James 2
James
Adam is standing like an exclamation point in the middle of the house, carrying a couple of promising, slightly steaming paper bags.
I watch him take us all in: Nazeera dazed and disheveled, surrounded by a heap of damp napkins; Kenji limp and wrung-out, hair squashed up on one side; Winston with no glasses, face pressed flat against the table.
And then there’s me: frayed nerves; busted heart; just lost my innocence.
Ha.
I lost my innocence the day a porcelain doll came to life and slit my throat with her little doll hands. I’ve been fucked up ever since.
I clench and unclench my fists, feeling restless as the familiar scents of eggs and toast and breakfast meat rise to greet us.
Winston lifts his head slightly.
“Oh my God,” he says, and he sounds like he’s crying. “Adam, I love you.”
“I love him more,” says Kenji, hand still pressed to his heart.
“I love him most,” I argue.
“He’s married,” says Nazeera.
“He’s my brother,” I point out.
“He’s my hero,” Winston says to the table.
“Alia has a couple more bags,” Adam says, fighting a laugh. “She and the kids are—Oh—”
There’s a blur of commotion as Roman and Gigi blast into the house on inarticulate cries of excitement, pinballing off couches and side tables before hurling themselves at their favorite grown-up of the moment.
Gigi launches herself at me shouting JAMMY!
while Roman dive-bombs Kenji, clambering into his lap and immediately shoving a toy dinosaur into his face.
Nazeera and Winston sit up and sit back as this happens, crossing their arms as Adam feeds them the customary lie:
“I don’t know how they choose who to hug first,” he says, clearing his throat.
“They love you all so much they can never decide. I think they just go for whoever is closest and, you know, actually, Gigi was just talking about how excited she was to see Nazeera—wasn’t she?
On the walk over?” He turns to his wife, Alia, for a corroboration of the lie, and she pulls up beside him holding a couple of paper bags of her own, grinning tightly at the scene.
“Oh, yeah,” says Alia, nodding too much, making big eyes at her kids. “And Roman is always talking about how much he loves his Uncle Winston, aren’t you, Roman?”
“THIS IS DINESAUR,” says Roman, pushing his toy into Kenji’s face.
Kenji squints and sits as far back as his seat will allow. “Yeah, okay, I love you, too, kid. But you can’t just go around taking peoples’ eyes out.” He gently guides the dinosaur away from his face. “At least not until you’re older.”
“What’s in the bags?” says Winston, more alert than he’s been in hours.
I do a double take as he sits up straighter; I hardly recognize him without his glasses.
“And what time is it?” he asks.
“Early,” says Nazeera, rubbing her eyes. “Really, really early.”
“It’s almost noon,” says Alia, biting back a smile. She and Adam start unloading the food—breakfast essentials courtesy of The Waffle’s Waffles.
“NOON!” Roman echoes, punching his dinosaur into the air.
Meanwhile, Gigi is squashing my face in her hands, giving me funny faces. I never resist this. I am putty.
“No shit?” says Kenji, surprised. Then, at the warning look from Alia, he adds in a rush: “I mean, uh, shit—I mean—sheet—of paper—”
“C’mon, man.” Adam cuts him a look.
Kenji covers Roman’s ears too late. “My bad, bro.”
“MY BAD, brO,” Roman shouts, shaking off Kenji’s hands.
“Kip is feeding everyone for free this morning,” says Alia, deftly changing the subject. She tucks a length of her dark blond hair behind her ear as she unearths more boxes. “And not just him—there are dozens of restaurants giving out meals across the city.”
“No way?” says Nazeera, sitting forward.
“People are really pulling together,” Alia says. “The energy on the streets feels kind of amazing.”
“That’s awesome,” I say, adjusting Gigi in my arms. She smells like fruity shampoo. “We’re all living for some good news right now.”
I can already feel myself unwinding.
Hell, holding Gigi is its own dopamine hit.
A little kid pretending to pick your nose can do wonders for shifting your headspace.
Gigi finally tires of animating my face, and I press a kiss to her dark silky hair as she reaches for some new source of entertainment just behind me, arms straining for something I can’t see.
I glance back and realize she’s trying to reach Winston’s glasses, still wedged into my seat.
I grab them for her.
Gigi squeals with delight, presses her forehead to mine conspiratorially, then puts on the glasses.
