A Forty Year Kiss

32

On a Sunday evening, they sat on a couch with the girls watching episodes of Abbott Elementary.

This show is fantastic, Charlie said.

Can we watch another? the girls asked, huge toothy grins spreading behind poorly camouflaging fingers. It was clear to see that they thought Charlie an easy mark, and they were right. Long before they arrived for this babysitting gig, he’d been researching the Twin Cities’ best ice cream, doughnuts, pizza, and hot dogs, and most of the day had been spent driving from one restaurant to the next, sitting outside in the June heat while they clumsily ate. The girls had already changed out of two outfits today and were now wearing their pajamas; they were all tucked into the couch, cuddling, and she could see that Charlie was having as much fun as she could ever remember.

Yes, Charlie said emphatically. But first, let’s pop some corn.

Nobody says that anymore, Ainsley said. They say, Let’s make some popcorn.

Charlie, Vivian said, your heart. Haven’t you had enough junk food for one day?

He looked at her as if he were crestfallen, his smile dissolving into a pronounced frown. Girls, he said, have we had enough junk food for one day?

No, they sang in chorus.

I didn’t think so either, he said, rising from the couch to wander into the kitchen, humming as he did so. As he rifled through the cabinets and cupboards. Minutes later the apartment filled with the smell of buttered popcorn, and they all happily readjusted their positions on the couch while Charlie dispersed paper napkins and held out a large bowl for them to share.

Just as the episode began, Addie looked at Charlie and asked, Are you my grandpa?

Yeah, Ainsley chimed in, still focused on the television. We’ve never had a grandpa.

He glanced down at her, kissed the top of their heads, and said, I don’t know. What do you think?

Well, if you’re marrying my grandma, Addie reasoned, then you must be my grandpa.

I can’t argue with that logic, Charlie agreed.

So can I call you Grandpa?

Vivian noticed that he could not immediately answer. After a moment, he passed the bowl to Ainsley and excused himself before walking to the bathroom.

Vivian rose and followed him.

Charlie, she said, her lips pressed close to the door. Charlie, are you all right?

His voice, when it returned to her, sounded strained. I’m fine, he assured her. Fine. Be out in a minute.

Are you feeling okay? Charlie?

I’m fine, Vivian, he said. I’m just—can I have a moment? Please?

Not if you’re going to have a heart attack, Charlie, then, no, you can’t.

I’m not going to have a heart attack. I took my pills. My heart feels fine.

Well, I’m just going to stand here then, she said. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to sit on a couch eating popcorn, while you have a stroke and bang your head on the—

The door opened a few inches, and she slid inside the small bathroom. He was sitting on the floor, his hands over his face.

Are you okay? she asked. Charlie? Do I need to call an ambulance? She sat down beside him. Took his wrists in her hands. Ran her fingers through his hair. Charlie?

He moved his hands away from his face, and now she could see that he had been crying.

I never thought I would be anyone’s grandpa, he said. You know? You get older and your friends start to become grandparents. They show you photos of their grandkids. They talk about their grandkids all the time. It used to annoy me, he said, wiping his face with a hand towel. But now…I get it. They’re just so miraculous and perfect. And they like me. I thought I’d be invisible to them or something. I didn’t think they’d even really notice me.

She smiled. Of course they like you, Charlie. They love you. You’re really good to them. And they’ve never had that. They’ve never had a steady male presence in their lives.

Oh, he said, taking a deep breath. What a day. What a day this has been.

You know, you don’t have to hide in the bathroom when you’re happy, she said, kissing his ear. It’s okay for people to see you cry.

I was worried they’d think I was croaking. You know, dying. Or in pain. I think if they’d hugged me that might have been too much for this old heart.

Do you still need a minute? she asked. Can I get you anything?

No, no, no. I’ll be out in a second.

She kissed him again, this time on the lips, and then slipped out of the bathroom.

Is Grandpa okay? the girls asked.

Oh, he’s fine. Too much junk food’s what I think. Grandpa has an upset stomach. You know, that’s what happens.

She sat on the couch and reached for the bowl. Ainsley passed it to her, but it was empty. Just a dozen or more unpopped kernels, rolling around the ceramic. What they used to refer to as old maids. Just a few tiny pools of congealed butter.

Did you finish all this? Just while I was in the bathroom?

Neither of her grandchildren could speak. Their mouths were full of popcorn.

Long after the children went to sleep, she and Charlie walked down to the first-floor front porch and sat on the stoop, drinking ice water. The sides of the street were lined with parked cars, the windshields shining opaquely beneath streetlamps. The air was heavy with pollen. Heavy, too, with the promise of impending rain. Lights from a baseball diamond pushed back ominous scudding cloud banks, and the moon was impossible to find. The ice cubes calved quietly in the glasses, and to the west came the low sound of thunder. They didn’t say a thing. She leaned against him and sighed.

The rain came on quickly. Fat raindrops slowly pounding the roofs of the cars. Then the storm intensified, and they were forced off the stoop and away from the rain. Her skin was wet, and with the rain came a dramatic fall in temperature. The air was cooler now, and fresh smelling. Deeper under the porch’s protection sat two crackly, aged wicker chairs and they rested there, rubbing their shoulders for warmth.

I’m going to grab us some blankets, she said. Is that okay? It’s just so nice here, watching this storm.

Thank you, he said simply. Oh, and if there’s any coffee left in the pot, could you bring me a cup?

Of course, she said, rubbing his shoulder lightly.

