Chapter 32 Pancakes Over Pajamas
Pancakes Over Pajamas
I’ve been so preoccupied with the funeral, food, family, and friends this week that at times, it has felt like Mom is just working her usual long hours at the lab.
It hasn’t been all that different. Weeks could fly by, and I would barely even see Mom some days between her working long hours and me being in school and juggling friends, old and new.
I also came out and got myself a cute boyfriend to boot.
So yeah, life has been busy, and we didn’t see each other all that much anyway.
So even though it was Mom’s funeral, it just felt like she couldn’t attend because she was working late.
I find, from time to time, I’m longing for the old days when it was just Mom and me in our old shitty apartment.
Dad was living out of state, and we had no money.
We survived on store brand peanut butter and generic white bread sandwiches for dinner because Mom could barely make rent.
She worked in bookstores, grocery stores, and even cleaned houses—pretty much any odd job that brought in some extra cash.
But she always came home in time for dinner to make those peanut butter sandwiches for me.
And she always asked me about my day too.
It didn’t matter how tired she was; I would talk and talk and talk.
I told her if I saw a ladybug on the sidewalk.
I told her everything. She never said much; mostly she smiled and listened to me ramble on about my day.
You know, I don’t think I ever asked her about her day.
Why didn’t I ever ask her about her day?
Damn! I was a selfish child, and I didn’t even realize it. And it’s too late now.
I turn my light on and sit up in bed. Sammy meows and leaps off the bed.
He gives me the look for having disturbed him, but I ignore him.
My thoughts race. Thinking back, Mom was happiest when she was working at that little bookstore in Baltimore.
Certainly, happier than at the lab. I don’t even know what she did at that stupid lab.
I don’t even know what it was called because I never asked.
And now that I’m thinking about it, what important work could she really have been doing?
She was a young mother who worked odd jobs most of her life.
What was this important work that made us move to Rockville, causing me to change schools in my senior year and forcing Carole to find a new job as well?
What could be so important? This makes no fucking sense.
I want to knock on Carole’s bedroom door.
I want to wake her up and ask, What was so important at that damn lab that it resulted in Mom’s death?
The adrenaline surges through me like a lightning bolt, and I throw off the sheets and spring from the bed.
I pull on a T-shirt over my boxers and walk across the hall.
I’m about to knock on Carole’s door, but my fist hangs in the air.
Simon, what are you doing? You’re acting crazy, I tell myself.
So, I turn back to my room and close my door.
I turn off the light, get back in bed, and try to fall back to sleep.
Ilay awake most of the night, my mind racing. My thoughts won’t leave me alone. The alien can’t sleep either, and it twists and turns inside me as I twist and turn in my sheets. It’s an awful night.
I get in the shower and make the water as hot as possible to wake myself from this fog of exhaustion.
I don’t want to go back to school tomorrow.
I’ve been out of school for a week now, and there is going to be so much homework to catch up on.
Plus, other kids and teachers will be coming up to me all the time to give their condolences.
It’s going to be a nightmare. Also, this Thursday is Thanksgiving, and I don’t want to think what that is going to be like.
How can we possibly celebrate Thanksgiving without Mom?
How? Wait, I know what will make it better! I’ll invite PJ to join us.
I finish my shower, get dressed, and text PJ.
Good morning. Is my Pajamas still in his pajamas?
PJ doesn’t write back right away, and just about when I’m about to give up on him, three little dots appear on my screen and my pulse races with excitement as his replies arrive rapid fire.
Good morning handsome
No pajamas
I’m up and dressed and ready to face the shit day ahead of me
Oh no, what’s wrong? Did something happen?
Oh no big deal, didn’t mean to be so dramatic, sorry
Gotta help pop clean out the garage
It’s a big job and it’s going to take all afternoon
Not looking forward to it AT ALL
Don’t know what is worse. Manual labor or having to make small talk with dad
Well, I want to ask you something
Hopefully this will make your day better
Would you like to have Thanksgiving dinner with me and my family?
No response. No three dots on the screen.
I stare at my phone waiting for a yes in capital letters to appear, but nothing happens.
My heart races and I wonder what to do. Finally, the dots appear but then quickly disappear.
It happens again and again. What the fuck!
Is he ghosting me? Eventually the phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Simon. I thought I should call you instead of texting.”
“Okay,” I say.
“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to rip the bandage off.
I haven’t told my parents about you. I’m ashamed and embarrassed about this, and I do want to tell them about you.
About us, really, I just haven’t gotten the nerve yet.
Plus, Suzi is coming over and spending Thanksgiving with me. ”
My mouth is dry, and I’m not sure how to respond. Defeated, I say, “Okay, I understand.” But I don’t.
“Please, Simon, I know you are disappointed. I would love to spend Thanksgiving with you too. But, you know, my parents, they just aren’t comfortable with the idea of me being gay. But I swear to you. I’m going to tell them about us. That’s a promise.”