The tension in my body releases a bit more as I give in to a smile. It’s a relief to remember, over and over, that every great battle is fought for small moments like these.
“Jammy,” she whispers, poking a finger into my cheek. “Jammy, look.”
I look.
She started calling me Jammy when she was two.
She’d never been good at saying James, but after she learned the word jam her sharp little mind started making connections, establishing patterns.
Just once I dotted both our noses with jam and said, “Uh-oh, now we’re jammy,” and she giggled so hard she nearly threw up.
Gigi won’t call me anything else now. Even Roman calls me Jammy sometimes.
“Do you like my glasses?” she says.
“Your glasses?” I ask, my eyebrows lifting. “I didn’t realize they were your glasses.”
She presses her lips together, fighting a laugh. She nods eagerly.
“Wow,” I say, exaggerating my amazement. I raise my voice on purpose, projecting as I speak. “I love the new glasses, Gigi. They remind me a little of Winston’s glasses, except yours are cooler. Plus, they look way better on you.”
She giggles louder, then covers my mouth with her hands, shushing me. She knows she’s wearing stolen property, and she knows she’s about to get caught, but her only priority right now is to silence a snitch.
I love her.
Winston’s response is immediate.
“Hey,” he shouts. He almost stands up from his chair. “How did—Are those my glasses?” He searches his face with his hands. “Why do you have my glasses?”
Gigi is gurgling.
“Give me back my glasses, Gigi.”
“No!” she shrieks, hysterical.
“Gigi, I’m serious.” Winston is out of his chair now. “I need my glasses. I’ve been looking for them everywhere. It’s hard for me to see without my glasses—”
“NO!” She hides her face in my shoulder, her body shaking with laughter.
“You’re going to smear the lenses!” Winston cries.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper in her ear. “I won’t let him take your glasses.”
She screeches with delight.
“This isn’t funny!” Winston protests.
“Bro, c’mon,” Adam says, shaking his head at me. “Why do you always—”
“I WANT GLASSES,” says Roman, throwing his dinosaur to the ground. “MOMMY, WHY DON’T I HAVE GLASSES?”
“Roman,” she says. “You have a dinosaur—”
“I DON’T WANT DINESAUR!” he screams.
“Roman—”
“Gigi,” says Adam, using Calm Dad voice, “do you think you could let Roman have a turn playing with the glasses—”
“No, he can’t play with them!” Winston says angrily. “They’re not a toy!”
Roman bursts into tears.
I go rigid at the sound, my limbs locking down as adrenaline floods my body.
“I WANT PLAY WITH THEM—”
Fight or flight.
Fight or flight.
I try to dissociate.
“They’re a medical device!” Winston is arguing. “I need them to see!”
Roman is wailing now, and Adam sends me a nervous look that’s equal parts That’s what you get, dumbass and Are you okay, though, dumbass? before quickly retrieving his kid from Kenji’s arms. Roman begins to calm down, and I manage to take a full breath.
“They were mine first,” Gigi is shouting. “They’re my special glasses!”
“Maybe we could give Roman something else to play with,” I suggest to the room, pushing through residual tension. Then, turning to my nephew: “Roman, would you like to play with Uncle Winston’s wallet? You might like that better. It has secret compartments.”
Gigi stiffens, turning to me in surprise. “I like secret compartments,” she whispers.
“Just a diversionary tactic,” I whisper back. “No chance Winston is giving up his wallet.”
She pulls back and studies me, her brown eyes wide with awe.
“You,” Winston barks, pointing at my face.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Clear your schedule,” he says. “I’m going to kill you later.”
“What did I do?”
“You know what you did!”
“NO,” Gigi shouts, curling more tightly into my arms. “No killing JAMMY—”
“It’ll be quick,” Winston says to her. “I promise. You won’t even miss him.”
“NO!”
“Daddy, whatsa wallet?” Roman says, his hands pulling at Adam’s shirt, his gaze pinging between me and Winston. “I want it. Can I have it?”
Adam sighs, his eyes closing.
I’m trying so hard to keep a straight face I’m practically crying.
Roman, dissatisfied by this series of events, is now squirming in his father’s arms, wanting to be released.
The minute his feet touch the ground he crawls under the table, grabs his toy dinosaur, and barrels into the adjacent living room, where he starts climbing the couches in an ongoing campaign to give his parents a heart attack.
