21. Annabelle
Annabelle
“This is where you grew up?” I ask when we arrive at the house. Grant and I have carpooled, since we’re coming from the same place and going to the same place. As he parks among his siblings’ vehicles, all I can do is stare.
We’re fifteen minutes outside of town, where the yards are big and the driveways long.
His parents’ house is a small bungalow with a steep roof and a row of icicles dangling from the gutters.
Warm light glows from the windows, turning the frost on the glass into halos and tinting the yard a buttery yellow.
Pines crowd the house, their branches heavy with snow.
A path has been shoveled to the front porch, leading to steps worn down at the center.
A wreath formed from puffy hearts hangs on the door.
“Are we Hansel and Gretel?” I ask when I get out of the truck. “Because that is one hundred percent a fairytale cottage.”
“When you say stuff like that, I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.” Grant grabs his dish to pass as well as the case of Vernors I brought.
“It’s darling,” I say. “But how did you fit seven people in there?”
“Felix and I had a bedroom in the basement.” Grant walks toward the house and I follow. “June and the little boys slept upstairs.”
“The little boys? Blake and Cole?”
“I still call them that sometimes.”
“Making you and Felix the big boys?”
“Unless something was broken or on fire,” Grant says as we step onto the porch. “Then we got our full government names.”
“I’m guessing Felix got full government a lot.”
Grant nods. “So you’ve met.”
He opens the door to life at full volume. There’s hockey on TV and a dog running around and at least three conversations going on. By the time I take my shoes off, someone’s already hung up my coat and June’s handing me a glass of wine.
I meet Grant’s mom, Tammy, who tries to wish him a happy birthday before he cuts her off. She goes back to arranging cupcakes that she explains are leftovers from the Valentine’s party in her kindergarten class. “But I swear, no kids breathed on them,” she says.
I tell her that my Nana was a teacher too. “She taught art to sixth and seventh graders.”
“Middle school.” Tammy inhales sharply. “I could never. Your Nana was doing the Lord’s work.”
Grant’s dad, Scott, teaches high school science. He’s unfolding a six-foot banquet table and complaining about serving spoons going missing, but he stops to shake my hand and welcome me to dinner. “June told us all about you.”
For a brief second, I wonder why Grant hasn’t mentioned me to his parents. But that’s ridiculous. I’m not here as his date. And if June told them all about me, then he didn’t have to.
Grant is tasked with bringing in more firewood and June is called into the kitchen.
June’s husband, Dylan, offers to refill my wine glass or bring me a beer from the back porch, but I decide to switch to pop for the rest of the night, since I’m already off balance.
I tug at the flannel shirt I’m wearing over Grant’s stolen t-shirt, unsure if I should help in the kitchen or take a seat in the living room with Blake and Felix.
That decision is made for me when the dog I saw earlier comes skidding up to me and sits at my feet. She’s a brown and white pit bull wearing a pink bandana and a huge grin. Her tail swooshes behind her. I squat down to give her some love, grateful that she’s not a jumper or a barker.
“I hope she’s not bothering you.” Blake unfolds himself from the couch and slides into our orbit. “She can’t help herself. She sees someone new, and she has to make friends. We’re both like that.”
I straighten. “What’s her name?”
“Officially, Sugar. Unofficially? My best wingman.” He grins at me with the same enthusiasm Sugar does. “Which means this is my opening to say hi. This time it comes with canine endorsement.”
Sugar snorts and leans into his leg as if to say, you’re welcome.
Grant is suddenly at my side, smelling like wood chips and outdoor air. “Did you want to see the house before dinner? We’ve got time for a tour before we eat.”
“I mean, sure,” I say. “If your parents don’t mind.”
“I can show her around,” Blake offers. “You look busy.”
“I’m not.” Grant stares his brother down until Blake and Sugar go back to watching the hockey game.
Grant touches my elbow as if to guide me. “This is the living room, obviously. And you’ve seen the kitchen. Bathroom is down that hall, as well as my parents’ room. There are two bedrooms upstairs.”
“Still?” I ask.
“One’s my dad’s office and one’s my mom’s craft room. Come on, I’ll show you.”
The stairs going up have the expected photo collage on the wall. There are baby pictures of everyone, as well as senior portraits and photos from June and Dylan’s wedding.
He brushes by them without looking and steers me toward the two upstairs rooms. They don’t leave any clues about the kids who used to live here. No posters on the walls or bookshelves full of favorites. Those must be stored elsewhere.
