Chapter 33
Andi
It’s a good-humored, lively, loving invasion, but an invasion nonetheless. My cottage has never seen so much action or heard so much noise. I have this sense of it vibrating, of tiny fissures forming between the old stones until eventually it’ll burst apart, all its bits rattling down the mountain, bouncing and ricocheting off bare tree trunks.
I haven’t felt this level of overwhelm since I went up to the residence part of the shelter last year after all the kids had just chowed down on Halloween candy.
Kevin’s mom and I decided ahead of time that we’d both watch him closely for signs of exhaustion or pain, and then adjust the visitation accordingly. He mostly seems okay so far. Before they got here, I pushed his chair—and the little table he’s using to elevate his leg—up against the wall on his bad side, to minimize bumps and collisions from little bodies. Good thing, too, because they all want to be near him.
He’s probably also feeling good because July and Joe stocked the fridge to bursting, as we discovered after our nap. He rubbed his hands together, took his meds and had a feast of peppery pasta and salad and a perfectly grilled pork chop even bigger and juicier than the ones Joe had fixed the night my friends tested Kevin. “Oh, lordy,” Kev whispered when he saw it. I thought for a minute he might cry actual tears of joy.
So now he’s well fed and the pain relievers have kicked in and he is surrounded by people who adore him.
He seems to have a hard time telling the kids, No, I can’t hold you on my lap , so one or the other of the adults is always having to remind them or tug them away. He has the little ones sit on the hearth and the floor so he can read to them from the bagful of picture books one of his sisters brought. The grandmas take turns beaming at him from Gram’s old chair and doing god knows what in the kitchen with Kev’s mom. Amy. His dad and grandpas and Pete and CeCe and her college cousin are in and out from the back patio. The other adults are playing cards with the kids or putting together a massive puzzle on a card table I’d set up with some folding chairs.
I alternate checking on Kev with sneaking out to the garage to make calls or work on my laptop in the peace and quiet of my car. I’ve given up on locating overflow motel rooms for the weekend; instead we work out a plan to let people bunk in the conference room if necessary. Rose promises to find funds for sleeping bags if it comes to that.
Pattie and the therapists and the shelter staff all ask about Kevin. “We’ve arranged for extra group therapy and individual sessions for anybody who needs it,” Pattie tells me. “But I think they’ll all feel a lot better when they see for themselves that Kevin’s going to be okay.”
I use that as an excuse to go inside to see how he’s doing. When I tell him what Pattie had said, he borrows my phone and takes some silly selfies, including ones of himself holding up a notepad with “See you soon!” and “Do your math homework!” written in Sharpie.
“Here, they should see that you’re okay too,” he says, beckoning me over beside him for a few shots.
“ There it is! ” someone shrieks from the patio door. CeCe, pointing and waving her hand at me. “ That face! ”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I say, erasing all traces of gargoyle from my expression.
“It haunts my dreams.” CeCe collapses against the doorframe, covering her eyes.
I sure hope she’s involved in youth theater somewhere.
Kevin laughs. “You mean this pretty woman? Gimme a smooch…” he says, and tugs me down for a kiss.
Amid the little kids’ “Ewwww!”s and giggles, I make my way back to the garage and send the pictures to Pattie. She promises to print them and post them all around the shelter—“Even the scary one.”
My next call is to July.
“Excellent timing,” she says. “I just went on break.”
“Thank y’all so much for everything. Tell Joe that pork chop almost made Kevin weep.”
She laughs. “So, I hear they’re staying till Friday morning.”
“I didn’t know that. How do you know that?”
“They came in for lunch. Kevin’s mom asked for me so they could thank us. She said they wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner with y’all and then if Kevin still seems fine, they’ll head home.”
It is so annoying sometimes how July learns news before the people most affected by it.
Does this mean my house is going to be…like this…for four more days? Jesus. I need to do some adjusting. And figure out how the hell to cook for that many people.
July’s laughing again. “Stop your grumbling. I can hear your brain spinning from here. I invited everybody here for dinner Thursday since we’re closed. We’re also having my family and any of the staff who want to come. I told your folks it’ll be a special meal using recipes from that Sioux Chef cookbook I bought when Joe and I went up to Minneapolis to try Chef Sherman’s place. Dee-licious.”