“No running on the couches!” Adam shouts, taking a half step toward Roman.
“Did he take his shoes off?” Kenji looks around at us in a panic. “Please tell me he took his shoes off—”
Alia shoots him a nervous glance before chasing after her kid.
Kenji glares at me from across the room.
“What?” I choke out, all innocence.
“You knew what you were doing,” Adam says, pointing at me with one of Roman’s sneakers. “You aided and abetted—”
“Aided and abetted!” Winston cries.
“All right, enough, no one gets to have glasses,” Alia says, charging over to me. She’s clutching Roman’s other sneaker in one hand, her eyes narrowed in disapproval. “Uncle James is going to return Uncle Winston’s glasses. Right now.” She holds out her hand.
I lean back, eyes wide with forced surprise. “Uncle Winston’s glasses? I thought they belonged to Gigi.”
“James,” she says in warning.
“All right, okay, team meeting.” I turn to huddle with Gigi. “What do you think? Should we give back Uncle Winston’s glasses?”
“No,” she says defiantly.
I glance up at Alia. “Sorry. Gigi says no.”
Alia looks stunned—and then, suddenly, like she might slap me.
The first time I met Alia she was so timid she could hardly meet my eyes; for years she was almost painfully shy. Now she’s looking at me like she’s trying to decide whether to use an open or closed hand to hit me.
I clear my throat, turning back to Gigi. “Right, okay, so it looks like the other side is not receptive to a refusal. We’re going to need to come up with a compromise.”
Gigi frowns, considering this.
“Here’s what I propose: I say we take a break from playing with the glasses.
I’m hungry, and breakfast is on the table, so it’s good timing for me, and you don’t have to be involved in the handoff, so it’s less of a surrender for you.
If you give the glasses to me, I’ll have them returned to Uncle Winston, and then you and I will reconvene later to debrief and discuss next steps. ”
Gigi takes this all in, her brow pinching as she processes my proposal. Six grown adults watch her with bated breath, Winston practically on his knees, while Roman’s dark head peeps up over the back of the couch, the face of a one-eyed plastic T. rex floating beside him.
After a tense silence, Gigi softens in my arms with a dramatic sigh, and I hear shades of who she is in that sigh; shades of who she might become.
She doesn’t protest as I gently remove the glasses from her face, then rests her head against my chest as I hand the pair over to Alia, who immediately hands them off to Winston, who jams them back on, jubilant.
His victory is short-lived.
“Gross,” he says, hesitating. He pulls them off his face and immediately starts cleaning them with his shirt.
Roman roars, then catapults off the couch, narrowly avoiding a trip to the emergency room before heading for the toy bin Kenji and Winston keep stocked for the kids. There’s a dull crash as he upends the bin, its colorful contents scattering across the carpet.
Gigi, meanwhile, has gone quiet in my arms.
Crestfallen.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “Uncle Winston’s bedroom is upstairs. He’s got all kinds of cool things in there—”
“Stop conspiring!” Adam shouts at me.
I mime zipping my mouth shut, then shoot Gigi a covert look, like it’s just us against the world. She beams up at me, her brown eyes shining, and when I’m certain her smile is secured in place, I leverage the moment to set her down.
“Have you eaten breakfast?” I ask her.
She nods.
“Do you want to play with Roman while the Borings eat breakfast?”
She nods again.
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
When I finally return my eyes to the crowded table, I only have enough time to sense the charge in the air before all five of them chuck plastic spoons at me.
“Hey—what the hell—ow,” I cry, ducking.
“HELL IS BAD WORD,” Roman shouts from the other room. “MOMMY, HELL IS BAD—”
Gigi covers his mouth with her hand.
Roman shrieks, wriggling away. “TIME-OUT FOR UNCLE JAMES,” he cries. “TIME-OUT FOR JAMMY—”
Gigi tackles him to the ground.
“You see that?” I say to the group, pointing at Gigi as I push away from the table. “That’s loyalty. You’re all just jealous—”
They chuck plastic forks at me.
“Ow, okay, not cool,” I say, flinching as I duck again. “This is unnecessary violence. Those forks are sharper than you think—”
“Update from Warner,” says Nazeera suddenly, lifting her pager in the air.