First Blessings
1. Gisele
“Good morning Mrs. Rowethorne,” I called out sweetly to the lady hurrying across the street at a brisker pace than she usually set on her way to church. Even though the only church in town was on this side of the street, her hurrying to skedaddle and risk her ugly oversized Sunday hat to fall off her oversized head had me humming with amusement.
“Oh good … good morning, Gisele,” the old cow stammered, warily eyeing me but didn’t let her eyes drop past my face. If she did, she would certainly catch a mouthful. Plus, she knew better.
“On your way to Mass?” I asked unnecessarily. The woman spent half her time at church being it for a mass service or confession or any other reason. Daphne Rowethorne was a god-fearing church loving busy body and nothing gave me more pleasure than to rankle her purely for my own entertainment. God would frown on her for being rude and impertinent, keeping her talking to me not only to make her late but I loved to see her quiver in her sensible ugly brown heeled shoes.
Tucking her handbag closer to her large boobs, she sniffed into her handkerchief. “Yes dear, Father Donaldson doesn’t approve when his parishioners are late for Mass.” She admonished me, “I can say a prayer for you and … well I can say a prayer if you need dear.” Her eyes dropped for just a moment, and I felt the rage bubble up like it always did when any of the town’s residents offered to do the same thing. Feeling a tug on my hand, I sucked in a calming breath and silently counted to ten.
“No thank you Mrs. Rowethorne but thank you for your offer. Tell the Father I say hi.” I replied brightly with fake saccharine sweetness, my fun at tormenting suddenly over. “Come on chickee, time to go.” Looking down at my pretty daughter I let her take over and tug me onwards. “Gigi is waiting on us, I’m sure.” At the mention of my daughter’s grandmother, the old battle axe let out a disgusted huff and took off.
“Don’t go worrying about her chickee, we are not the ones needing Jesus, “I growled, looking back over my shoulder and couldn’t help but laugh loudly when the hat covered in way too many fake flowers went sailing down the gravelled road and Mrs. Rowethorne doing her best to chase it and failing.
My daughter let go of my hand, her beautiful brown eyes full of mirth. I watched as her tiny hands flew fast out front her, my laughter now even louder.
“Yes, precious you might be right there, your mumma definitely should be nicer,” I agreed amused and unrepentant. “But it was fun wasn’t it, seeing her hat fly away?” Again, little hands flew, and more laughter peeled from my lips.
“I think you spend too much time with Gigi, little miss. I did not teach you to sign that word.” But l certainly knew who did.
My daughter shrugged her shoulders before putting her little hand back in mine.
“If anyone in this family needs praying for it’s my mother,” I grumbled, as we headed in the direction of the person in question.
* * *
“Well hello Gisele, what time do you call this?” my mother called out the second my feet crossed the threshold of my family’s shop. “Is today a public holiday and no one informed me?” It was a question, but l knew better than to answer it. If I did God only knew how long that argument would go on for.
“Did the order of frozen food arrive yesterday or do l have to make a phone call? I asked ignoring her letting my hand free so my daughter could run to one of her favourite people.
“It arrived, but it’s all wrong. Hello chickee, how is my one and only today?” my mother asked my daughter as she caught her easily and lifted her up and settled her on her hip, not at all worried she had just ruined my day.
“Wrong? What do you mean wrong? How wrong? I swear to the almighty himself l will cut off that prick’s balls,” I tossed out as l hurried around the counter to where the order slips were kept. Rifling through them, I concentrated on the bullshit on the paper blocking out the familiar reunion my daughter and mother preformed every single time they saw each other. It didn’t matter if they had already seen each other this morning at breakfast, if any time lapsed where they were separated then they celebrated being back together.
“Oh no, what happened? Who got your goat up this time? Let me guess, it was either the baby daddy or someone from the church? Mrs. Rowethorne I’m thinking. Am l, right?” she said, looking at my little girl, sitting her on the tall front counter and watched the signing begin.
“Her ugly hat went flying down the road, you don’t say. Mumma laughed, well I can understand that. Huh, she said that did she, well your mum is right, the old battle axe does need Jesus.” Following the conversation absently, I snorted at the mention of the man who got me pregnant the age of sixteen.
