Chapter 16 #2
King sniffs around the closet some more while I settle against a pile of clothes and begin on the first page.
December 4th
Hello Loin Fruit #4! Welcome to your new home inside my womb.
If you’re anything like your siblings, you’ll find it quite comfortable and won’t want to leave.
But I’m going to need to kiss that squishy little face of yours and sniff your head when you get out, so don’t take too long, okay?
But right now, you’re the size of a grain of rice, so we have lots of time.
My, do you have a hored of people who will be excited to meet you!
Angela, Isaiah, and Dane will be thrilled when they find out about you.
I’ll tell them when I start showing. Angela has been begging for a sister because the boys “don’t play nail salon right.
” So I’m afraid whether you are a boy or girl, she will make you learn.
Your father and I can’t wait to meet you, baby.
Love,
Mama
I have to laugh because Angie made me do all kinds of things that Isaiah and Dane wouldn’t. Like nail salons and tea parties. Whatever, their loss. I had a great time doing those things.
My brothers mostly used me as their test dummy growing up.
“Hey Jonah, try out the new bike ramp to make sure it doesn’t collapse.”
“Hey Jonah, we’re pretty sure you’re Peter Pan, so jump out of our bedroom window and fly.”
“Hey Jonah, attach these frisbees to your feet and skate on the icy driveway.”
Good times.
I turn the page in Mom’s diary and read on.
December 10th
My Little Loin Fruit #4 — Today we hunted for a Christmas tree.
The key to picking a good tree is all about the shake.
If a lot of pine needles fall off, it won’t last. You need one that can withstand toddlers and gobs of tinsel.
One as strong as the man hauling it to the roof of your minivan and strapping it down while you sip the hot cocoa from the Thermos and dream of sugar plums.
That moment lasted for all of twenty seconds before Isaiah was crying that the tree was going to fall off the roof and Angie spilled her hot cocoa down her coat and Dane tried to get in the car of another family.
But I wouldn’t trade today for any other.
Soon, you’re going to enter the best family ever, and it’s only going to get better with you in it.
Love,
Mama
I think back to Christmas as a child. I don’t remember any of them with my mom.
Nothing as magical and chaotic as what she described.
I remember gifts and the excitement around Santa Claus, but TV and school created most of the magic.
Angie always did her best to decorate, but I never remember getting a real tree.
Dad would just haul one up from the basement and we’d do our best with the ornaments.
Every year I tried giving Dad the best gift I could.
When I was a kid, they were gifts that made me happy, so I thought they’d make him happy.
He’d smile, but it never lasted. When I was old enough to realize he probably wanted a present that he liked, like a new tool belt or a Philadelphia Eagles hat, I’d get met with the same smile and thank you, but a clear sign that he didn’t need anything from us.
It stung, but I never gave up. I just wanted him to be merry and bright for one day, and I wanted to be the person that made that happen. I wanted him to see me as someone worth loving.
The last couple of years, we’ve all seen a positive change in him.
He’s more present with us, and he’s opening up.
Maybe others wouldn’t be so welcoming of an emotionally closed-off father just now coming around—just now showing affection and meaning it—but I’ve been waiting for this, praying it would happen.
And I need more of it.
I set Mom’s diary aside and pull out my phone to call him.
“Hey, bud. What’s up?”
“Can I host family dinner this Sunday?”
“Um... sure. I don’t see why not. You certainly have the space.”
“You would come if I did? Because I could host all of them.”
There’s a soft chuckle from his end before he speaks. “Of course I’ll be there. But maybe see how the first one goes before committing to hosting all of them.”
“I could though!”
“Bud, no offense, but you forgot about your own high school graduation.”
“That was the old me. The new me has a farm and animals to care for and a rugby team to level up.”
“Alright,” he concedes, but doesn’t sound convinced. He sounds like a father who knows his kid might fail, but is willing to let him learn that lesson.
But I’m gonna prove him wrong.
After we hang up, I text the whole family, including Joaquín and his moms to let them know dinner is at my house this week and that I’ll provide everything. There’s an extraordinarily long pause before someone responds—almost like they’re having side chats about this.
Angie: Sounds like fun! Would you like any help beforehand?
Ana: We will bring the enchiladas.
