All That's True (22 page)

Thanksgiving is only days away. It makes me sad to think about it. It’s the first one without my dad. Last year was the first one without Alex. We got through that one, which gives me a little spot of hope in my chest. Maybe this one won’t be as bad as I think it will be, but then I remember how my father always carves the turkey and pretends like he doesn’t know how to do it and makes a game out of it. Rosa will probably carve it in the kitchen and just bring out slices on a fancy plate. Half the fun of the turkey is gone when you do that. I like seeing the knife slide through slice after slice until the breast bone is bare and the wishbone stares right up at you, coaxing you to pull it out and make a wish. Maybe I’ll help Rosa carve it. She won’t mind. She’ll say, “Ms. Andi, do like this.” And she’ll hand me the knife and step back and put her hands on her hips which are round and soft as pillows. Maybe Beth will want to carve it. She’s good at taking over whatever needs to be done. Her studies are going well. She’s at the top of her class and is very preoccupied with remaining there. When I told her my dad and Donna were having a baby she barely blinked her eyes.

“That’s to be expected,” she said. “Donna’s very young. She’s bound to want a family.”

Nothing seems to bother Beth anymore. She spends all of her time when she’s not studying writing letters to Adrienne. There’s a flurry of them going back and forth. You’d think they were long-lost lovers. Beth is at the mailbox every hour checking to see if another one has arrived for her. I’m sure she’s not even aware that Thanksgiving is almost here. I tell my mother I’m not looking forward to it and can we skip it altogether.

“Tell you what, Andi,” she says and tucks a strand of my hair behind one ear. “Let’s pick a nice restaurant and go out to eat. It’ll be just the three of us. We’ll start a new tradition.”

I shrug my shoulders. Whatever. My mother starts chattering away that I can pick the restaurant. The paper is loaded with ads for fanciful feasts at all of the hotels around Atlanta. I nod my head and go outside. The temperature has dropped and the wind is blowing hard. The sky is blank. There’s not one cloud floating around. It’s a dreary day that matches my mood. I settle into the glider on the back patio and rock back and forth, scraping my feet along the stone pavers. I’m feeling very depressed. It’s Thanksgiving week, and I’m not the least bit thankful. I’m not even the least bit hopeful. Everything that once was safely tucked in place is no longer tucked in place. Life has completely turned itself upside down on me. Then out of the blue, I think of what Nana Louise used to tell me when she could remember things.

“Just because the sun’s not out, doesn’t mean it’s not shining.”

I never understood what she meant, but her words were so kind when she said them that I always felt better just hearing them. Maybe there’s other ways for the sun to shine, like in our hearts. Or maybe we can work to help the sun shine for others. I think of Table Grace and get a terrific idea for Thanksgiving. They’re holding a Thanksgiving banquet for all the people that come to get their groceries every week. My mother and I can volunteer to help serve! We can stand in back of the food line and dish out helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy and stuffing and cornbread and sweet potato casserole. All of the little children will be standing in line, anxiously waiting for their plate to be filled to the brim. It makes my heart jump just thinking about it. I can’t wait to tell my mother what I’ve decided we should do for Thanksgiving. I head to the portico door and what do you know? The sun just peeks out at me, right out of the blue. Sometimes it’s like God just looks down at you and winks.

***

Dr. Armstrong has invited me and my mother to come to his home Thanksgiving night for dessert. His grown children and his two grandchildren will be there. When we finish serving at Table Grace, my mother goes into the restroom to freshen up. Her face is perspiring and her cheeks are flushed, but I think she looks wonderful. She’s wearing a simple brown knit dress. Her hair is pulled back at the nape of her neck and fastened with a tortoise-shell barrette. Some strands have fallen free and rest softly at the side of her face. She has one of the white aprons they gave us still tied around her waist. It’s filled with gravy stains and cranberry juice. My mother didn’t stop working for three hours. She served plate after plate and smiled warmly at each person standing before her. I served the rolls. Later my mother and another volunteer cut the pies and put the individual servings on paper plates. They loaded them onto large serving platters and bustled around the room to pass them out. There were blueberry, and apple, and cherry, and pumpkin. I served up the ice cream.

Four hundred people showed up to eat. It’s amazing how many people are in need of the kindness of others. My mother wipes her hands on her apron. She smiles at me across the room and winks. She’s glad we came. Satisfaction climbs into my lap and curls up like a kitten.