She’s always been able to read me, even when I’m silent. “I may have dropped word to Kevin’s mom that you’re not keen on celebrating Thanksgiving.” I hear a clink of silverware on a dish. “She was actually pretty cool about it. Just said, ‘Well, that’s okay. We’ll just have a meal to celebrate that they’re both okay and that we’re all able to be together.’ So that was when I said y’all should plan to come here where we’ve got plenty of space.”
“July, that’s—” I’m at a loss for words. It’s perfect. It’s too much.
Fucking pregnancy hormones. I try not to let her hear me sniffle but she’s laughing again.
“Andi, don’t worry about it. This is no big deal. I serve crowds bigger than that three times a day, every day. It’ll be good to get to know them better. Make sure they’re as nice as they seem.”
Her if they’re going to be your family now goes unspoken.
They really do seem wonderfully nice. The kids are high-spirited but polite and well-behaved. The others are fun and funny and helpful and appreciative. And the grandmas take turns saying things that remind me of Gram.
Fucking pregnancy hormones.
All in all, things go really well until evening when they start packing up to go back to Joe’s building and Kevin’s apartment. Kev’s mom uses the cover of that chaos to corner us by the fireplace where I’m sitting on the hearth near Kevin’s elevated foot.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Amy says in a low voice. “Should we be preparing for a wedding? Do you know where you’ll have it? Can we throw you a shower?”
Shit. For a while there I’d thought Kevin was wrong—that they might not butt in. When I turn to him, I can see by his deer-in-headlights expression that he’s been hoping the same.
***
Kevin
Should’ve known we wouldn’t get off that easy.
Mom’s wording is a lot smoother than “You’re not going to have that baby out of wedlock , are you?” but her meaning is clear. And she’s obviously been thinking about it ever since she learned Andi’s pregnant.
Andi could probably handle this better than I can, but she’s waiting for me to speak up. Dammit. “No, nothing in the works,” I say finally, carefully. “We’re…not that far along.”
“But you’re having a baby !” As if no one has ever done that outside of marriage.
“Yes, we are. We didn’t expect to be, but we are. So we’re still figuring things out.”
“But…are you saying you aren’t serious about each other?” Yep, her cool is slipping.
I glance at Andi. Her pretty face is solemn, her gaze on me.
“I didn’t say that, Mom. But we don’t want to rush.”
“But there’s a baby on the way! Why would you do that if you aren’t sure what you want? There are ways to prevent pregnancy!” Mom is actually turning red. I’ve never seen that before. And I don’t think I’ve ever been the cause of her—or anyone—getting this upset. I start to sweat, my mind racing with absolutely useless, nonsensical thoughts. Like how peaceful the garage must be right now. And how scary and awful everything seemed when I was four and my baby sister was sick. And how much I want to drag Andi back to her bedroom, shut the door behind us, and just hold on till these feelings go away.
Shit.
Andi speaks then, her voice quiet. Calm. Firm. Just what I should be able to be.
“We’re adults. Of course we know about birth control. But sometimes those methods fail.”
That’s a gut punch. I don’t want to think about “fail” in relation to Lil Bit. Whatever else happens between Andi and me, I’m not going to ever be sorry about this baby. And I will not fail as a dad.
Andi’s hand moves to her tummy. Protectively, I think. She looks a little sick at the idea of Lil Bit as a mistake too.
Mom opens her mouth, pauses, closes it, and looks around, as if unsure what to do or say next. And here comes Dad, two minutes too late.
“You ready, hon? Everyone else is already in the cars.” He touches her elbow. “Kevin, sleep well. We’ll see you tomorrow, Son. Andi, thanks for putting up with us.”
Mom’s voice is faint as she tells us good night. Dad hustles her out the door. Andi trails behind them and locks up. Sets the security system. Habit, I guess.
She’s had lots of reason to build habits like that. Lots of reason to fear lots of things.
