48. Malcolm
Malcolm
Makenna left her frog pajama bottoms at my house.
Thankfully they’re too small for me to wear around like a weirdo.
I also can’t smell them to remember her because they were washed with my laundry.
And since they’re breeks, that would also make me a weirdo.
I can look at them, though, and I definitely have.
They sit folded on my dresser, and I smile at them as I pull socks from my top drawer. Is it a bit much to say that a piece of frog-covered fabric has saved me this past week? Probably. But they never fail to bring a smile to my face.
I’ve begun to think about this time like Makenna is an astronaut and she’s on the dark side of the moon. There’s no contact, but I know it’s temporary. If actual astronauts can go contact free on the other side of the moon, surely I can make it two weeks without her.
“Are ya ready, ya slowcoach?” Fiona calls up the stairs. She’s been visiting this weekend and we’re heading to Mam and Da’s for tea.
“I’m coming,” I call as I slide on my second sock.
Thirty minutes later we’re sitting at my parent’s dining table eating steak and ale pie.
“Your dad went to his consultation and scheduled a sleep study,” Mam says, spearing a bite of steak.
Da looks down at his plate and mutters to himself, “Is nothin’ private?”
“Oh good. I’m so relieved, Da,” Isla says.
“Mmm hmm.” Da turns to James. “How’s the potato crop looking?”
“It’s looking like it’ll be a good year,” James answers.
“That’s good,” Da says, then the table descends into silence at Da’s failed attempt to change the subject. They are acting weird; the table is never silent. It’s not like we’re a particularly loud bunch, but there are quite a few of us, someone always has something to say.
“Any fun stories from the hospital?” Ailsa asks.
“Ah, well …” I search my brain for anything out of the ordinary this week. “Oh! I pulled a LEGO minifigure head from an eight-year-old’s nose. Then I learned that it had been wearing a helmet when it went in, so I had to go back for that.”
“I’ll never understand the need to see if something will go up your nose,” Isla says.
“Me neither,” Aisla agrees.”
Silence descends again. I look around the table as my family eat and glance around at each other.
I narrow my eyes at Fiona, who looks down at her plate.
It dawns on me that she hasn’t asked me about Makenna all weekend.
And despite it being an obvious topic of conversation, she hasn’t been mentioned tonight either.
They all talked about it and decided it was best not to bring her up.
I’m honestly not sure if it would feel good to talk about her, or just pretend things are back to normal. They know about the two weeks of darkness, but we haven’t spoken about it since.
“You guys don’t have to avoid talking about the Makenna situation. I’m sure you’re all curious how things are going. Not that I really have anything to report.”
“Oh good,” Ailsa says. “I told you guys he would be fine if we asked.”
I shake my head. “I appreciate the thoughtfulness, and I wouldn’t want it to be all we talked about, but I’m fine and I’m okay talking about her. I’m confident things aren’t over for us, I’m just ready for the time to be up.”
“You should show up at her house on the last day,” Isla suggests.
“That would be making a huge assumption on his part,” Ailsa says. “What if he gets there and she’s changed her mind?”
“He’s already made the assumption,” Fiona argues.
“Starting on the phone would be more prudent,” Mam counters. “Nothing would be worse than showing up there to get rejected in person.”
Well, that feels bad to hear, even if I don’t believe it would happen.
“I’m not going to show up on the last day. I’d love to see her in person, but I’m planning to start easy and see how things go.”
“Would you really move there, ya think?” Fiona asks, a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“It would be a tough decision, but I would consider it. If she really wanted to make a go of things, we’d need to live in the same area. It’s hard to decide if you want to marry someone if they live across the ocean.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she says, resigned.
And with that, I think I’ve had enough of talk about my hypothetical future. As much as I like to dwell on it, imagining all the possible positive outcomes, I don’t like the reality my family is sprinkling in.
“So…” I say. “Isla and Rory?”