We say good-bye and get into my mother’s Mercedes.

“That was wonderful,” she says, and slips the key into the ignition. “I’m very proud of you, Andi, for thinking of it.”

I snap my seatbelt into place, pleased with myself as well. My mother pats my hand and backs out of the parking lot. She’s happy, happier than I’ve seen her in a very long time. I’m sure she feels good about herself for helping others who have so little, while she has so much.

Maybe my father didn’t ruin everything, after all. Maybe he just put a few dents in it.

I’m lying on my bed staring at the ceiling and listening to WYOU, my favorite radio station and Skipper McCoy, my favorite disk jockey. This is that oldie-goldie radio station I discovered way back and still love. But tonight he is playing very sad songs, one after the other and it’s starting to get to me and I don’t even have a boyfriend that’s breaking my heart, so I’m thinking that those that do are probably ready to slit their wrists. Skipper has on Connie Francis. She’s singing “My Heart Has a Mind of Its Own.” It’s beautiful, but very sad. Next he plays Dion and the Belmonts. They’re singing “A Lover’s Prayer.” It could break a heart made out of steel. I curl up and hug my pillow and pretend I’m in love with Rodney again, and he’s left me for the second time and what do you know? Real tears come to my eyes. That’s how powerful this song is.

Rudy is lying next to me. His head is resting in his paws and he looks so forlorn, like maybe I’m not supposed to be listening to this station. Petula Clark is singing “Kiss Me Good-bye.” These are really old songs, but they have the same effect they’d have if they were still popular. I’m sure of it. So maybe Rudy is right and dogs have this inner sense about more things than we know. Now the station is back to Connie Francis and she’s singing “I’m Breaking in a Brand New Broken Heart.” Oh, boy. The rest of the program is all the same, songs to make you cry, even though the program tonight is called
Good-bye
, and they should be playing good-bye songs, so what is the matter with them anyway?

Skipper McCoy is leaving to go to another radio station, somewhere in Chicago. Guess he wants to break everyone’s heart before he goes, so they’ll remember him. Good luck. Everyone has probably killed themselves already, at least the ones that have a broken heart. I’m okay, but then no one’s broken mine since Rodney and that’s been a while, but I’m not sure about all the others out there. I’m about to pick up the phone and call the station to let them know they should lighten up, even if Skipper is going away. But then I hear Petula Clark singing “Downtown” and it sounds very upbeat and I figure maybe someone else already called in. Skipper is singing in the background, sounding very happy, so he must be glad to be going to Chicago.

“Downtown! Downtown!” he sings into the microphone, and he has a really good voice. Then he plays Frank Sinatra. Frank is singing Chicago, and Skipper starts singing “Chicago, Chicago, my kind of town.” Then the music just sort of disappears and he says, “Now, remember, folks, if you get in the Chicago area be sure and switch to WLMU on your dial. Talk to you soon!” Then you hear him again, over Frank Sinatra, “Chicago, my kind of town!”

Next a commercial comes on and the program’s over. I really like Skipper McCoy. I wonder if they’ve hired somebody good to take his place. I plop back on my pillow and think about the decision I’ve made. I’ve decided not to have anything to do with my father anymore. It will be much better this way. Why let him be the one to cut me off, like Julia’s father did to her? I’m trying to figure out a way to tell my mother. This is the type of thing that will upset her. Knowing my mother, she’ll just want us to carry on like always and pretend everything’s okay, when everything pretty much sucks when it comes to my dad.

I haven’t thought of any good way to bring the subject up when my mother pops her head into my room.

“Rosa has dinner ready, Andi,” she says. She has one of her house dresses on and an apron around her waist, which means she was in the kitchen helping out, when I know for a fact Rosa would prefer otherwise. My mother’s not much of a cook and she tends to get in the way. She fusses with the salad greens, like they haven’t been torn into the right bite size pieces, or she picks up a knife and starts rechopping the herbs that Rosa is ready to put into the pot. I’ve seen my mother do this and when she does Rosa’s eyes are twice their normal size.

My mother is sitting at the dining room table when I get downstairs and her apron is nowhere in sight. So at least she won’t be serving. The last time she did she slopped sauce all over the dining room tablecloth. She insisted on changing it before we could continue and dinner was mostly cold by the time it was finally on the table. Which was okay, but my father made a big deal out of it. That was when he was still here. I wanted him to put his arms around my mother and nuzzle her neck like they do in the old movies my mother and I watch together sometimes and tell her how wonderful she is to try and serve him. It never happened. He sighed and got an irritated look on his face and never even got up to help her clear the dishes so she could change the tablecloth. He just pushed back from the table, put his napkin on his lap and waited like it was a major inconvenience. My mother just smiled and fussed with the linens and said, “We’ll be ready in no time.”