Jonah: No I can do it! Dont bring anything but urselves
Ivy:
Dane: This I gotta see
Once I’m showered and ready for bed, I coax King to join me. He’s unsure if he’s even allowed, but with lots of praise and petting, he takes a spot curled next to me.
Normally, I doom scroll before bed, but I remember the pictures I took on my property today and start investigating each one before sending them off to Renée.
I send her a picture of a bird.
Jonah: The tufted titmouse (lol that’s really the name) also known as Baeolophus bicolor is a songbird. It’s part of the tit and chickadee family.
I smile when I hit send and lay back with one arm behind my head. She’s gonna be so pleased.
Renée: I’m going to need more than the first line Wikipedia gives you. Tell me about their ecology.
Swing and a miss.
I have to look up the definition of ecology before doing more research and responding.
Jonah: Ok so the tufted titmouse (or titmice if you’re talking more than one) is a total savage despite its cutie patootie looks.
It snacks on bugs, berries, seeds... whatever it finds on the ground or in trees.
In the summer it’s all about munching on those caterpillars.
Bro’s a total simp for a bird feeder too.
He loves to stash food like a sneaky little hoarder. With 4 siblings I can relate.
Jonah: Also? Lowkey the titmouse is a curious guy. Might roll up to your window and be like “what’s up?” The internet makes it sound like he’s harmless but that sounds like a peeping Tom to me.
Jonah: And this bird is loud! Chirps more than hockey players in a locker room. Especially when other birds are freaking out.
Jonah: Oh, and if one of the dogs ate a titmouse (lol I still can’t get over the name of this bird) the risk of harm is really low.
Jonah: OMG I got a new dog! He’s got the sugarfoot, so let the girls know he can’t have any extra treats. They’re gonna be sad but it’s for his own good.
Renée: Okay... first of all, that dog is very cute. Do you know how to say no adopting animals?
Jonah: why would I want to?
Renée: Second, that was one way to present biological findings, I guess.
Jonah: Do I get a good grade?
Renée: You’re going to need to give me a little more. Did you find anything on their nesting habits?
Jonah: Hmm... it’s getting pretty late. Maybe I could come by tomorrow and we could discuss nesting habits during your office hours.
Renée: No.
Jonah: But the titmice!
I suddenly remind myself that tomorrow is Saturday and I not only have a rugby game, but I have to go grocery shopping for the family dinner I’ve demanded to host the following day. So I text her back and look like a moron.
Jonah: Wait, I have a game tomorrow. I’m sorry Professor Wilde, but I won’t be able to make your office hours. Another time then.
Renée:
Jonah: If you’re not too busy tomorrow... would you and the girls like to come to my game?
Renée: I don’t know the first thing about rugby.
Jonah: That’s ok! No one does. I don’t actually think there are rules. It’s all vibes.
Renée: lol I highly doubt that
My heart soars like an eagle—no, a titmouse—when I process the incredible fact that Renée Wilde just lol’d at something I said. A screenshot is hastily fired off to Joaquín with a million exclamation points before I return to my text chain with Renée.
Jonah: I’ll learn about the nesting habits of titmice, and you can learn about rugby.
Renée: I don’t need to attend a game to learn about a sport.
My soaring heart deflates a little—she’s right.
Why would she want to watch a sport she doesn’t care about?
I’m still just her neighbor, an irritation that she sometimes lols at.
For the first time since we began texting tonight, I set my phone down, and I curl up against King.
His plastic cone isn’t exactly comfortable against my cheek, but he lets me hold him close.
My fingers sift through his warm fur, and he grunts before relaxing into it.
“You would come to my game, right?”
King doesn’t respond, but I imagine he would. We lay there for a few minutes while a pile of dog hair falls to the comforter with each stroke of my hand. When I reach for my phone to add deshedding shampoo to tomorrow’s grocery list, I double-take when a new text comes in.
Renée: Maybe it would be nice to get out and do something we don’t normally do. What time is the game?
I’m scrambling to sit up and double-check the team’s schedule.
Jonah: Noon at Fairmount Park. I’ll be there by 10:30 for warm-up.
Renée: We have a couple things to do tomorrow, but if we have time, we’ll try to stop by.
Jonah: I’ll let my sister Angie know to look out for you. She’ll be the one on the sidelines screaming at the ref.
Renée: I can’t promise I’ll make it. But I’ll try.
Jonah: I hope you do.