I make him pause on the way back down. “Look how sweet you were,” I say. “I mean, all of you. That must be Cole, right? Is he coming today?”
“He’s out of town,” Grant says. “He takes a vacation every winter.”
“They get longer every year,” Felix says from the base of the stairs. He’s holding a beer and wearing the expression of someone who’s waited all day to interrupt.
“I’ll show you downstairs,” Grant says. “Felix, you don’t have to follow us.”
“Someone has to set the record straight. Also, Mom told me not to let you disappear before dinner.” Felix opens the door to the basement and snaps on the light. “Welcome to the museum. I’ll be your docent for this evening. Touch nothing, especially Grant’s ego.”
The stairs leading to the basement hold more photos.
These aren’t formal portraits, but candid shots.
I love seeing what his parents deem wall-worthy.
There are vacations, holidays, and first days of school, as well as everyday moments.
Felix points to a pre-adolescent Grant wearing a suit and a trilby hat, holding a saxophone.
“The school assigned the instrument. Grant brought the attitude.”
We continue downstairs which has a sitting area as well as a small bedroom and bathroom. “This is where Grant flooded the basement,” Felix says. “Twice.”
“That’s the cover story,” Grant says.
“What’s the true story?”
“It was me,” Felix admits. “I was already in trouble for, like, three other things, so Grant did me a solid. Well, actually, it was my solid that—”
“Moving on.” Grant opens the bedroom door.
“Oh yes,” Felix says. “This is where he practiced brooding.”
The bedroom still has twin beds in it, the mattresses bare.
Storage boxes line the walls. A bookshelf in the corner has medals and trophies on it.
Science and citizenship awards mingle with the sports trophies.
I’m not sure what’s Grant’s, what’s Felix’s, and what was shoved in here after they moved out. I pick one up. “Football?”
Grant half-shrugs. “If you’re big, you have to play. That’s how it is.”
“I heard you were the quarterback.”
“For a year.” He’s gone inward, completely shutting down.
I put the trophy back in its cloud of dust, sorry I picked it up. “It’s nice to see who you were.”
“It’s just kid stuff,” he says.
Tammy calls down that it’s time to eat, and we make our way upstairs.
Dinner happens all around me. That’s the only way I can describe it.
Dishes are passed, stories overlap, everyone talks at once and is somehow still heard.
I try to keep track of it all as Tammy adds braised venison to my plate, and Scott passes me the green beans, and Felix makes a complicated gesture with his spoon that everyone else seems to understand, groaning like it’s the worst joke they ever heard.
They talk about the food, and the Red Wings, and each other.
I can see them falling back into childhood roles.
Grant, the oldest, acting as director of the chaos.
June the middle-child peacemaker. Felix between them, clowning it up just to be heard.
Blake taking it all in, learning supreme social skills from having so many examples.
I grip my napkin in my lap, letting myself imagine that I grew up like this, in a loud family that operated as a unit.
Nana and I loved spending time together, but it involved drawing together side-by-side while listening to Motown music, not trash talking, inside jokes, and conversations like nesting dolls of history.
“How are you holding up?” June asks across the cluttered table. “I know we can be a lot.”
“We’re the exact right amount,” Felix counters.
“I’m great,” I say.
“Steady,” Grant says. “Because you’re about to lose your shirt. Literally.”
“Ready to play some ee-cray?” Felix asks.
“Some what?”
“Ignore him,” Grant says. “We don’t joke about euchre.”
Everyone seems to hear the same signal as they stand and clear their plates.
The leftovers are packed away and the dishes dumped in the sink.
June grabs my hand and drags me to one of the two card tables that Felix and Blake have set up near the TV.
Before I can even sit, skinny euchre decks are stacked on the tables, while behind me, Tammy and Scott are whispering about bets.
Everyone seems to be taking this way too seriously and I realize that dinner, as overwhelming as it felt, will be nothing compared to euchre.
Blake tries to take the chair opposite me. June shoves him out of the way. “Annabelle is my partner.” She gives him a big-sister glare that says she isn’t arguing about it. “She needs me.”
“Whatever,” Blake says. “I guess I’m with Dad.”
“Mom?” Felix asks.
“Sure, honey.”
That leaves Grant and Dylan. They fist-bump and call each other “bro.” They take the other two seats at our table.
“Watch out,” Grant says. “Because I don’t play nice.” He nods at the t-shirt. He’s got a personal reason to crush me in this game and he’s clearly looking forward to it.