“Mum, I have asked you repeatedly to not call Liam that. Last week Miracle signed that while she was at his for dinner. It had not gone down well.” Recalling the ten-minute lecture, I had to endure when I picked her up before he would let me leave. Not that I was all that upset that he was known as that in our family, being Miracle’s dad still earned him a little respect. A little, not too much.
“He has no balls, so he doesn’t deserve jack shit in my opinion.” Mum said matter of factly, even looking at Miracle as she said it. That was my mum for you, she didn’t pull any punches and refused to mind her P’s and Q’s. I loved that about her, even hero worshipped her for it, not that I would ever admit that without a judge demanding me to.
“He’s doing much better; you must admit that. He hasn’t missed a Wednesday night dinner with Miracle for two months now.” I don’t know why I was even bothering helping Liam looking like a good father. He was really shit at being a dad, if it weren’t for the effort I put in nagging him, he wouldn’t see his daughter at all. Of course, the blame for that was placed squarely on my shoulders. It wasn’t his fault he slept with one of the cursed Blessing girls, it was me that seduced him not the other way around, or that was how the town’s people and Liam’s parents saw it. The real story was much more different.
“Oh, bully for him. Fancy needing a pat on the back for being a father. He’s a wanker Gissy end of story.”
“Yes Mother,” I answered promptly, hoping that my acquiescence might put a stop to the topic. Miracle might sign to communicate with us, but it wasn’t because she was deaf. She had perfect hearing. Just like the rest of her precious perfection. My daughter simply didn’t talk. Born at twenty-three weeks gestation, the doctors and specialists told me that it would be a miracle if she lived beyond five hours after her birth. Smaller than a barbie doll, my little chickee proved all the medico’s wrong.
Hence her name. Miracle.
There was no medical reason for her silence, other than being tiny for her eight years and the hundred and two days she spent in the hospital my girl was perfect. She just didn’t want to talk, not that she didn’t have plenty to say. When she was three years old a doctor suggested I take her to a school for the deaf and teach her sign language. My mum and two older sisters decided to come along, and we all learnt to sign so life for Miracle would be easier. She could hear everything being said, she just couldn’t or wouldn’t make sounds. Not even a giggle or a sigh had passed her lips.
“Don’t be sassy Gisele Blessing, you made me a grandmother well before my time – “
“And here we go,” I laughed knowing what was coming. “Let me stop you here lady before you bust a boiler. If I had not, you wouldn’t have Miracle at all so jump off your podium and go take your granddaughter to see Grumpy. I’m sure he will be in the mood to argue with more than l am now.” I shooed her, hitting the nerve l intended. She had her ways and I had mine, all was fair in love and war.
“Maybe you do need Jesus after all.” My mother mumbled “or maybe even better an orgasm or three.”
“Mother!” I raged, my face flaming with embarrassment, not that I needed to be embarrassed. Not much came out of my mum could embarrass me anymore, or so I thought. Pointing a finger in her direction l nailed her with narrowed eyes.
“Do not explain what you just said to Miracle,” I ordered, “Christ on a cracker Mum, can’t you pick on your other children and not just me.”
Picking Miracle off the counter and placing her on her feet, mum took my daughters hand laughing.
“Oh, don’t worry, when Elle and Claudia get here this afternoon, I’m sure I can think of ways to make them turn beet red too,” she singsonged as she walked off with my impressionable child. “Love you to pieces baby girl.” Was the last thing I heard before she disappeared through the back room that lead to the private residence of the family home.
“Love you too, you crazy loon,” I called back with a smirk then full out smiled when l heard her delighted snicker.
My family was weird, but I wouldn’t have them any other way. Pushing aside the unfortunate encounter with the town’s busy body and my mother’s inappropriate but spot on and accurate assessment of Miracle’s dad I went about sorting out the latest deliver fuck up. Being a Sunday, it was going to be a bitch to fix before the customers bombarded us the next day.
Two excruciating hours and fifteen phone calls later, I pushed the laptop aside with a frustrated sigh. At least this time I didn’t throw it, after the third laptop found itself tossed at the office wall, my mother promised the next time would bring upon my death. So, I got creative for my own personal safety and hired a seventeen-year-old boy to do much of the data entry. It was only times like today being a Sunday and not wanting to pay the lad double time did I endure the pain of computer work.
Leaning back in my chair, I rubbed weary eyes with the heels of my hands, quietly slipping deep in thought contemplating the family legend that all the Blessing women were cursed. It would certainly explain the cluster fuck that was my life.