I stew over the memory and feel happy that I’ve made the decision to not see my father anymore. He’s a crumb-bum. Now, I just need to find a way to tell my mother, without upsetting her too much.

***

Just like I figured, my mother is not happy with my decision. She motions for me to follow her into the library. I watch as she opens the blinds and lets the morning light pour in. It’s Saturday. Rosa is busy in another room. I can hear the vacuum cleaner humming away.

“Andi,” my mother says. She fusses with the back of her hair. She does this when she’s not certain what to say. Her hair is pulled up into a soft curve and fastened with a barrette. While she fusses with it, some of it falls out of place. She looks so beautiful, like a commercial where the model pulls her hair pin out of place and her hair cascades all around her shoulders. Not that all of my mother’s hair has done that, but I can easily picture that happening with my mother’s hair, if she keeps fussing with it. I look at her and wonder how my father could possibly ever fall out of love with her. She’s perfect. I watch her mouth as it forms words. Her lips are perfect, too.

“Don’t make up your mind so soon about your father,” she says. “It takes time to—to—well, to adjust. Eventually, this situation will become more familiar to you and—”

“They’re having a baby!” I blurt out. “It’ll never be familiar. We’re supposed to be a family and he just goes and starts another one.”

I tell her all about Julia and what happened to her and explain that I never want that to happen to me and she must let me decide. My mother sits back and sighs. Her face is pale, but her cheeks are flush like I’ve slapped her.

“Andi,” she whispers. “Just give it some time.”

I nod my head like I’m agreeing with her, but I’m not. I’ve given my father all the time I plan to. It’s over. He can go on with his life and I’ll go on with mine. I lean over and hug my mother. She smiles. She thinks I’m mulling it over. If only she knew.

I am having brunch at the Ritz-Carlton with my mother, Beth, and Dr. Armstrong. All three of his children are with us, along with his two grandchildren, Zachary and Elizabeth. Elizabeth is four and Zachary is one. He’s just started walking and is toddling all over the place. I get to watch them and I’m having a very good time. Elizabeth has a little purse she carries around. She’s sitting on my lap. Zachary is back in the high chair the maître d’ brought to the table.

“What do you keep in your purse?” I ask Elizabeth.

She opens the clasp and pulls out a plastic baggie with photos inside. I watch as she pulls them free from the plastic.

“This is my friend, Charlie,” she says. “We take ballet together. See?” She puts the picture almost under my nose.

I lower it to take a good look. Charlie is a pretty blonde-haired girl and at least a foot taller than Elizabeth.

“How old is Charlie?”

“She’s four, like me,” Elizabeth says, proudly.

“Goodness, she’s a big four,” I say.

Elizabeth takes the picture back and stares at it carefully. Her brow is wrinkled and her lips are pursed together tightly. “Well, next year when I’m five,” she says. “I’ll be a big four, too!”

I laugh and give her a hug. Children are wonderful. They really do say the darndest things.

“My hamster died,” she says. “I liked him a lot and I hugged him too hard and his tongue came out and he died.”

There is a very sad look on her face. I glance at her mother, who shakes her head, as if she is saying, “Don’t go there.”

“But I’m getting another one,” Elizabeth adds. “I’ll just hug him sort of hard. That should be okay, right?”

I’m not sure how hard to hug a hamster. “Maybe just hug him gently,” I say.

She looks at me like the word gently is not in her vocabulary.

“What I mean is, don’t hug him hard at all. Hug him soft.”

“Okay,” she says and settles down into my lap. “I’ll just hug him a little.” She lets out a deep sigh. Her mother smiles at me like I’m doing everything right and really I’m not doing anything at all but listening.

Beth invited Adrienne to join us. She’s home from Zaire for a short visit to raise more funds at her church. When Adrienne arrived at our house the day she returned, Beth came bounding down the steps when the door chimes rang. I was on my way to answer it myself. Beth flung the door open and threw her arms around her, which wasn’t so unusual because they’re friends after all and Beth has not seen her for a while. But then Beth leaned in and kissed her right on the mouth! I wasn’t sure what to do. Then it hit me. All of it. Why she ignored Parker all those months they were engaged. Why she was relieved not to be getting married. She was struggling all along with her sexuality and nobody knew. It made me very sad. Poor Beth. She’s been suffering silently all this time.

