9. Kellen
Nine
Kellen
Three days after it aired, I finally get the opportunity to watch my documentary.
Everything feels off about the experience, though, because I’m not chatting about it online as I watch with a group of fellow enthusiasts.
I’m sitting alone on my couch in sweatpants, fidgeting as I stare at the screen.
My mind wanders back to the family dinner the other day.
Between the rain and the squabbling, it seemed like the typical wild Brady gathering.
I’m struck by how Elizabeth and Jake fit right in to the whole scene.
She seemed embarrassed by her son’s frustration over canceled plans, and I had pointed out that my grown nephews almost came to blows over the last scoop of guacamole in the dish.
Who cares if a teenager needs to yell a bit when things don’t go his way?
The truth is, I know a lot of people care.
Mick and I are well aware that the family we’ve built is eccentric.
We don’t mix well with others. For some reason, major clients accept his quirky personality and I like to think that my engineering skill has done an okay job securing their trust in us as a company.
But personal stuff? Who wants to mix it up with an old man whose favorite pastime is watching geeky documentaries?
Elizabeth had a good time yesterday, I think.
I push those thoughts aside and focus on the soothing voice of the narrator, explaining all the ways that radio changed the world.
I glance out the window and see Elizabeth’s parents walking up to her front door, carrying a huge basket of flowers.
I had forgotten, again, that she grew up in this neighborhood.
No wonder she chose this as a landing place for her and her son.
Jake comes outside and I see him giving his grandparents a tour of the yard.
He lugs the flower basket in one arm. Through my open window, I hear him say, “Mom isn’t home yet from her errand.
I’m not supposed to let anyone into the house when she’s not here.
” I chuckle. Orla was sometimes really literal in that way, especially when it came to safety rules.
Attention to detail like that makes her a good, safe electrical engineer.
Of course, Orla is able to see nuance in a way that Jake obviously struggles with.
I’d like to ask Elizabeth more about his autism.
I flick off the documentary, realizing my heart isn’t in it and I’m no longer interested, and I look at my picture window in time to see Jake waving at me with both hands, flowers flying out of the basket on his arm.
“This is my neighbor,” he says. “He invited us for a backyard barbecue and it was a successful social outing.”
I wave at Mr. and Mrs. Burns, who wave casually, and then do a double take.
I head toward the front door, knowing it would be rude not to go out and catch up.
“Kellen Brady, is that you?” The Burnses have to be pushing 80.
They still seem like they’re in good health, though Mr. Burns is pulling his shorts up higher and wearing socks with his sandals now.
“Mr. and Mrs. Burns, delighted to see you again,” I say, shaking their hands with both of mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t look you up sooner. I had forgotten we were neighbors.”
Mrs. Burns wags a finger at me. “You’re an adult now, Kellen. You can call us Steve and Anna.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. “Fine grandson you’ve got there.”
Anna beams. “Isn’t he a delight. Steve is trying to get him to let us inside until—oh, there she is. Elizabeth! Tell your son to let us inside. Your father is getting eaten alive by mosquitos.”
Elizabeth emerges from her car with a shopping bag, grinning. “Jake, sweetie, why won’t you let your grandparents inside? How long have you been here?” She directs this last comment to her parents and then, noticing me, gives me a slight nod of her chin.
“I’ll just head back on inside,” I start to say, turning, but Steve hollers.
“Ah, come on. We haven’t seen you in 30 years, kid. Come tell us if all those big plans you had worked out.”
Five minutes later, I’m seated on a folding chair in Elizabeth’s dining room, where she hasn’t yet acquired furniture, passing around pictures of Orla on my phone. “She works with Mick and me at Beltane engineering,” I tell them. “She’s whip smart and full of sass.”
“She’s a beautiful girl, Kellen,” Anna says, patting my hand. Elizabeth glances at the photos and smiles, nodding. Anna squeezes my arm. “And what about Mrs. Brady? All this talk of Orla. Where’s that wife of yours right now?”
I’m supposed to be used to this question.
Normally, I do ok. For the past five years or so, I’ve been able to take this question in stride, but it’s not usually coming from people who knew me as a teenager.
I swallow, feeling tears well up. God, it’s like my first night at a support group.
“She’s uh,” I start, and swallow again. “Helen passed away some time ago. Cervical cancer.”
There’s a heavy silence in the room. Elizabeth stares at me. I’m not really able to control the muscles of my face, so I stare back. I feel the tears return to their proper place in my ducts and I smile, tapping the phone. “Orla looks just like her.”
“I’m so very sorry,” Elizabeth says.
“Thank you.” I inhale, exhale slowly through my nose. “I bought this house about 8 years ago,” I explain. “Orla and I lived with Mick and his boys for a while after Helen died. You remember my brother Mick?”
Steve shakes his head, but Anna rolls her eyes. I chuckle. “He’s still the same.”
“What was it like living together? You two boys…and a young girl…”
I’m used to this question and it doesn’t phase me at all.
“It was the best time of my life,” I tell them honestly.
“And also the worst.” Mick had been through two divorces in a row, was raising three boys who were basically Irish triplets.
“Neither Mick nor I had any idea what the hell we were doing, and I was pretty sick with grief,” I say.
Anna squeezes my hand and I smile. “But we had each other. All of us did. We’re all so close now. ”
Elizabeth adds, “Kellen works with his family, too. They have an engineering firm.”
“Do you now?” Steve perks up. He was always interested in my fascination with physics. Maybe he hoped it would rub off on his daughter. She always tended more toward art and literature.
“It’s nice working together, all of us,” I tell him. “Mick’s boys, Orla, Mick and me…we’ve got a bunch of others on staff, too, so we aren’t at each other’s throats all day. People tease us, but we do good work,” I assure them. “Beltane Engineering has good synergy.”
“That does sound nice,” Elizabeth says. “I’m glad you all have each other like that.”
She starts to put away the chips and cereal from her grocery bag, and I rise from the table. “I should get going,” I say, hoping they’ll insist I say, and then immediately feeling embarrassed by how desperate I am for company all of a sudden.
“We’re just getting caught up,” Anna says. “I’m sure Elizabeth can offer you a snack if that’s what you need. Bethy, get the man a cookie.”
“Oh, no thank you, really.”
From this angle, standing at the table, I can see Elizabeth bent over to put the snacks in her pantry.
For the first time in many years, I feel the zing of heat churning through my veins, straight to my crotch.
Good lord, man, control yourself, I think, noticing with uncomfortable certainty that I have a hard-on in my neighbor’s kitchen with her son and parents present.
Concerned with how visible this situation will be through my sweatpants, I sink back down into my seat.
“Water would be great,” I manage to croak out.
Someone hands me a glass and I gulp it down, trying to forget the way I felt just now, staring at the round swell of Elizabeth’s hips in her dark jeans.
This is not how I expected my evening to go at all.
I have no idea what to do about any of it.