She walked up the stairs, listening to the old house creak and groan beneath her feet. She poured the last inch of coffee from the pot into a mug and set the mug in the microwave for a half minute. While she waited, she walked to the window, and from that vantage she could see Melissa and another person standing on the corner of the block, perhaps a hundred yards away. Vivian stood motionless, for some reason aware that she might be noticed, spying. But Melissa was oblivious. The person she was standing with moved closer until they were near enough to take Melissa’s face in their hands and kiss her, deeply, while Melissa wrapped her arms around their waist. The streetlight was a spotlight upon them, upon that soft corner of concrete. The person, Vivian realized, was another woman. They kissed and kissed, the two of them, slowly, in the rain. She watched as their clothing grew darker; they were soaked through, and oblivious to it.

The microwave sounded. She felt both sizzling excitement and happiness, but also a kind of confusion. A woman. Did that make Melissa gay? She supposed it did. And how did she, herself, Vivian feel about that? Did it matter to her? Was she surprised? Well, she was surprised, yes. Now Vivian forgot entirely about the blankets and the coffee and all but ran down the stairs eager to meet this person, her daughter’s friend, her girlfriend. She banged through the screen door, startling Charlie.

No coffee? he asked.

She looked down the street and Melissa was running toward them, at first, hand in hand with her friend—her girlfriend. Then, as they came closer, they dropped their hands, pounding through puddles, screaming against the rain and the lightning, a passing car that curled a wave of water directly at them. And then they were on the porch, gasping for breath but smiling, and laughing too, holding their own shoulders, slicking their hair back and away from their eyes, tucking hair behind their ears, pink with the new wet cold. It had been so long since Vivian had heard her daughter laugh.

Well, Vivian said, aware of her own motherly tone, how was dinner?

Come on, Vivian, Charlie said first. Let’s get these gals inside. They must be freezing. I’m Charlie, by the way, he said, rising a bit stiffly from the chair to shake Melissa’s friend’s hand.

Jill. Then she turned and offered her hand to Vivian. It’s really lovely to meet you. You know you’re Melissa’s hero, right?

Oh, come on, Vivian said, let’s get you two dried off.

They stood in the kitchen, drinking hot cocoa, the silence wooden and awkward. Jill in the bathroom, the sound of the shower.

Your friend seems nice, Charlie said to Melissa.

Vivian felt her daughter’s eyes on her. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, which troubled her, because she knew that she didn’t have to say anything. That this didn’t really concern her. She wasn’t, in fact, quite sure how she felt, and that troubled her too, because she knew that the only thing that mattered was that she loved Melissa and wanted her to be happy. And yet, this was a surprise. And at least a short-term secret, but maybe something withheld for much longer too. It was natural to feel confused when such a thing burst forth, revealing the truth.

Mom, Melissa said quietly.

Yes.

I didn’t know this was going to happen. Jill, I mean. I’d never really had these feelings for a woman before. Or if I had, I didn’t really consider them, you know? I just thought…they were occasional fantasies. Oh my god, this is too much. I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. Okay. Here’s the thing. She is really, really, really nice to me. And to the girls too. She doesn’t ask for anything either. She just, you know, supports me. Makes me feel good. It’s easy with her. To be with her.

That word, easy, resonated, like a sacred musical note in Vivian’s heart. She felt she understood immediately, even if part of her was resistant, stubborn, even—she could admit—hard, mean.

We have the best time. We really do. Doing absolutely nothing. It could just be baking. Or taking a walk. Cooking together. We laugh all the time.

The shower suddenly hushed. The sound of a plastic curtain pulled back. A towel rustling.

I haven’t told her anything, Mom, but I think I love her. She makes me feel safe. And here’s the other thing—she doesn’t drink. Never has. She’s straight edge. Totally straight edge.

Straight edge? Charlie asked.

She was a punk when she was a teenager. Some punks are straight edge. It means no drugs or alcohol, no cigarettes. She’s as clean as a Girl Scout. She doesn’t even like pop or juice or candy. Mom, I’ve lost ten pounds since we started dating. She pulled up her shirt and squeezed a pinch of belly fat. See? We even work out together. It’s bananas.

Not even any sweets, huh? Charlie asked, confused. What about ice cream?

Vivian bit her lip and closed her eyes. This needed to be celebrated. Encouraged. Blessed. Or maybe it didn’t need to be; it just could be. But she wanted to celebrate this. From the bathroom, she heard the toilet flush, and the sound of water splashing in the sink. She went to Melissa, wrapped her daughter in a strong, strong hug.

Listen to me, she whispered. Don’t ever let her go. You hear me? If you really love her, then don’t ever let her go.

She kissed her daughter and squeezed her harder still.

Thanks, Mom.

Oh, and I guess I have something I need to share with you as well, Vivian said, but…let’s wait a few days. Nothing will change, okay? I’ll call you. Tuesday night? It’s good news.

Good news?

Great news.

Of course, Mom. And—

Just down the hallway, the bathroom door opened, and Jill looked at the three of them and smiled.

Thanks, she told them simply. This really means a lot to me.

***

The streets and highways were largely empty when Charlie pointed his truck east for the drive home. They were quiet. Held hands. She stared at the lights of downtown Saint Paul, the humble skyline of a city that’d seen its zenith many decades before. She glanced quickly at Charlie and was pleased to see that he was just focusing on the road, his face utterly content. It didn’t seem to matter to him—Melissa and Jill. She liked that. He didn’t seem to care as long as Melissa was happy. He certainly didn’t seem surprised. She squeezed his hand, and he peered over at her.

What? he asked.

Nothing, she said, shrugging her shoulders and smiling.

The rain had abated, and now the streets shimmered with headlights, brake lights, streetlights. She felt tremendous relief. A relief she’d never experienced before. In one evening, it felt as if her daughter had finally and safely learned to swim, to navigate the waters of life. And now, Vivian didn’t have to hold on so tight, or watch so vigilantly. Her work was complete.