And yet when it comes time to make a stand, she’s always there. Always rock solid. Always doing what’s needed, with as little fuss and drama as possible, whether it’s running a crisis shelter, kicking an attacker’s ass, keeping her boyfriend from bleeding out on the street or standing up to his pushy mom. Andi always steps up.
And I’m always too late. Getting in the damn way. Or not showing up at all.
She looks as exhausted as I suddenly feel. She’s not meeting my eye, instead glancing around the room. Except for the card table with its partially worked jigsaw puzzle and two decks of cards, everything is in its proper place, the dishwasher humming softly in the kitchen. My family does not leave messes at other people’s houses.
Except for that last conversation. And this won’t be the end of it. Mom will worry it nonstop and she’ll talk about it with Dad. What he’ll do or say is a question mark…until and unless he thinks Mom needs help. Then he’ll swoop in like a hawk, and god help us.
Dad knows how to speak up.
“You ready for bed?” Andi’s voice is subdued. “You can have the bathroom first. I think I’ll drag the air mattress out here to sleep on so I don’t accidentally hurt you in the night.”
“Andi.” I may be useless with my family, but I know how to hold Andi. And when she needs to be held.
She waits as I lower my foot to the floor. Push myself up out of the chair. Ouch, ouch, ouch.
I open my arms, and after a moment’s hesitation, she glides into them, wrapping hers around me, pressing all those soft, warm curves up against me, making me feel stronger and more balanced again, the way she always does.
“I want you with me, if you think you could sleep okay in there.” I squeeze her to me. Kiss her hair. Rub her back and her arms, inhaling her sweet scent.
She hesitates. Then, “Okay. We can try. But the second I jolt you or bump you or hurt you, I’m outta there.”
A little while later we’re in bed, Andi cuddled to my side, her head on my shoulder and her hand curled on my chest. I bury my face in her hair. “Don’t let Mom get in your head, okay? They’re leaving Friday morning. We just have to hold on till then and we’ll be free.”
“You don’t think that conversation tonight was the last, then?” Her tone is wistful.
I laugh. “Not a chance. She thinks child welfare is at stake.”
We lie there in silence. Somehow I’ve said the wrong thing. I try to make out the words swirling unspoken in the air around us.
Andi speaks before I decipher them. “What would it take to end that conversation?”
I shrug, uncomfortable. “I mean, I don’t know… Pete would probably come right out and say something like, ‘Ma, I’m not gonna talk about that with you.’ My sisters… Their husbands would step in for them. You know. Make clear that they’re a decision-making unit on their own, or something.”
More silence.
Finally, softly, Andi says, “But you don’t want to do that?”
The air hangs heavy between us, the answer obvious and damning. The idea terrifies me.
I want to be a decision-making unit with Andi. I do. I just don’t want to have to upset anybody by saying so out loud. I want people—Mom—to just get it, without being told.
Andi closes her eyes. I guess looking at me is too painful. “How did it work when you were with Cheryl?”
Man, I don’t want to think about this stuff. She’s not calling me unmanly—Andi would never say something like that—but that’s how I feel. I sigh. “Andi, I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before. Cheryl and Mom always seemed to agree about stuff, and I…just went along.”
Why did I always just go along? I can think of some times when I wasn’t thrilled about whatever the plan was. Places I didn’t want to go, things I didn’t think were a good idea. But speaking up…would’ve made waves. And I purely hate making waves.
“So…your mom probably thinks I’m a bitch now.”
That jolts me. “What? No! Why would you say that?” I twist to see her face. Ow, ow.
“Because I didn’t agree with her. And I spoke up. Firmly.”
Because you wouldn’t, Kevin. You just sat there like a weak fool. I don’t know if those are her thoughts or mine I’m hearing. Possibly both.
“You weren’t being a bitch. You just said what needed to be said.” What I should have said.
Aw, god, what if she’s right. What if some kind of rift opens now between my mom and my lover because I didn’t do my partner job and speak up?
I’ve worried before that Andi would get tired of Vanilla Kev. So far, by some miracle, she hasn’t.
But Silent Kev, Weak Kev… those assholes might break us.
Because she deserves better. And our baby deserves better. I know it, and so does she.