“When?”
“What?”
“When are you going to tell them about us?”
PJ breathes heavily through the phone and sighs. “Soon. Maybe by Christmas. Well, maybe not Christmas. At least by the new year. It can be my New Year’s resolution. How does that sound?”
I want to hang up the phone. What’s going to go wrong next? Instead, I spit back, “Do your parents think Suzi is your girlfriend?”
No answer, just more heavy breathing.
“They do, don’t they?”
“No, Simon. Well, maybe. I don’t know. We don’t talk about that either. I suppose they might make that assumption. But I’m not sure.”
“Guess I’ll let you go. Have fun cleaning out the garage,” I say curtly and end the call just as I hear PJ apologizing again.
Damn it! This was not the response I thought I would get from him. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do but accept the situation. I can’t force him to tell his parents about us. So, I drag myself to the kitchen and plop down in a chair like a heavy sack of potatoes.
“Good morning,” Carole says weakly. “I heard the shower going, so I knew you were up, and I thought I would make us a late breakfast.”
“Oh my God, Carole, are you making pancakes?”
“I am. Would you like blueberry or banana? We also have leftover pineapple, melon, and kiwi that I’m thinking of making into a fruit salad. I’m determined to use up the giant fruit platter.”
“Carole, your motto is, Pancakes are devoid of nutrition. Have a green smoothie instead. Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah, well, I thought we deserved them. Don’t you? Plus, I can’t eat another bagel, piece of kugel or smoked fish. Maybe you could make up some plates and take them around to the neighbors in the building. I don’t want this food to go to waste.”
“Um, that’s a hard pass. There is no way I’m knocking on some stranger’s door saying, Here, enjoy some of our leftover Jewish comfort food that we can’t eat. It’s from sitting shiva for my dead mother. It holds all our grief and sorrow, but I promise, it’s not poisoned or anything.”
Carole sighs and slowly nods her head. “Well, then I don’t know what we are going to do with all this food.
” She stops cooking, puts her hands on her waist, and says, “All right, whatever we don’t consume in the next few days, just make it go away.
Make it disappear; I won’t ask any questions.
I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this right now. ”
Carole returns to making the pancakes, and I lean my head back and stare at the kitchen ceiling. I’m so exhausted. It feels like I’ve been hit by a truck, or I have the flu or something. I just need to…close my eyes for a…minute. Next thing I know, Carole is shaking me awake.
“Wake up,” she says. “Breakfast is ready.”
My head snaps back up and, like magic, in front of me is a plate of hot steaming pancakes. But it looks like Carole put M&Ms in the pancakes because they are dotted with different colored spots. I poke at one of the pancakes to try to figure out what she did.
“Uh, what’s in these?” I say suspiciously.
“Colorful, aren’t they? Don’t judge me, just try them,” she says.
With one eye closed, I slather them with butter and drizzle a bit of maple syrup on top. I cut off a bite and put it in my mouth.
“Well, do you like it?” she asks expectantly.
“Um, it kinda tastes like Fruity Pebbles cereal. What’s in these?”
“Well, the bananas had turned brown, so I threw them out. The blueberries were still good, so I threw some of them in. Then I thought, why not just keep going? Why make a fruit salad on the side when you can have fruit salad pancakes? So, let’s see, the green bits are honeydew and kiwi.
The yellow bits are pineapple, and the red bits are strawberries. ”
“Fruit salad pancakes, you say.” I stuff a few more bites in my mouth. “I like ’em!”
Carole smiles and sits close to me at the table. We eat our pancakes in silence until Carole puts down her fork and quietly says, “So, how did your visit with your dad go yesterday?”
I put my fork down and look up at her. I try to read the expression on her face, but it doesn’t give anything away.
Does she know what Dad asked me? No point in beating around the bush, so I just blurt it out.
“Dad wants me to come live with him.” Carole doesn’t say anything, but her face gives away what she is feeling… and it’s hurt.
She stands up, collects the dirty dishes, and carries them over to the sink.
She drops them in with a small clank. She turns on the water and starts scrubbing the dishes vigorously.
She doesn’t turn around to face me, but she says with a choked voice, “Ah, he did mention this to me when we were at the hospital. He said that he might ask you. He also asked me how I felt about it, and I told him that it was your choice. Your decision.”
Carole turns off the water and turns around to face me. A single tear trickles down her left cheek.
“Do you want to tell me what you told him?” she asks.
“I told him I had to think about it.”
“Oh, okay. Well then, let me know when you’ve decided.”
And with that, she turns away and resumes washing the dishes. My phone beeps, and it’s another text from PJ. I ignore it and shut the phone off. I get up from the table and go back to my room and close my door. I lie down on my bed and fall back asleep.