I watched them walk into the entrance hall hand in hand. They looked like lovers. Then I realized, they are!

Later Beth explains her choice to my mother, who takes it all in stride, but I’m sure when my father finds out he will lose all his hair over it. I can just hear him. It makes me laugh right out loud.

“Andi,” my mother says. “Goodness, what is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just happy,” I say. And I am.

I think about all my father’s attempts to see me and that makes me happy, too. It’s good to be the one in charge. Each time he comes to the house, I tell my mother in no uncertain terms that I’m not going to even so much as talk to him. And I certainly am not going to go out to dinner with him. He sends me three long letters. They’re under my mattress. I like to read them late at night over and over again. They all say the same thing. He misses me. He loves me. He wants me to be part of their family. He wants me to come and visit. Donna will be having the baby soon and I will be a big help to her. Wouldn’t I like to give them a chance? Not on your life, I want to say, but I’m not speaking to him. I know that sounds very cruel, but I think of how he dumped us and how he treated my mother all those months when she was drinking and here she was just grieving over losing Alex and then I think of how he was sneaking around behind my mother’s back when her heart was breaking for Alex and her knowing all along what he was up to and then I just go back to never wanting to see him again. Besides, if I started seeing him again, he would probably just get used to me being around. And he and Donna will probably have other babies, and I’d get lost in the shuffle. I can’t bear the thought, so I just keep staying away.

When we get back from the brunch, my mother calls me to come down from my room. I run down the stairs thinking that she has a surprise for me. Sometimes she gets me a little gift, for no reason, really, and she wraps it up in fluffy pink paper. Halfway down the stairs I see that my father is at the bottom of the steps. Donna is right next to him. Her belly is huge. Then I remember, the baby is due next month, so it should be big. I stop on the step I’m on and freeze. What am I supposed to say to him?

“Andi,” my father says. “Come down here right now.”

Right. Like he is in charge of me. I don’t move.

“Andi, this has gone on long enough. Now you come down here right now!”

I turn around and run back upstairs. My mother follows. I slam my door shut. At least my mother respects my privacy. She doesn’t barge in. She knocks on the door. “Andi, sweetie, can I come in?”

Why not? Let me hear what she has to say.

“Alright,” I say, and the door opens before I finish speaking.

My mother comes over to the bed and sits down next to me. “Oh, Andi,” she says. “You’re being so difficult and that is so unlike you.”

I told you she always thinks the best of me. Basically, I think I’ve always have been difficult, but she’s the only one who doesn’t see it that way. I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. It has this very interesting pattern. If you look really hard you can make out miniature stalactites. They’re right there hanging from the ceiling. I count each and every point that’s protruding. My eyes get lost and I lose track. I can hear my mother. She’s trying to explain to me why I’m being difficult.

“Andi, they only want you to go to dinner. Would that be so much?”

I sit up straight on my bed and rub my eyes. I’m not sure if I can see straight any more. “I’ve already had dinner,” I point out.

“Alright, supper,” she says. “They want you to join them for supper.”

“Well, they can forget it!” I say and plop back down on my bed.

My mother looks at me like she cannot believe that she’s heard me. I sit back up and slam my fists at my sides. They hit the bed like they’re made out of cotton.

“I can’t stand it!” I say. “They’ve started a new life, they’re having a new baby and I can’t stand it.”

My mother puts her arms around me and pulls me to her. “Andi, my sweet girl,” she says, and turns me around and looks me straight in the eye. “If I can stand it, you can stand it.”

***

My mother is right, but there is one thing about trying to change your mind about something. It doesn’t necessarily change your heart. I walk back down the staircase and confront my father again. Donna’s belly is sticking out like a watermelon, but her cheeks really are glowing, just like I read in a magazine. I turn to my father and say, “I told you. I don’t want to see you anymore. Please leave me alone.”

I march back up the steps and walk right past my mother and go into my room and slam my door. Then I lie down on my bed and cry my eyes out. If you want to know the truth, I was hoping my father would march right up those stairs and yank me by the back of my head and say, “That’s not good enough, Andi! You forgot one thing: I want to see you!”

He didn’t.