly, hand covering her face, hiding her tears. Jackson reaches for the wine bottle once they’re out of sight. He fills his glass to the rim.
“Jesus Christ. Here I thought it’d give her something to smile about for once.” He’s scowling, unfazed by his very patient wife rubbing his shoulder.
“I’m sure she feels guilty, somewhere in there. Give her a break.” I look him square in the face. It’s inviting trouble, mentioning guilt to my perfect brother, but tonight I don’t care.
“A break? She just spat in our faces after we announced our first kid. This isn’t getting better.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there,” I remind him, pushing the last few bites of food on my plate away in disgust. “She isn’t in her right mind, Jackson, and you know it. You can’t hold it against –“
“You’re right. It just gets to me, sometimes. How the fuck do we ever have a normal family again as long as this continues?”
Ginger looks at me, a strained smile on her lips. “How’s your training coming along, Sadie? You’re – what? – just a few weeks away from finishing?”
“A couple more weeks for the hands-on stuff. Then I’ll be doing it all the time, as soon as I’m able to find a job.” I don’t know what century that will be. The clinic’s openings for new hires are rare, and Davenport is far for work. “Enough about me, though. I’m excited for you guys. Seriously.”
I reach for Ginger’s hand. We trade smiles, and then I try to hold it, eyes shifting to Jackson. He gives me the same disdain he’s had since he went to boot camp when I was just thirteen. “Thanks. I see what you’re doing, and believe it or not, I appreciate it. At least one person at this table other than dad pretends to give a shit.”
